**I sat by the library window,** notebook open, steaming lemon tea at my elbow.
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My phone buzzed.
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**[Lu Huai]:** *When are you free?*
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...Since when did this STEM robot learn to text?
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I’d pegged him as the *read-immediately-but-never-reply* type. This initiative was unsettling.
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**[Me]:** *Now?*
**[Lu Huai]:** *Library entrance.*
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I looked up. There he was beyond the glass doors—that familiar face, distant as a painting amidst the crowd and wind.
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He approached, tone frostier than my iced tea: *"Team meeting. Now or never?"*
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Me: *"..."*
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*I’m the hypocrite here*—I’d mocked him for *"ghosting texts,"* yet *I* was the one stalling?
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---
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We settled in the library’s deepest corner, shelves shielding us.
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Lu Huai cracked open a physics elective, pen scratching across blank pages. I drafted our proposal, keyboard clattering.
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Silence. Only the whisper of pen on paper and my relentless typing.
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Ten minutes in, I yawned, gulping tea: *"Must you overachieve *here*?"*
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He didn’t glance up. *"Or you’ll draft alone while I loaf?"*
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*"Loaf away. You’re *naturally* gifted at it."*
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*"...Does your novel’s male lead talk like this?"*
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His pen halted. The question drifted past like a breeze.
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My fingers froze.
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*"...What novel?"* I feigned innocence.
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Still not looking at me, he flipped a page. *"Bottom-left of your desktop. A doc titled *‘Ch.16: Male Lead Stands Outside All Night’*."*
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I slammed my laptop shut, coughing. *"Since when do you *snoop*?"*
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Finally, he met my gaze. His amusement glimmered like post-rain puddles—clear, unreadable.
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*"Just noting,"* he said, *"your prose outshines your banter."*
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Me: *"..."*
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*Thanks, Lu Huai. Even my fictional characters can’t retort to that.*
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Worse—he resumed writing, utterly unbothered, as if he’d merely commented on the weather.
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I *tsk*ed, vowing silence... until he spoke again:
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*"That *‘li’* account. A friend?"*
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*"...You know them?"*
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*"No."* A pause. *"But you *stare* at their comments post-update."*
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My lips parted. *How* to explain?
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True—after each chapter, I’d scroll straight to *li*’s eerily perceptive remarks.
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Yet I *never* replied.
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---
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10 PM. I updated as usual.
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This chapter: Lu Huai’s character helps the female lead organize files—terse as ever, yet meticulous.
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Mid-draft, I hesitated... then added: *"He’d known all along she hated noise."*
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Posted. I refreshed the comments.
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**[li]:**
*"Guilty conscience *finally* cracking you open?"*
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Me: *"..."*
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*I’m *begging*—who *is* this person?! They *get* me better than I do.*
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I hovered over the reply box for ten seconds... and chickened out.
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Wind whispered past my ear. If my novel’s male lead materialized now—
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He’d look *exactly* like Lu Huai.
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