Qiao Mo gently released her hand, stepped aside, and watched silently as he adjusted the bed.
After a few seconds, seeing the messy room, she planned to tidy up a bit when he suddenly reached out and grabbed her: "Xiao Mo."
His voice was deep, hoarse, and filled with emotion.
Qiao Mo did not look at him, only tried to withdraw her hand, ignoring his intent.
Yet this time, he held on tightly, clearly unwilling to let go.
Realizing she couldn't break free, Qiao Mo resigned herself to stillness, not speaking, seemingly fatigued.
Seeing her pale face, his heart ached, and he gently pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her shoulder, lowering his gaze to hide his unease, softly saying: "Xiao Mo, I thought you were going to leave me…"
Qiao Mo's nose tingled, her eyes quickly shrouded with a thin mist. She lowered her gaze, quietly concealing it, silent.
Was he afraid?
But what was he afraid of…
