Even so, Wen Quan didn’t agree. She said she had no time, voice flat as a still pond under a gray sky.

“Also, didn’t you ask me to go to the amusement park before? Don’t tell me you forgot.” Her face stayed unreadable, like a porcelain mask with no ripples.

“Eh?” Nana Toki blinked, a stray sparrow startled from a branch, then frowned. Had she really said that?

Wait… she had. She’d tossed it out just to tease, a pebble skimming a lake, and hadn’t kept it in mind. Not that she didn’t want to go; on the contrary—Nana craved more alone time with Wen, like a cat hunting a sunbeam.

She just hadn’t expected Wen to remember so clearly, when Wen’s favor meter for her wasn’t even at fifty, a thermometer stuck below warm.

Wen said nothing, silence like a closed door with no knocker.

“Looks like you forgot, Nana.” Wen’s tone didn’t shift, but Nana caught stiffness in the tiny motions, a reed bent awkwardly in wind.

So she’s disappointed? Of course—an appointment etched on stone, and I’m the one who let the ink wash away.

“Uh… Wen?” Nana tried to explain in class, heart knocking like a trapped moth before the words could fly. Wen went mute like Nesting Phoenix—once she’s mad, she shuts the gate, and no one gets through.

Nana threw every trick she had, smiles and notes like paper boats, yet Wen didn’t spare her a glance, eyes fixed on the blackboard like a night lake.

Nana’s mind went blank, a chalkboard wiped clean. Damn it—The unattainable always stirs; the favored walk without fear. Why does this idiot only smell like Nesting Phoenix when she’s mad?

“I was wrong, okay? Wen, be the bigger person and forgive me this once.” Nana put on a shameless grin, a fox baring harmless teeth, but Wen didn’t even flick her eyes, gaze steady as a held breath.

Great. Mood crashed like a kite with cut string.

Nana figured if she let it sit, the storm would pass, clouds thinning on their own. Yet the entire morning drifted by, and Wen never drifted her way, not even when Nana slipped out with a flimsy excuse.

If she hadn’t checked Wen’s feelings hadn’t dipped, she’d have thought she’d been blocked from Wen’s heart like a number muted on a phone.

“Hey! Wen!”

Lunch bell rang like a bell buoy on a noon tide. Nana rushed to soothe her little household god, words ready as warm buns, but Wen stood first and left, back straight as a blade.

Come on, no need to be that ruthless. Watching that cold back vanish, Nana stood there questioning life, then bit down and chased, a hound on a clean scent.

You made this mess; you kneel and fix it. Why did I have to tease Wen for no reason?

She chased from hallway to field, breath a thin thread, until the campus lake opened like a mirror. Wen sat alone on a bench, eyes on the water, breeze lifting a few black strands like ink brushed by wind. Nana felt she’d changed, subtle as spring light shifting—hard to name, but clear as dawn: her wife looked even better.

“Wen, all by yourself?” From a distance, Nana didn’t feel awkward; she walked over natural as a river finding a bend, stubborn when she chose a path.

At the familiar voice, Wen’s shoulders gave a small tremor, a leaf shiver you almost miss. She hadn’t thought Nana would catch up so fast.

Her head was a muddle, paste thick as congee.

Wen didn’t answer, just looked at Nana once, eyes like the lake ahead, surface ruffled by a far wind, hiding deeper currents.

Nana drew breath to speak. Wen stood to leave, steps light as a heron.

Not this time. Nana moved, a quick vault like a cat over a low wall, and in a heartbeat she was in front of Wen and caught her wrist, warm as a live coal.

They locked eyes. Wen felt the world tilt, a brief vertigo by a cliff. The girl before her had pupils black as inkstone; sunlight gave her skin a dark-gem sheen. She was beautiful, no doubt, but there was a shadowed undertow to her, an abyss that invited and warned—one misstep and you’d fall forever.

Familiar, and yet strange, like a scent from a dream.

“What do you want?” Wen’s voice came hoarse, a winter reed; not talking all morning had iced her tone.

Nana smiled, eyes crescent, a moon bending low. “Nothing much. Lunch with me. Be mad at me if you want, but at least feed that stomach.”

“I’m not hungry.” Wen shot back fast, then flinched, adding quick as a startled fish, “And I’m not mad at you.”

What right did she have to be mad? Their bond wasn’t yet what she wished it was; anger would be a cloak she hadn’t earned.

Still, the sadness had risen out of nowhere and melted away like fog.

“Then as desk-mates, lend me your company for lunch, Wen?” Nana leaned in, still holding her wrist, voice soft as silk. “Consider it… desk-mate diplomacy.”

Wen studied Nana for a long breath, thoughts like carp circling unseen. At last, she let out a single word: “Okay.”

Nana didn’t know if she’d smoothed her kitten’s fur, but at least Wen was talking—small victory, a candle lit in dusk.

“Then let’s beat the bell and handle lunch now.” Nana tugged her gently toward the academic building, footsteps a brisk duet.

“Eh?” The dining hall wasn’t in there. The building even banned breakfast—how were they eating lunch?

Dragged into the chemistry lab, Wen opened her mouth to ask if Nana was lost, but the words died. Right there, placed like a shrine, sat a rice cooker.

Wait…

A rice cooker?

Wen wondered if her eyes were playing tricks, heat haze over asphalt. Why was there a rice cooker in a chemistry lab?

“Ah… I set it up during my bathroom break earlier.” Nana lifted the lid, steam blooming like a warm cloud, rice gleaming like pearls, and said it like weather talk.

What colossal nerve, Wen thought, thunder without rain.

If the dean caught this, they’d be scolded to ash. Maybe even expelled, a letter like a guillotine.

“Right—are you picky about food?” Nana, already tinkering at another bench, raised her head, words casual as a flicked fan.

Wen didn’t follow but answered honestly, truth slipping out like water finding a crack. “As long as it isn’t seafood… I’m fine.”

“Oh! Perfect.” As if she’d expected that, Nana popped up from under a lab table with a portable gas stove and a big pot, conjured from her hidden stash.

Huh?

Wait—did the weird just level up again?

Wen stared at the rice cooker, more lost by the breath. How did these kitchen things sprout in a chemistry room like mushrooms after rain?

While Wen’s mind spun for a dozen seconds, Nana hauled up a small parade of hot pot ingredients, the kind you’d see at any street-side place when steam fogs the windows.

Fire sparked, flame caught, base went in—chili and oil bloomed like a red sunset. The flow of Nana’s motions screamed habitual sin.

Wen was stunned into silence, a bell with the clapper stolen.

From that rooftop pool not long ago, to a hot pot in the chem lab now—how many more surprises (or heart attacks) would this woman gift her?

“What? Nothing you like?” With meats and greens rolling in the boil, Nana noticed Wen hadn’t moved her chopsticks and worried she’d missed her favorites.

“No worries. I bought a bunch outside. Check what you want.” She dragged out a portable fridge from under the lab table like a magician yanking a rabbit.

Wen blinked. “This…”

“That was also my bathroom-break shopping trip.” Nana gestured at the meats and veg, grin bright as a street lantern.

How much did you buy out there, you menace?

“But why hot pot?” Wen eyed the burner and big pot, a tiny doubt bubbling. If I’d said stir-fry, would she have whipped out a wok too?

“Because you like spicy, right?” Nana spoke around her chopsticks, words warm and muffled, like a cat talking with a fish in its mouth.

Long ago, she’d mapped Nesting Phoenix’s palate. If she didn’t like seafood, then spice would sing for her, a drumbeat under the tongue.

“But… how would you know?” Wen hadn’t shown any love for spice before; her habits were a quiet stream.

Nana didn’t answer at once. She watched the boil, bubbles rising like little ghosts, then said, drifting, “Because… you don’t like seafood.”

“Eh?” What kind of logic was that?

If someone dislikes seafood, do they all love spice?

“Anyway, table that. If we don’t hurry, lunch break will evaporate.” Nana pointed at the clock on the wall, eyes sly as a fox in tall grass. “Wanna skip one class and enjoy this properly?”

Wen looked at her, steam painting their faces with a soft glow, and the room felt like a little world stolen from noon.