Next day She entered the building just as more students began to flood the hallways. The noise rose steadily shoes squeaking on tiled floors, lockers slamming, greetings shouted over heads. The usual chaos. But somehow, today, it didn't feel so overwhelming.
Maybe because someone had seen her in the quiet before the noise.
Yue Xi made her way to her locker, methodically spinning the dial. The clatter of books inside reminded her of the day she first arrived numb, distant, like a ghost trying to pass unnoticed. But today, she didn't lower her gaze. When a group of girls passed by laughing, she didn't flinch.
Inside the classroom, the usual seating chaos had resumed. Mr. Han hadn't arrived yet, and students took their time settling. Wang Meilin sat with her usual group, already whispering something behind cupped hands. Yue Xi caught her name.
She turned away and took her seat without a word.
Yichen slid into the desk beside hers, his jacket halfway falling off one shoulder. "Morning," he said with an easy smile.
"Morning," she returned, softer.
He leaned closer, voice low. "Everyone's still buzzing about yesterday. You kind of shut Meilin up."
"I didn't mean to." She fiddled with her pen cap.
"Maybe not," he said, "but it was satisfying."
Before she could respond, Mr. Han entered, clapping his hands. "Alright, settle down. We're back to regular class mode today, so notebooks out, heads up."
As the lesson began, Yue Xi turned to her notes, but her thoughts wandered.
She could still feel the weight of Chen Yu's gaze earlier the quiet calm of his presence. He didn't ask questions. He didn't offer pity. He just… stayed.
She didn't know what it meant yet. Or what it would become.
But something about it felt like the beginning of a new chapter. Not just in school, but in herself.
Maybe people weren't always meant to fix each other. Maybe sometimes, they were just meant to show up and stay long enough for healing to begin.
And in that quiet place, between silence and sound, something inside Yue Xi was starting to unfold.
The day passed in a blur of lectures and scribbled notes. By the time lunch came around, Yue Xi hesitated at her desk. Yichen had gone off with some friends from his science club, and she found herself alone again. But the loneliness didn't press in quite so tightly this time.
Still, she didn't feel like sitting under the tree.
Instead, she wandered the halls, her bento box tucked under her arm. The building was quieter during lunch a low hum of conversation echoing through empty corridors. Her feet brought her to the third floor before she realized where she was heading.
The Literature Club room.
She paused at the door.
It wasn't club hours. She didn't expect anyone to be there. But something inside her needed the stillness that room had given her last time.
She pushed the door open.
It creaked softly, and sunlight streamed in through the tall windows, falling across the bookshelves and worn carpet. The room smelled faintly of paper and dust and something comforting.
And then she saw him.
Chen Yu was seated by the far window, a book in his hand, legs stretched out lazily under the desk. He didn't look up right away.
"You're starting to make this a habit," he said without glancing up.
Yue Xi blinked, caught off guard. "I didn't know you'd be here."
"I figured," he replied, finally lifting his gaze. "But you came anyway."
She stepped inside slowly, her footsteps quiet. "Can I stay?"
He nodded once, then went back to his book.
Yue Xi settled into a chair across from him, placing her bento on the table but not opening it. The silence between them was companionable. Not demanding. Not awkward.
"You don't eat much," he said after a while.
"I forget to, sometimes."
Chen Yu's eyes flicked toward her. "That's not healthy."
She didn't answer. He didn't press.
A few minutes passed. The sunlight shifted, casting patterns of light across the dusty floorboards.
"Why here?" she asked finally.
He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"
"Why this club? You don't seem like someone who'd join just for books."
He smirked faintly. "Maybe I like the quiet. Or maybe I just got tired of people pretending to care about things they don't understand."
That made her look at him. Really look. "That sounds lonely."
Chen Yu's gaze met hers. "Sometimes, silence is safer."
The words echoed something inside her. Something old and buried.
Yue Xi looked away, her throat tightening. "I used to think that too."
He didn't ask what changed. He didn't have to.
He just closed his book, slid it aside, and said, "Eat. You'll think better on a full stomach."
She smiled faintly and opened her bento.
They sat like that for a while longer eating, not talking, but still understood.
And for Yue Xi, the silence didn't feel like retreat.
The lunch period ended too soon.
The bell rang through the halls, sharp and sudden, snapping students out of their hushed conversations and sleepy solitude. Yue Xi glanced at the clock reluctantly, then began packing up the barely touched contents of her lunch.
Chen Yu stood at the same time, stretching his arms above his head with a soft grunt. "Back to the noise," he muttered.
She nodded, brushing crumbs from her lap. "Thanks… for letting me stay."
"You don't need permission," he said, slinging his bag over one shoulder. "It's not my space. Just a quiet one."
Yue Xi followed him to the door, her steps slower. But before they stepped into the hallway, he paused.
He looked at her, almost casually, but there was a weight in his gaze. "You ever think about writing something?"
She blinked. "Writing?"
He nodded. "Not just reading. You've got thoughts sharp ones. The kind that don't always come out loud."
"I…" She faltered. "Used to write. A little. I stopped."
"Why?"
She hesitated. "It felt pointless. Like shouting into a void no one listens to."
Chen Yu gave a thoughtful hum, then pushed the door open. "Maybe the point isn't to be heard by everyone. Just someone who understands."
The words lingered with her all through afternoon classes. Her notebook lay open, half-covered in math equations, but her pen drifted elsewhere. Tiny words filled the margin snippets of thought, quiet sentences, images that came and left just as fast.
After the final bell, students flooded out the doors, laughter rising like smoke into the warm afternoon. Yue Xi lingered by her locker, not rushing. Her fingers ran along the spine of one of her books, but her mind was elsewhere.
She walked home slower than usual.
The streets were familiar too familiar. Rows of small convenience stores, bikes clattering down side alleys, the faint smell of fresh bread from the bakery at the corner. The city moved around her, loud and alive, but Yue Xi walked through it like a pocket of stillness.
When she reached her apartment, she didn't go straight inside.
Instead, she climbed the stairs to the rooftop.
It was something she hadn't done in weeks not since the night she'd cried alone under the stars and promised herself she wouldn't hope again.
But this time, it was different.
She sat near the edge, legs pulled to her chest, the breeze tugging at her hair. Her notebook was open on her lap, a pen held loosely in one hand.
For a moment, nothing.
Then… the pen moved.
Not fast. Not confident. But real.
She wrote a single line:
"Sometimes, the quiet saves you before the noise does."
The wind carried the words away, but on paper, they remained.
She wrote more.
It wasn't polished or poetic. But it was hers.
And for the first time in a long time, the silence inside her didn't ache.
It listened.