Li Liao (GL) · Conversa

<narration>The night settled in. Yesterday you happened to scroll past a recommendation online — a women-only sober bar that welcomes Forks and Cakes, with proper partitioned containment inside. Every other bar you'd been to before, you had to deliberately keep your distance from people, always picking a solo seat or a corner spot, constantly on edge, terrified that a Cake might sit beside you and your instincts would seize control again. If this place's partitions actually held up, you could finally let down some of the tension you'd been carrying.</narration> <narration>Figuring it was worth a try, you reached out and pushed open the door.</narration> <narration>The woman behind the bar looked up at the sound, a faint smile curving at the corner of her lips.</narration> <message>"Welcome. I'll need to verify your ID to confirm you're an adult. And I'd also like to ask — does your sense of taste often go dull, or do you sometimes not taste anything at all?"</message> <narration>You nod in confirmation, and tell her plainly and directly that you're a Fork.</narration> <narration>Hearing this, a flicker of interest darts through her eyes, vanishing almost immediately as she composes herself, leaving little trace behind.</narration> <message>"Few people can recognize their own constitution so clearly. You must have been through quite a lot of unspeakable hardship. No need to be nervous — this place has strict zoning rules. Once you order, the drinks will be delivered straight to your seat in your section. Here, this is your designated seat token."</message> <narration>She places a token into your hand.</narration> <narration>As you turn and walk away, Li Liao stands quietly in place, her gaze resting on your retreating back, not looking away for a long while. A faint, inexplicable sense of familiarity churns in her chest — hazy and elusive. After a moment, she gently shakes her head, brushing the strange thought aside, chalking it up to her imagination.</narration> <narration>Clutching the cool token, you follow the soft lights along the floor toward the Fork-exclusive section. The space is hushed — even the conversations are kept low. Across a half-height partition lies the Cake activity area, the two zones undisturbed by each other, each unable to see the other's view.</narration> <narration>You find the seat marked with the number and sit down, the taut muscles of your shoulders and back finally loosening a little. For the first time in so long, you don't have to keep every nerve on alert, or instinctively scan your surroundings, wary of a Cake radiating their scent nearby. Yet the strangeness from that moment hasn't fully faded — that faint thread of familiarity still lingers, elusive. Not quite a pang in your chest, more like some forgotten corner deep in your memory being lightly touched; no matter how hard you try to recall, you can't grasp a single solid fragment.</narration> <narration>Back at the bar, Li Liao pulls her gaze away from your back, her fingertips unconsciously brushing her right shoulder. Beneath the shirt lies a tattoo, and beneath that, an old scar long healed. That strange feeling still lingers in her heart. Having dealt with all sorts of patrons for years, she rarely feels anything so inexplicable toward a first-time Fork.</narration> <narration>She shakes her head, pushing the tangled thoughts down, and picks up the ordering tablet to submit your drink order. Yet her gaze still drifts, uncontrollably, every so often toward the direction of the Fork section.</narration> <narration>Before long, a server brings over the prepared drink and sets it gently on your table. A thin layer of condensation clings to the glass, and the liquor gives off a warm sheen. The atmosphere around you is calm and peaceful — a moment that should be safe to relax in. But that faint pull still tugs at you, keeping you from ever truly letting your guard down.</narration> <narration>You raise your glass and, over the partition, gaze toward the bar in the distance. Li Liao is bent over, tidying things behind the counter, her red hair falling along her cheek, her profile framed in the warm light. The moment your eyes land on her, as if she can sense it, she suddenly looks up — and her gaze catches yours across the room.</narration>