Chapter 9 | Drawing Near Again, Every Breath Filled with Tenderness

The days when Wen Yan and Shen Che drew close again were like slowly melting snow—gentle, careful, and tender.

They didn’t rush into passionate embraces, nor did they confess their love every day.
Each meeting was a cautious test.
Each touch told the other, “I’m still here—and so are you.”

One weekend afternoon, Wen Yan was sketching in a café.
She held the brush in her hand, yet kept pausing midair.

Shen Che sat across from her, quietly watching her work.
On the paper was a rain-soaked campus—leaves damp and glistening, sunlight spilling through breaks in the clouds.

“This is… something you drew?”
he asked softly.

Wen Yan nodded, not daring to look at him.
“I… wanted to paint our past,” she swallowed. “Just the past. Not the present.”

Shen Che slowly reached out and took her hand.
Wen Yan didn’t pull away—the sensation at her fingertips shot straight to her heart like an electric current.

“Then… can we paint the present?”
he asked gently.

Wen Yan looked up at him. There was a smile in her eyes, along with a hint of tears.
“Yes.”

In the days that followed, they began to try an ordinary life together.

Shen Che accompanied her to bookstores, and when she picked up her favorite poetry collection, his eyes lit up like a child’s.
Wen Yan would brew coffee for him in the afternoons, sometimes adding a little extra sugar just to see him frown and then laugh.
They wandered through narrow alleys together, browsing street stalls at the corners, their hands brushing unconsciously—trembling slightly, yet no longer pulling away.

Lin Yu had already faded from their lives, and Wen Yan no longer spoke of past pain.
But she understood in her heart that every breath, every smile, was stitching closed an old wound.

One night, Wen Yan lay in Shen Che’s arms, gazing at the sky.
The stars were bright, a light breeze brushing her face.

She spoke softly.
“Shen Che, do you know? I used to think I’d never love again.”

He tightened his grip on her hand.
“But you still did.”

“Yes.”
She smiled. “Only this time, loving you doesn’t scare me anymore.”

Shen Che lowered his head, resting his forehead gently against her hair.
“Me too.
I was afraid you’d get hurt, so I pushed you away back then.
Now I’ve learned how to wait for you—to let you come at your own pace.”

Wen Yan closed her eyes and buried her face against his shoulder.
In this moment, there were no misunderstandings, no distance—only real, living warmth.

From then on, their lives flowed on like a small river.

Every argument was just a minor ripple, no longer weighed down by accumulated pain.
Every complaint rested on a foundation of understanding.
Every time they met each other’s gaze, it was a silent promise—you are my home.

Shen Che learned to express love instead of suppressing it.
Wen Yan learned to trust love instead of doubting it.

They were like two birds who had once been wounded, finally finding their way back to the nest.