That night, as Noelle sat by her window, her phone lit up with Han's name.
He said he was just calling to confirm their plans for the weekend but the conversation lingered, unhurried. His voice, low and unguarded, carried a warmth that threaded through the static.
"I've missed this," he murmured after a pause. "Talking to someone who still remembers the same streets, the same skies."
Noelle smiled faintly, resting her cheek against her hand. Outside, the night was clear, stars faint but steady above the city haze.
Han's tone softened. "You know… when I was in Perth, I used to look up and think maybe you were seeing the same stars too. Funny, isn't it? That we could be miles apart but still under the same sky."
The words sank into her like an ache, gentle, wistful and dangerous all at once. She didn't know what to say, so she let silence stretch, filled only by the soft sound of his breathing on the other end.
When they finally said goodnight, her heart felt heavier as she fell into a sleepless rest.
Noelle sat by the window of a quiet café in Orchard, watching the late afternoon light slant through the glass. The city outside was a blur of movement of the weekend life. She told herself it was just coffee. Just conversation. Nothing more. Yet, she chose to meet in Orchard road, away from any possible dating places that she and Ren had gone before.
Han arrived a few minutes later, the same easy smile lighting his face as if time had never passed. The sight of him made something stir inside her, a flicker of nostalgia and happiness she thought she'd buried. His voice, warm and low, carried the same rhythm she'd memorised years ago. They talked about everything and nothing: Perth, school, the strange comfort of being home again.
At one point, he laughed, brushing his hair back in that familiar way and Noelle found herself laughing too. It felt... effortless. Like slipping into an old melody she once loved.
"Feels like no time's passed, doesn't it?" Han said softly, his eyes meeting hers. "We're like the old times, just you and me."
Her heart tightened. The words were innocent enough, but they carried a weight she couldn't ignore. She smiled faintly, fingers curling around her cup to hide their tremor.
And then—
The door chimed.
Ren stepped in.
He was talking to someone at the counter, casual as ever, a file tucked under his arm. He hadn't noticed them yet. But when he turned, his eyes caught hers instantly. The shift was subtle: a half-second of disbelief, then a quiet, unreadable calm.
Noelle froze. Her pulse stumbled as Han turned slightly in his seat, following her gaze.
Ren's expression didn't change much but the silence that filled the space between them was deafening. He nodded once, polite, almost detached, before turning back to the barista.
Han raised an eyebrow. "A friend?" he asked lightly.
Noelle's voice caught. "Yeah," she said softly. "Just… someone from school."
But Ren's presence seemed to linger even as he finished his order. Noelle could feel it. His awareness of her, the quiet, heavy gravity that always pulled her toward him.
When Ren finally left the counter, he didn't look at them again. Just walked out, smooth and composed but his shoulders were set a little too tightly, his jaw clenched just enough to betray the truth.
Han continued talking, but Noelle couldn't hear him. Her thoughts were a blur. The air felt thinner, her chest heavier. She'd told herself this would be harmless, that she could keep both worlds separate. But as she watched the door close behind Ren, she knew: Something fragile had just cracked.
Ren stepped out of the café, the warm evening air brushing against his face, but it barely registered. His mind replayed the scene inside: the way Noelle had laughed, how casually she'd leaned toward Han, the soft intonation of her voice that made it impossible not to listen. He told himself she was allowed to have friends, that it was natural, that he had no right to control who she spent her time with.
But the rationalisations barely dulled the sting. Every polite nod, every restrained gesture from her toward Han felt like a quiet reminder of how easily she could exist in a space that he hadn't fully claimed or maybe hadn't dared to. A pang of guilt shot through him. Why hadn't he tried to introduce himself properly? Why hadn't he made his presence more obvious, more undeniable, when she had been so easy to smile at and talk to?
And there it was, that look she gave him when their eyes met. Something soft and caught, a flicker of surprise. It made him pause mid-step, heart thumping a little too loudly. She belonged to him, and yet… she was so clearly, effortlessly alive in another world he couldn't touch at that moment.
Her hair catching the fading light, her expression slightly distracted, but still so unmistakably her. Something about the way she looked, so natural, so unguarded, made his chest tighten in a way that startled him. It wasn't just attraction; it was a pull, a gravity that seemed to make everything else around him fade.
Ren forced his shoulders back, taking a deep breath, trying to steady the churn of conflicting thoughts. She had every right to be with her friends. She had every right to laugh and lean and exist in the way she wanted. And yet, seeing her like this, so close to someone else even if just for a few moments, filled him with a quiet, gnawing ache he wasn't ready to name.
He shoved his hands into his pockets, jaw tight, and continued walking, pretending that the street, the air, and the fading city sounds were enough to distract him. But the image of her, effortless and radiant, lingered, and for the first time in a long while, he wished he was the one who has that effect on her.
Meanwhile, Noelle didn't move. She stayed rooted in her seat, a mask of calm plastered over her features, while Han continued talking. His words were light, easy, almost teasing but she barely registered them. She smiled politely, laughed when appropriate, nodded at the right moments but it all felt hollow, mechanical. Every syllable she uttered was a carefully measured performance, a barrier between what had just happened and the fragile composure she was trying to maintain.
Her mind, however, was a storm. Thoughts of Ren crowded every corner of her consciousness. The way his shoulders had tensed, the sharp line of his jaw, the quiet disappointment he had hidden behind his composure. It all replayed in her head, a haunting echo she couldn't escape. She had wanted nothing more than to sink into his presence but she had stayed silent, letting him walk away instead.
Later that evening, back in the privacy of her room, she stared at her phone. Her thumb hovered over the screen, heart thrumming, nerves taut. Finally, she typed a short, simple message to Ren. A few words carefully neutral, almost ordinary but enough to bridge the invisible gap that had opened between them. She pressed send before she could second-guess herself, letting it fly across the digital distance.
Ren's phone buzzed and he saw her name light up the screen. He froze. Part of him ached at the sight, a quiet, empty echo in his chest that matched the distance he'd been feeling since the café. Another part of him wanted to reply immediately, to close the gap, to reach for her across the void of unread messages. Yet, he hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen, torn between replying and letting her message linger… letting her silence mirror his own, preserving the fragile weight of their unspoken emotions a little longer.
In that suspended moment, both of them existed in parallel, close, yet separate, each wrestling with thoughts they couldn't yet voice. And though the city hummed around them, quiet and ordinary as ever, their hearts were anything but.