Sun Ruolin had never been one to take medical leave. In fact, she never had. To her, it felt like an excuse to slack off; a convenient pause button for people who couldn't handle pressure. As long as she could still sit upright and her fingers can move to type, there was no reason to stop.
Illness, she believed — or rather, insisted — would pass with time. That was the principle she clung to. But beneath the surface, the truth was simpler, more childish: she hated hospitals. And rather than admit that, she wrapped herself in the armor of adulthood, pretending it was all about discipline.
Even now, seated at her usual desk with the newsroom already shifting into its mid-morning rhythm, she typed with a calm focus, her breaths even but shallow — as if willing her body into obedience.
Her fingers paused briefly above the keyboard as she re-read a sentence.
"Early care begins with awareness, not fear."
A line from yesterday's interview.
She blinked. Ironic, perhaps. But also... timely.
She glanced at the clock.
11:37 AM.
Outside, sunlight clung to the windowpanes like silk. Warm, soft, and persistent, as if it was trying to convince her that it was a good day to get herself checked.
"No, I'm not going to waste my holiday quota on a sick day," she had told Qiao Hui earlier. "I still have work to submit. I can rest afterward."
Qiao Hui had muttered something about stubborn goats and fragile glass as she walked away after passing her a milk bun.
Ruolin sighed and smiled at the memory, though her chest still felt tight. Not painful — not quite. Just… unfamiliar. Like a rhythm her body no longer danced to.
~×~
At exactly 1:30 PM, she stepped into the taxi.
The ride was short. The driver chatted about road closures and how it was a good day to wake up to. Ruolin only nodded politely, half listening, half thinking as her gaze fixed outside the window. She wasn't nervous. Well... Maybe a little. And curious.
LZU Medical Group.
Her friends spoke of it like it was some kind of sanctuary: quiet, clean, reliable, and fortunately run by a handsome doctor. She imagined white walls, the scent of antiseptic, and a politely smiling receptionist.
But another image crept in too — A typical hospital she'd always avoided: dim corridors echoing with coughs, metal bed frames clinking against cracked linoleum floors, the sharp scent of rubbing alcohol layered over something sickly sweet. Fluorescent lights flickering overhead, nurses with tired eyes, and the hush of waiting rooms where everyone pretended not to stare.
She blinked the image away. That's not what this place is. It's different. At least, that's what she told herself to believe to soothe her shaking heart. And to her surprise, what greeted her was something else entirely.
The clinic sat like a gallery hidden in the folds of the city.
Polished stone paths. Clear glass walls that reflected the sky. Gentle greenery arranged just enough to soothe but not overwhelm. When she opened the door, the bell chimed. Inside, soft lighting fell over beige tones and brushed wood textures. The air smelled faintly of jasmine — not too much, just the memory of it.
It was warm. Safe. Not sterile. And definitely not scary.
Ruolin approached the front desk quietly.
"Good afternoon," the receptionist greeted with a smile. "Do you have an appointment?"
"Yes," she said softly, handing over her ID. "Sun Ruolin. Two o'clock."
The receptionist tapped a few keys, nodded, and gestured politely with her thumb. "Please have a seat. Dr. Li will see you shortly."
She blinked once.
Dr. Li.
Right — her friend had mentioned the name. Dr. Li, was it? At that time, she'd barely noticed. It was just a name. People are allowed to have similar surnames after all. However, it did remind her of a certain someone. One that made her heart beat faster, but not in a sickly way.
She walked towards the center of the seat and sat down. And then, she began to observe.
The waiting room was more lounge than lobby.
No flickering TV. No ticking wall clock. Only the quiet murmur of a water feature and the soft rustling of magazines being flipped a few seats away.
Her eyes wandered further — to the light fixtures, the ceiling lines, the subtle gold embossing on the clinic's logo: LZU MEDICAL. Every detail whispered subtle care, precision, and quiet pride.
"Whoever designed this," she thought, "wasn't just building a clinic. They were building comfort."
Her heart slowed, just a little. Not because the discomfort suddenly vanished, but because something in the atmosphere — the warmth in the lighting, the hush in the air — made her feel unexpectedly... safe.
~×~
"Sun Ruolin," A nurse stepped forward, her voice warm when she called her.
Ruolin looked up and slowly stand up, her hand hovering in the air as if saying 'present'.
"This way," the nurse gestures politely.
Ruolin smiled and nodded.
As she walked past the frosted glass doors and followed the nurse down a quiet corridor, her breath came a little quicker. Not out of fear, but a strange, fleeting anticipation.
The door opened.
"Please come in."
Ruolin nodded her thanks to the nurse and stepped into the consultation room — It was minimalist, sunlit, softly cool and well... white. There's a large desk, a white monitor screen. A row of neatly stacked case files.
And behind it —
The doctor stood up slowly.
And perhaps she'd stopped breathing for the briefest moment.
Thump.
White coat. Sharp lines. Clean skin. Dark hair neatly combed. A pen tucked perfectly in his pocket. His eyes were steady, calm — almost too calm. And his hands, when they moved, did so with the kind of ease that only came from knowing exactly what he was doing.
His presence was the same.
So was the silence that followed.
Thump.
Ruolin stared.
She didn't blink. Didn't move. Or rather, she couldn't, on that split second when their eyes met and quickly familiarise with each other. As if the years that passed never happened.
Only now, hearing his name aloud, seeing the curve of his brow, the line of his jaw, the sharpness in his eyes — she knew. This is not a coincidence. It's not someone else. It was him.
Li Zeyu.
Her first love. Also, her last goodbye.
He, too, froze for the briefest second.
But she only smiled, soft and unsure, and perhaps a little awkward and shy at the unexpected reunion.
She sat down quietly — hesitatingly, smoothing her skirt beneath her knees, and said in a voice barely louder than a breath:
"Hi…"
She said it like time hadn't passed.
Like they were seventeen again.
Like this was just the beginning.