Li Yueran arrived at the construction site earlier than usual. The sun was barely rising, painting the sky with muted shades of orange and pink. She wore a soft lavender blouse that fluttered slightly in the morning breeze, her hair loose, framing her serene face. Her presence, gentle and calm, immediately altered the atmosphere of the site, as if the dust and heat softened under her watchful gaze.
Aiden was already at work, lifting steel beams with practiced precision. His eyes were sharp, his expression unyielding—but the moment he noticed her, a subtle tension passed through him. She didn't approach him directly, instead ensuring water, gloves, and snacks were already prepared.
From the corner of the site, she observed him, memorizing every movement. A small paper fan rested beside her, which she used to gently cool the nearby workers. Though she could not touch Aiden, she ensured every act of care reached him indirectly.
"Here," she called softly, "I've left some fresh gloves and ice packs near your station. Use them if you need."
Aiden glanced at the gloves, his frown slightly softening. Though he didn't acknowledge her presence verbally, there was a flicker of awareness in his eyes. He was beginning to notice that her care was different—consistent, deliberate, gentle.
Meilin, following quietly, took note of her mother's subtle attentions. "You're… very careful with him," she murmured.
Li Yueran's eyes softened, almost wistful. "I have waited eighteen years to see him safe," she whispered. "Every gentle act now is for him."
As the day progressed, Aiden found himself unwittingly looking for the small comforts—the ice packs, the shaded area, the drinks placed just within reach. Each act of care, though indirect, left a faint impression on his mind, softening the walls he had built over years of neglect.