They avoid each other after that night more than ever before. Thankfully, Nayeon and Jeongyeon hit it off so well that Nayeon never again asks Tzuyu to back her up on another double date, and Tzuyu is spared from possibly having to sit through another awkward dinner with Sana, or anyone else for that matter. She thinks she might be scarred.

But the fear of running into Sana and maybe (god forbid) having to face her doesn’t prevent Tzuyu from looking for the girl from a distance. Everywhere she goes, her eyes circle the rooms and peek through the tiny windows on closed doors, straining for even the slightest glimpse of golden brown hair. She tells herself that all this searching is merely so she can avoid Sana when she sees her.

She only ever sees the other girl once more, on the day of Sana’s graduation. Tzuyu walks by and extends her silent congratulations and then slips away, unnoticed. She is relieved at the thought of finally being able to let Sana go.

--

But Tzuyu is doomed to fall again and again. Her wish has somewhat come true: their fates are so intricately involved that she cannot seem to extricate herself from Sana.

One reason for this is that after Tzuyu's own graduation, they now work at the same company. In the two or so years following Tzuyu’s first day at TD Entertainment, she’s worked tirelessly to hoist herself up to a manager position, and along with her promotion, she receives a shiny new name badge and a brand new desk.

Her new desk turns out to be the main reason why she finds herself back in Minatozaki Sana’s life for the first time since their college years. In a company as large as TD Entertainment, it’s normally fairly easy to avoid any colleagues that she doesn't really get along with. This is not the case, however, when she happens to sit directly facing the very person she is trying to avoid.

For some reason, upper management has decided that Tzuyu’s brand new desk absolutely needs to be right across from Sana’s, affording her an uninterrupted view of a woman who still occasionally invades her dreams--and with this new placement, her days as well--much to her chagrin. One of these days, Tzuyu grumbles to herself, she’ll get around to moving her computer monitor to just the right spot and placing it at just the right angle so that it blocks her view of the marketing manager. For now, however, Tzuyu desperately tries to ignore the fact that even while her head is turned away to face her screen, Sana is always there in her periphery. 

Sana, for her part, has done a stellar job at pretending that she and Tzuyu do not know each other. Aside from the shared initial surprise of walking into the office and seeing an old ex-girlfriend sitting nearby, the two of them have masked their relationship and their past perfectly, keeping their interactions both cordial and polite, but still holding each other at an arm’s length.

Maybe when she was younger, Tzuyu would have delighted in being able to sit next to Sana. She recalls the very first class that they had taken together back in university--that one gen ed comparative literature class that they had chosen just so that they would be able to see each other in their lectures as well.  On occasion, the professor would section the students off into smaller circles for discussion, and whenever the two of them happened to be in the same group, Tzuyu would struggle to hide her joy at being with Sana through a poorly concealed smile, the corners of twitching up. She thinks about the way the older girl used to slide her hand over to Tzuyu’s  underneath the cover of their desks, gently lacing their fingers together, Sana’s thumb tracing a heart at the base of Tzuyu’s knuckles. She tries not to think about the way her heart used to tighten whenever she glanced over at Sana, who always had a smile dancing upon her lips in a way that told Tzuyu that she, too, was thinking of their joined hands.

But the seasons are no longer what they once were, and it is in the nature of things to only be seen once. When Tzuyu looks over at Sana now, she no longer sees that playful smile. In its place, there is a furrowing of the brow that Tzuyu knows to mean that Sana is frustrated, or a focused stare of concentration that reveals that she is watching K-pop dance compilations instead of actually doing her work. Sometimes, there’s even the firm line of her lips pressed together in irritation that tells Tzuyu that she and Momo, an assistant manager who sits behind Tzuyu, are arguing over what to eat for lunch today. 

These are things that you only find out when you stare at someone for an excessively long time, Tzuyu admits to herself begrudgingly. But she flings the thought away and shuffles some papers around aimlessly on her desk, determined not to think about the implications of this fact. 

--

Against her better judgement, there are still times when Tzuyu finds herself yearning to speak to Sana, to break down this wall of professionality that they have erected between them, but every time she approaches the older woman, Sana adopts a guarded expression that acts as a reality check, warning Tzuyu not to cross the line she has drawn. For an imaginary line, it does an awfully good job as separation, Tzuyu thinks to herself woefully.

--

There ends up being only so much gawking that Tzuyu can pull off without being caught, and after a particularly close encounter where Tzuyu just barely manages to rip her gaze away right before Sana’s eyes flit across her way, she finally decides to make the move and reposition her monitor, adding another layer of fortification to the wall between them. In the first couple of weeks after implementing this change, Tzuyu finds that she has yet to correct her old habit of angling her head slightly to the right in order to get a better view of Sana out of the corner of her eye. Only now, she is greeted by the smiling face of the LG logo on her monitor, mocking her. She scornfully sticks a neon yellow post-it note over it. The note is ugly and clashes with the color scheme that she has so carefully curated in her cubicle, but she doesn’t care. She can’t be looking wistfully at Sana all day. She simply can’t.

Tzuyu throws herself into her work, determined that this time, at last, she will finally--finally--get over Sana for good. She avoids the other woman almost religiously, goes out of her way to meet new people, and even considers buying a neck brace to prevent herself from looking in a certain direction. Eventually, her hard work pays off and she is pleasantly surprised to see that she has broken her habit, relishing the moment when she peels off the faded, now months-old post-it note and crumples it, tossing it in the trash. She no longer tries to talk to Sana outside of what is absolutely necessary for their jobs, and Sana in turn is starting to be less cautious around her. They have settled into an unspoken agreement to not bring up the past. 

One time, as Tzuyu is clocking out for the day, she casually announces a goodbye to her officemates and sees Sana swivel around in her chair to respond, sporting an indecipherable look on her face. Tzuyu is both perplexed and relieved when it occurs to her that she has no clue what this new expression means.

But just when she thinks that she has finally been able to move on, she notices that Sana seems to arrive at the same conclusion, and Tzuyu is into an inner turmoil about how even now, she can still read Tzuyu like an open book, and even more so about how Tzuyu is secretly happy about it. Over these past few months, as Tzuyu has slowly attempted to distance herself from Sana, Sana has slowly warmed up to her, no longer threatened by the weight of Tzuyu's feelings, and Tzuyu doesn’t have it in her to push herself further away--not after years of longing--so she welcomes Sana with open arms. They find themselves right back in that fragile state of friendship that had previously only existed for a single night with Nayeon and Jeongyeon. She wishes she could laugh at the irony.

They are able to talk casually with each other now--about the weather, about Momo’s new dog, about pretty much anything surface level, and Tzuyu thinks it's a testament to how far they’ve come. In which direction, she won’t say, but it's certainly a step up from merely skirting around each other like they used to. And just like before, Tzuyu is tasked with preserving this shallow friendship, hinged only upon her feelings, or lack thereof. 

But Tzuyu is doomed to fall again, and again, and again. The moment Sana graces her with a genuine smile for the first time in years, she feels the gentle blossoming in her chest, hears the dull beating of her heart quickening, senses the sunken desire finally coming back up for air, and she knows. 

This time around, however, she has learned her lesson. She swallows these feelings and locks them up, privy to no one but herself. The only indication that anything has changed at all is the hollow thudding of her heart in her ears.

--

It turns out to be unexpectedly easy to hide her growing feelings from Sana. At first, Tzuyu worries that even the slightest slip up on her part might just lead to the collapse of their brittle relationship, but after weeks of tiptoeing around on eggshells, she is surprised to find that Sana shows no signs of pulling away. In fact, Sana is closer than ever, almost within reach of Tzuyu’s unsure hands. 

She can’t quite displace the anxiety that has rooted itself in the pit of her stomach, fearing that any moment now, Sana will notice that something is off, that Tzuyu has yet again broken their silent pact, the keystone on which their friendship rests upon. Sana has always been able to read her, her hazel brown eyes piercing through to Tzuyu’s soul in omniscient understanding, but strangely enough, she hasn’t seemed to notice anything this time.

It is only during a later occasion, when Tzuyu is striding down the hallway, coffee in one hand, phone in the other as she thumbs over the screen, that she figures out why. Her eyebrows are knitted as she concentrates on reading an email, and she rounds the corner only to look up too late and bumps into Sana, who collides into her chest. Thankfully, the impact is small and her coffee doesn’t spill, but she still reaches her arm out to steady the woman before her.

Sana makes a noise of surprise. “Oh! Sorry about that, Tzuyu.”

Tzuyu shakes her head. “It was my fault. Wasn’t watching where I was going, sorry.”

“It’s okay, no one was hurt,” Sana giggles lightly, and straightens up to look at her. She reaches up to brush back a stray ribbon of hair that sticks out next to Tzuyu’s ear, and Tzuyu bites her cheek at the searing sensation where Sana’s fingers ghost over her skin. “I hadn’t realized you’d gotten so tall,” she murmurs softly. 

Her words hit Tzuyu like a punch to the gut, compelling her to look down at their feet. Even with Sana wearing heels, Tzuyu still towers a good few inches above her. Their difference is an attestation to the years gone by, and it unnerves Tzuyu to see that she is no longer the same person that Sana once knew. 

It’s more than just her height, of course, and more than just the hollowing of her cheeks or the sharpening of her jaw. She is older, more mature, and she no longer carries the weight and melancholy of her first love clinging to her frame. It occurs to her that it was probably her overbearing clinginess that drove Sana away in the first place. Tzuyu had been needier back then, still not entirely used to living in Korea, and relied too heavily on Sana for support when Sana herself was only a college student trying to hold her own, inevitably cracking beneath the pressure. She cringes as she remembers herself, younger and more childish, oozing desperation and love and loneliness, pleading with Sana outside a diner. No wonder she had left.     

But more importantly, there is the independence that Tzuyu has grown into--the independence that she had first been forced into by Sana’s leaving--and the confidence that she carries around, the ability to stand on her own, as equals. This is the Tzuyu that Sana sees now--a grown up Tzuyu.

But change does not come at an easy cost, and this is something Tzuyu has always known to be true. It has taken the battering and breaking of her heart, splintering into so many shards that she still has yet to finish picking all of them back up. It takes the slicing and pricking of her fingers on jagged edges as she tries to piece herself back together.  

It takes growing pains, she knows, to change into someone better.

--

Something shifts. Infrequent watercooler run-ins turn into occasional lunch invites, usually Tzuyu tagging along with Sana and Momo, and then they turn into a daily ritual, Sana’s invitation now implicit. It reminds her of when they were still in college, shyly navigating the waters of early friendship, before Tzuyu had unknowingly become an imposition.

They fall into an easy rhythm. Sometimes Tzuyu makes coffee for the both of them in the mornings, always stalling for a few extra seconds as she gently places a steaming mug onto the hamster coaster on Sana’s desk. In return, Sana will make them each an afternoon cup of instant ramen from the cupboard of complimentary snacks in the common space. She never quite stays as long as Tzuyu would like her to when she delivers the noodles, but the scent of her shampoo or perfume always idles for moments longer, before the spiciness of the ramen overtakes it, stinging Tzuyu’s nose.

They wave at each other from across the office, share eye rolls and knowing smiles during boring meetings, and with each additional sunny smile directed at her, Tzuyu feels herself falling more and more.

But that’s not all. Something else is changing. At some point, Tzuyu has started to feel that these lunch runs have turned into Momo tagging along with Sana and Tzuyu. She finds that she has become the office’s go-to person to ask for Sana’s whereabouts when the brunette is missing. She is secretly happy to note that she no longer needs to scrape and rummage for excuses just to talk to Sana; they talk everyday, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if there weren’t seven billion other people on the planet that Sana could be talking to. But she chooses to talk to Tzuyu. 

There is something between them, Tzuyu senses. She sees it in the way that Sana’s eyes are always the first to find hers after anyone cracks a joke, watching to see if Tzuyu is laughing. She feels it in the subtle brushes of their fingertips against each other as they pass mugs of coffee and cups of noodles, or in the way that Sana’s hand lingers after she squeezes Tzuyu’s arm. She hears it when Sana makes an offhand remark about Tzuyu’s little habit of playing with her bottom lip when she’s focused--Tzuyu doesn’t even do it that often--but it’s something that you only learn when you observe her for an abnormally long time, and not even her best friend Chaeyoung has pointed it out. Tzuyu struggles not to think about what this possibly means, struggles not to lose herself to hope. She’s been burned before, and she’s too hurt to let herself entertain the thought that maybe, just maybe, Sana might like her too. She’s not ready to leave herself vulnerable again. Not yet. 

Their daily lunch runs start to carry over to their days off, and with them, Tzuyu’s feelings bleed into every part of her life, painting her days in vibrant color. They regularly meet up on the weekends, for late night dinners, for Sunday morning brunches, and Tzuyu is unsettled by how normal everything seems. Her anxiety comes back in full force, and she finds herself agonizing over the break looming overhead, when Sana finally decides that she and Tzuyu have become too much, when things inevitably fall apart. A year ago, she wouldn’t have been able to imagine herself in this position, but here she is, sitting across from Sana at some udon restaurant. But this is normal, this is fine, Tzuyu tells herself. She chants it like a mantra. They are still squarely within the realm of platonic friendship, and what else do friends do, if not hang out together on the weekends?

But things start to blur, and the invisible line that Sana had drawn to separate them starts to get fuzzy too. It had already been thinning and fading over the past few months, and Tzuyu has been eyeing it steadily, silently pleased to see the progress in their friendship. But Tzuyu’s not sure that it's really friendship anymore. Their time togethers turns mundane and ordinary, beyond the scope of just friends--trips to the supermarket together, calling each other every night before bed, lounging around Tzuyu’s apartment all day. 

Her apartment. It’s mostly the same, with the exception of some accumulated clutter: new clothes, a second hand ottoman, a few succulents dotting her window sills. But Sana’s space is still there. There is still a spot at the doorway for her shoes, still a gap in the cupboard for her mug, still a rack of empty hangers for her clothes, all waiting patiently for her return. The other woman fits perfectly into Tzuyu’s home, as if she never left.

--

It’s one of those nights where Sana has plans with people other than Tzuyu (recently, those nights have been rare), but Tzuyu’s feet still lead her to their usual restaurant. The elderly lady at the counter smiles kindly when she sees Tzuyu enter, the bell on the door jingling to announce her presence, and asks, “Not with your girlfriend tonight?”

Tzuyu blanches. “O-oh no, she’s not my girlfriend,” she stammers. “We’re just friends. She had something else tonight.”

The woman at the counter clamps a hand to , embarrassed. “Oh! I’m so sorry. I just assumed since you guys were always together.” 

Tzuyu smiles in understanding, and the two of them share another awkward laugh before she places an order and finds herself a seat. The woman busies herself with welcoming another party that’s just arrived, leaving Tzuyu alone with her thoughts. 

For lack of a better way to put it, she supposes, Sana and her are basically functionally dating. Neither of them are willing to give it a proper label, but the whole thing feels suspiciously similar to the period of time that they actually dated during college. As she sips at the broth of her noodle soup, Tzuyu convinces herself that she is content. She may not have Sana’s love, but time-wise and proximity-wise, Sana is still hers.

(She can’t erase the tiny voice in her head that adds, “For now.”)

--

They have just watched a movie, strolling out of a theater in the midst of a small throng of other moviegoers, a superhero flick that Sana had excitedly presented tickets to last Friday at work. The theater is a little far from Sana's apartment, and it's getting late, so after a few minutes of walking in the chilly night air, Tzuyu suggests that Sana take an Uber home. Sana fiddles around with her phone for a bit, nails tapping on the screen as she tries to pinpoint the exact pickup location, before they walk a few more feet to the end of the block and settle down to wait, Tzuyu stomping her feet to keep herself warm.

They have a few minutes before the driver is due to arrive, and Tzuyu takes a couple seconds to look around, stomach dropping as she realizes the neighborhood they are in. They are at the same corner at which Tzuyu had grabbed Sana’s wrist so many years ago, almost begging her not to go. The other woman remains blissfully unaware, still staring down at her phone tracking the Uber driver’s location, and Tzuyu quickly decides not to bring it up, racking her brains for a diversion topic.

Maybe it’s the cold making her sluggish, but she doesn’t move fast enough, and before she can say a word, Sana’s head pops up and she pipes, “Hey, haven’t we been here before? It looks so familiar.”

Tzuyu feels moving without permission as she reluctantly replies, “This is where Nayeon and Jeongyeon had their double date with us.”

Sana’s eyes light up with recognition. “Oh yeah, I heard they’re still together! I remember making things super awkward, but good thing you were there!”

Tzuyu’s heart lurches at the thought of Sana being glad that Tzuyu had been there that night. She’d always figured that the older woman would prefer it if that night had never happened. “I was a pretty good wingwoman, wasn’t I?”

“Yeah,” Sana slaps her shoulder playfully. “Nayeon wanted to go for drinks afterward, but you gave some excuse to not go so that they could have some time alone. They were so cute, trying to be all subtle like that! And--” Then her face morphs into a frown, and Tzuyu can see the transformation in slow motion, can tell that Sana is recalling exactly what happened after she rejected Nayeon’s invitation. A pregnant pause. Then, “Oh.”

Oh.

She thinks her heart might flatline. Sana is looking at her with a mixture of apprehension and guilt. She has never explicitly apologized for that night, and Tzuyu doesn’t think she needs to, but the words hang heavy in the air anyway. “Sana--”

She watches as the other woman tries to sneak a glance down at her phone, eyes clearly searching to see how much longer it will take the driver to come, and Tzuyu feels herself panic, because she knows exactly how things are going to turn out if she finishes her sentence. 

But she has to say it anyway.

It’s time to bring an end to whatever they have going on, to restless nights spent wondering if Sana feels anything for her at all, to years of hurting and pain and the need for closure.

“Do you,” she tries, wetting her lips to let the words slip out more easily. “Do you ever think about that night?” She asks hoarsely. “I think about it. I think about you.” She swallows thickly. “A lot.”

“Tzuyu.” Sana warns. She is desperate, for a reason opposite to hers. Tzuyu recoils instantly.

“Sorry, I just--” She is cut off by the sound of the Uber driver pulling up to the curb, honking his horn to catch their attention.

“I need to go.” Sana bites her lip as she turns to nod at the driver in acknowledgement, and Tzuyu wants to sob at the relief evident on the older woman’s face.

“Wait, Sana--” But it is too little, too late. She has crossed the line. Sana shakes her head and ducks into the car, retreating into darkness as the shadow of the car roof hides the upper half of her face. “Good night, Tzuyu,” she says. Tzuyu can barely make out the movement of her lips. 

And then she is gone, leaving Tzuyu alone in the quiet night, with nothing but the sound of her breaking heart.

--

Tzuyu doesn't know how long she’s stood there for. Her toes and fingers are starting to numb, and she’s garnered a few curious stares from passersby, but the only thing on her mind is the same scene as she replays it in her head over and over again in disjoint segments, searching for a happy moment to hide in--Sana leaving, stepping into the car. Rewind. They are walking out of the movie theater, cheerful after a good night. They are waiting together. Tzuyu sees Sana’s eyes widen when she says something. Rewind. Sana laughing about Nayeon and Jeongyeon, slapping her shoulder lightly. Rewind.

She scowls into the night, scoffing at the irony of this cruel, cruel universe. The same exact conversation on the same exact corner, ending the same exact way--with Tzuyu watching as Sana leaves yet again. tastes so bitter she thinks she might puke.

But there is one small solace, Tzuyu confesses to herself as she forces her feet, heavy in her boots, to start moving again. There is one difference between tonight and that night, and Tzuyu whispers it to herself like a secret wish that won’t come true if spoken aloud.

Sana had said good night. 

It lacks the sternness and the finality of its counterpart, goodbye, and hints at the possibility of reunion, at one more chance. Tzuyu comforts herself with this tiny fragment of hope as she trudges back home, tears streaming down to thaw her frozen cheeks.

The wind whips around her, thrashing around all her hopes and dreams. It whistles in her ears a tiny secret, one that she clutches tightly to her chest. 

She knows. In due time, Sana will return.