Christmas was coming, and the city streets were bustling with life. The shop windows gleamed with cheerful, beautiful displays.

Their car pulled up at Julian Jarvis's place. After they got out, Julian Jarvis grabbed Song Ying by the wrist and pulled her along.

"Julian Jarvis, let go. I can walk on my own."

Song Ying was wearing heels because they'd attended a wedding, and she couldn't quite keep up with his long strides.

Julian Jarvis seemed to realize his mistake and slowed down, but he didn't let go of her hand.

They entered the house, and Julian Jarvis groped for the switch; once the lights came on, the spacious living room was suddenly bathed in brightness.

Song Ying had never been to Julian Jarvis's home before. In fact, other than their last encounter at the studio opening, they'd barely interacted in recent years—let alone met up in person.

It was an austere, minimalist space: gray and white walls, a cold black leather sofa. Song Ying stood in the foyer, scanning her surroundings.

That's when she noticed a pair of white, fluffy slippers next to the shoe cabinet.

...Are these his girlfriend's?

Suddenly, a pang of annoyance stabbed her. Why hadn't it occurred to her that Julian Jarvis might have a girlfriend? The thought left a faint bitterness in her heart.

Julian Jarvis opened the shoe cabinet and peered inside. It seemed the new slippers were gone, so he picked up the pair Song Ying had been eyeing.

They were spotlessly clean, but clearly not new.

"Just wear these for now."

Song Ying looked at the man crouched in front of her and stepped back, hesitating. "She... won't mind, will she?"

They were Mia Moore's slippers. Why should she mind? It’s not like she’s a neat freak...

Julian Jarvis was a little baffled but replied, "She won't mind."

"Oh."

Song Ying slipped them on, placed the bouquet she'd carried on the console near the door, and walked in.

"Wait a second."

Julian Jarvis shrugged off his coat, fetched a cup, and went to pour some water. Song Ying had pale skin that turned red instantly in the winter chill. Back in school, when they'd been seatmates, she always rubbed her hands together whenever she wrote.

He made sure the water wasn't too hot or cold, then pressed the warm mug into her icy hands.

The warmth seeping into her palms was a relief. Song Ying lowered her head to take a sip of the hot water, and the warmth gradually spread through her whole body.

The house was quiet—no one else seemed to be around. Maybe his girlfriend didn't visit often, or perhaps she lived abroad and only came back every so often.

Song Ying's thoughts wandered aimlessly. After a few glasses of wine and a chilly walk outside, her mind was more muddled than ever.

"Do you usually live here by yourself?"

"Yeah."

"How come you still like all these dark colors?"

Julian Jarvis had washed his hands and dialed up the heat in the room. He walked over to the sofa. "I just did whatever. I don't really care about this kind of stuff."

"Mm."

Silence settled over them. Neither spoke for a while. Julian Jarvis turned on the TV, channel-surfing absentmindedly.

The sudden noise meant the room wasn’t oppressively quiet anymore.

Song Ying didn’t want to bring up the letter.

Because she knew, if she took the letter away tonight, it would be the end of everything between her and Julian Jarvis.

That tiny love letter was their only secret—the one thing that belonged to just the two of them, all these years.

Having that little secret felt like she possessed a small part of Julian Jarvis, all to herself.

So, just a little longer. Let this moment last a bit more.

Neither of them really watched the TV. The images flickered, but neither registered what was actually playing.

Julian Jarvis's mind replayed what Mia Moore had said here earlier: that Fu Sen had confessed to Song Ying. He’d even seen Fu Sen’s name pop up on her phone just now.

Suddenly, he understood why Song Ying wanted the letter back so much tonight.

So she was ready to start a new relationship?

Was this her new beginning?

When she caught the bouquet earlier, she’d said that the next bride might be herself. Was she really at the stage of discussing marriage with someone else?

But somehow, Julian Jarvis realized...he didn’t like this idea at all.

"Fu Sen... is he chasing after you?"

His voice was noticeably colder than usual, completely different from the gentleness she’d come to expect.

So, Mia Moore and the others did catch them that time...

"...I guess you could say that."

The alcohol fuzzed her reactions. Song Ying nodded, then huddled into the couch corner, hugging her knees, as if trying to keep warm.

Julian Jarvis draped a thin blanket over her legs. "Are you cold?"

She shook her head. "It's fine."

She wasn't cold—just trying to feel a little less sad. And when she thought about how Julian Jarvis might’ve once tucked this same blanket around his girlfriend, Song Ying bit her lip.

"So you said yes?"

Julian Jarvis didn't move away after tucking her in; he sat right next to her, his long fingers resting on the black couch, the joints pale against the fabric.

"No... I’m not ready to love someone else again."

Song Ying stared at his hands, her voice barely above a whisper. Her lowered brows made her look especially vulnerable. She muttered softly,

"It’s like there’s already someone living in my heart. There’s no room for anyone else."

"Julian Jarvis... tell me, how do I get him to move out?"

She looked up, her clear, cool face etched with a kind of fragility Julian Jarvis had never seen before.

Maybe she was really drunk, and that was why she wanted to say everything out loud. Maybe this was the kind of honesty that could even end their friendship for good.

Rejection as a child could be chalked up to ignorance, could be buried in time.

But if she was turned down again today....

Well, so be it. Maybe then she could finally give up completely.

"Song Ying, are you drunk?"

He reached out, wanting to touch her cheek to comfort her, but hesitated; he clenched his fist and pulled his hand back.

"Yeah, I think I am..."

"Julian Jarvis, where’s my letter?"

She wanted to leave—before she said anything else she couldn't control—before things got truly embarrassing.

"You really want to take it back? Go back to being strangers?"

"Yes... I do."

She nodded, quickly, and as she did tears glimmered in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks onto the back of her hand. It startled her, reminding her of how she used to sob quietly in secret the years after Julian Jarvis had gone abroad.

Julian Jarvis sighed, a twist of pain pulling at his heart. He wasn't drunk, but in this moment, he couldn’t control himself.

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the moonlight was cold and clear.

Some vague movie was still playing on the TV.

None of it mattered. All Julian Jarvis could see was the girl in front of him.

He withdrew his hand from the sofa, reached out, and gently cradled her neck.

His long fingers kneaded the nape of her neck—her skin soft and smooth, impossible to let go.

And then, pulling her in, Julian Jarvis pressed his lips softly to her tear-streaked cheek.

They were the lightest of kisses: brushing away her tears, gently touching her nose.

A kiss that was part comfort, part aching tenderness.

"What about now? Even now, do you still want to take that letter back?"