Chapter 1 – When Spring Comes Home (Part 2)

“Sometimes, time doesn’t change people.

It only makes the heartbeat softer when they finally meet again."

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The evening rain had almost stopped, leaving behind the thin smell of wet dust and lilac. From the narrow window of the Sang family’s apartment, the city lights looked blurred, like someone had breathed on the glass and forgotten to wipe it clean.

Sang Zhi stood near the door, still holding the strap of her shoulder bag. She hadn’t expected anyone else to be there tonight — only her brother, maybe their mother scolding him for not buying vegetables. The air should have felt like home, simple and ordinary.

But a voice from the living room froze her steps.

“You still make terrible tea, Sang Yan.”

It was a familiar voice — lower now, smoother, but still carrying that lazy amusement that used to echo down her childhood hallway. For a second she thought she had imagined it. Her hand trembled on the bag strap.

Duan Jiaxu.

He was sitting on the couch beside her brother, one arm resting loosely on the backrest. The lamplight touched the edge of his jaw, the faint shadow of a smile curving there. He looked older — not drastically, just steadier, as if time had drawn clearer lines of calm around him.

Sang Zhi’s heart thudded once, hard, like a knock from inside.

“Ah, look who’s here.” Sang Yan’s voice carried across the room, easy and unbothered. “Our scholar from the north finally came back.”

Jiaxu turned his head then, and their eyes met.

For three seconds, nothing moved.

The room, the lamplight, the tiny hiss of rain outside — everything seemed to fade under that quiet recognition.

“Zhi Zhi?” His voice dropped, warm but uncertain, as if tasting a name he hadn’t said in years.

Her throat felt dry. “Brother Xu.”

The title came out small, almost childish, and that made her blush instantly. She wanted to correct it — she was an adult now — but the sound had already settled between them, soft and stubborn like the past.

Sang Yan laughed. “Still calling him that? She’s in graduate school now, you know. You can drop the ‘brother’ if you want.”

“Shut up,” Sang Zhi muttered, her ears turning pink.

Jiaxu smiled. It wasn’t wide, just a tiny curve that reached his eyes. “It’s fine. Some habits shouldn’t change.”

He stood, setting the cup on the table. The motion was casual, but Sang Zhi noticed the faint hesitation before he stepped closer — as though even he wasn’t sure how much distance time had built.

“You’ve grown,” he said quietly. “I almost didn’t recognize you.”

“You look the same.” Her reply came quicker than she meant. “Maybe… calmer.”

He chuckled. “That sounds like I used to be trouble.”

“You were.”

That made Sang Yan snort from the couch. “Finally someone who tells the truth.”

Jiaxu threw him a patient look. “I remember who used to skip study sessions.”

The banter loosened the air. Sang Zhi let herself breathe again, though her pulse still raced. Every time Jiaxu’s gaze brushed hers, a small current ran through her — the kind of quiet spark that never makes noise but lights everything around it.

...Duan Jiaxu’s POV...

When Sang Zhi smiled shyly at something her brother said, Jiaxu realized how strange nostalgia could be. The last time he saw her, she was still in her school uniform, following Sang Yan around with bright curiosity. Now she stood there, composed but uncertain, her eyes still holding the same light he remembered from the old days.

He had promised himself not to think too much — this visit was casual, just catching up with an old friend. But seeing her now, the years folded in on themselves.

Sang Yan poured him another cup of tea. “You staying long?”

“Two weeks, maybe.”

“Work or running away from it?”

Jiaxu smiled faintly. “Both.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sang Zhi watching the rain through the window. Her reflection trembled on the glass, and for a heartbeat, he thought of how distance doesn’t always measure in kilometers — sometimes it hides in the way people look away before meeting your eyes.

He wanted to ask her how she’d been, what she’d studied, if she still collected postcards like before. But the words tangled somewhere in the calmness he had spent years building.

❄️

Later that night, after Jiaxu left, Sang Yan’s phone buzzed.

Yifan: Heard you were back in Nanchuan. Coffee sometime?

He stared at the screen for a long time, thumb hovering over the keyboard. The rain had started again, soft against the balcony glass.

Sang Yan: You still drink the same bitter stuff?

Yifan: Some habits shouldn’t change.

He smiled despite himself.

Wen Yifan was across town, finishing a late shift at the radio station. Her colleagues had already gone, leaving her alone with the quiet hum of equipment and the city murmuring beyond the glass. When Sang Yan’s reply appeared, she pressed a hand against the table and exhaled slowly.

Time had changed many things — her address, her routines, her confidence — but the name on her screen still had the same weight it used to.

Back in the Sang apartment, Sang Zhi stood on the balcony, holding a cup of warm water. The rain smelled like her teenage years — like unspoken words and the echo of laughter down the corridor.

Across the city, Duan Jiaxu drove through the wet streets, headlights sliding over puddles. On his phone, a new contact blinked: Sang Zhi — added by Sang Yan.

He smiled softly.

Maybe spring had come home again, just quieter this time.

...ΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩΩ...

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