During the first week of Di's leave from school, Jie and Lan grew unusually close.
It was hard to tell when it started.
Maybe it was just that they began running into each other at the school gate each morning, walking in together like it had always been that way.
After class, they left through the same side gate, crossing the same bridge under the same sky, talking—
inevitably—about the trip.
During lunch break, they huddled over the same table in the corner of the classroom, flipping through travel blogs, looking at hostels and train schedules.
Sometimes they shared bread while debating what kind of backpack would be lightest.
It didn't feel like a search for something profound.
It felt more like two people planning a brief escape.
Still, they both knew this trip wasn't just about relaxing.
It began with a letter.
A quiet conversation.
And Lan's soft confession:
"I just want to see them. That's all. I don't want to change anything."
—
Sometimes, Jie found himself watching her without realizing it.
She would be bent over her phone, chewing on a straw, scrolling through pages with her brow furrowed and the corners of her mouth tilted up ever so slightly.
There was something about her in those moments that stirred something in him—quiet, hard to name.
—
They didn't talk about Di.
But his absence hung between them like a gap no one tried to fill.
Not out of disregard—
But because they both instinctively stepped around it.
As if, by not saying anything, they could pretend that space didn't exist.
—
The mood between them was neither entirely peaceful nor uneasy.
At times, Jie wondered:
Was this closeness just a placeholder?
Was she drawing nearer simply because she felt guilty?
But then she'd hand him a piece of waffle with a bright smile, and he'd convince himself—
Even if it was temporary, maybe that was okay.
—
"We're kind of happy like this… aren't we?" he asked her one afternoon.
Lan simply nodded, then smiled softly.
Said nothing.
—
But that evening, as they stood on the bridge after school talking about possible travel dates, Lan suddenly said:
"I still want the three of us to go."
Her voice was calm, but firm.
"That's what we agreed on from the start."
—
Jie didn't respond right away.
He held his phone in his hand, eyes following the cars below.
Something tightened in his throat.
"…Even if he doesn't want to come now," Lan continued, "we should wait for his answer."
—
A flicker of frustration surfaced in Jie.
Not at her—
But at the uneasy feeling he couldn't quite put into words.
Had everything they'd shared this week—
their small routines, their quiet laughter, his slowly settling heart—
meant nothing?
—
"What if he never shows up again?" he asked under his breath.
"Then we try reaching out. And we wait."
Her voice was level, but resolute.
—
Silence hung between them.
Jie exhaled slowly.
"Lan… it's not that I don't want the three of us to go. I do.
But… something's changed."
"We can't just pretend nothing happened and expect everything to go back."
—
Lan looked at him—no anger, no sadness—only clarity in her eyes.
"I know it's changed."
"But I still want to keep that promise. Even if one of you steps back… I'll move forward. I'll pull you both along if I have to."
—
The wind blew over the bridge, brushing strands of her hair across her face.
And in that moment, Jie saw her more clearly than ever before.
She was stronger than he had imagined.
—
He lowered his gaze.
This trip wasn't just about Lan's search.
It might be the last chance for the three of them to walk the same path—
together.
—
But starting now,
that path was already beginning to pull apart.