Chacha’s voice carried a faint trace of loneliness and desolation.

It came from her eyes as she spoke—a hollow, empty gaze, as if nothing mattered. She rambled on, truly treating Lin An as a listener.

“My father wasn’t a good man.”

“He drank, gambled, chased women. After he got rich, he grew especially contemptuous of my mother. But Mom… she couldn’t stay quiet. Every night, she’d try to persuade him to drink less after he stumbled home drunk.”

“What she got in return was beatings. He didn’t like me either. When I was little, I’d cry watching him hit her—and he’d hit me too.”

Chacha spoke flatly, as if recounting a distant story.

“This lasted from childhood until I was eleven or twelve. He died—alcohol poisoning. I lived with Mom afterward.”

“Mom was soft-hearted but kind to me. She took over the family business, hoping to secure my future. As I grew beside her, she grew busier.”

“Maybe because of that, I developed a deep aversion to men—even physical nausea. I worked hard to overcome it. Eventually, talking to men didn’t make me sick anymore.”

“Especially older men… normal conversation felt impossible.”

Chacha lit a cigarette. The bar allowed smoking. She glanced at Lin An, offering one. He shook his head.

“You quit?”

“How’d you know?” Lin An blinked.

“Guess.” Chacha smiled mysteriously, then murmured on. “Life went on. I grew up unable to like boys, but drawn deeply to girls. A few years ago, there was someone I really liked—Su Yuejin.”

“In middle school, we were classmates, even desk mates. We chatted—among each other’s few friends. Then I realized I liked her. I wanted to possess her completely. Keep her by my side, kind only to me. That feeling twisted… until Su Yuejin feared me. Hated me.”

“By third year, our friendship ended. I confessed anyway. She said something that hurt deeply. So I didn’t apply to her high school—maybe I didn’t want to burden her further.”

“What did she say?” Lin An asked, puzzled.

“‘Love isn’t forced. Isn’t twisted. I don’t share that orientation. No matter how you cling, it’s just selfishness.’”

Chacha took a sip, voice laced with self-mockery. “She was right. Her rejection was clean. Fine. If it’s unattainable… let it go.”

“I enrolled in an all-girls high school here. I ‘proved’ Su Yuejin wrong. Even straight girls… I made them willing. To be with me. To do couple things.”

“Over a year or two, I dated many girls. Some left after seeing my true self. Some chose men. I told myself it didn’t matter.”

“But today… my last four girls left too. And I’m still sad. So sad… Lin An.”

Chacha had downed three small glasses.

Lin An fell silent. *A player? Epic-tier.* He thought chatting with four girls at once was impressively beyond him.

“How about we start with why you date?” Lin An poured himself a drink, sipped gently, patient.

Chacha slowly lifted her head.

“Because I lack love.” She admitted it cleanly, like settled truth.

Lin An smiled faintly. “Not necessarily.”

“People lacking love show two patterns. One: master love’s mechanics, then love obsessively. Two: long deprived, desire fades—but when someone ‘good’ appears, they leap recklessly.”

“You’re the first type. Su Yuejin, the second.”

“So? What’s ‘not necessarily’?”

“Try being just friends with girls first.”

“Just friends?”

“Your desire isn’t that strong, is it? You want companionship. Emotional support. What’s wrong with friendship?”

“But if I fall for them? Watch them walk into another man’s arms?!”

“You said you didn’t love them.” Lin An’s tone sharpened. “Your sadness isn’t loss of love—it’s possessiveness. Like a favorite toy vanishing.”

He held her gaze, unyielding.

“I guess… you never told your mom you like girls?”

Chacha froze, eyes wide. She gave a tiny nod. “Mom… hinted. Told me not to think that way.”

“Not all parents are open-minded. Everyone hopes their child grows ‘normally’.”

“One more thing,” Lin An leaned in, curious. “Among all your relationships—how many were with real lesbians?”

He meant no judgment. Equality mattered.

Chacha shook her head. “None.”

“Su Yuejin’s words… haunted me. I kept thinking I could make anyone like me. Even if she didn’t like girls…”

“So you fear they’ll follow instinct… choose men?” Lin An crossed his legs, relaxed.

“It’s like caging a bird. You fear it’ll fly, so you lock its wings. But birds are born to soar. Trap it too long—it escapes. And never returns.”

He held her eyes. “I can’t ‘save’ you. Not because you’re broken. Your starting point’s wrong. If you truly like girls—the community is vast. Welcoming. And you’re beautiful.”

“I… don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know… I just… don’t.”

“What are you running from?”

Chacha stared blankly.

“You should see a good therapist. You can afford it. Like depression patients avoiding hospitals—you can’t face the core issue. So you chase hollow love. Now it’s gone… you drown in wine.”

“Nothing I say tonight matters. You claim to like girls, yet refuse the community. What frightens you? Tomorrow sober… will you chase the next girl?”

Lin An sipped his drink.

Chacha’s eyes locked onto his—anger flickering within.

He knew why. Truth stung. Not superiority. Fact.

“So?”

“Have you ever kissed a man?” he asked suddenly.

“No… how could I… why would I—” Chacha stammered, glare sharp.

“What are you truly afraid of? Society’s judgment? Mom’s disappointment? Or… is it childhood trauma twisted by years of self-suggestion?”

“Harsh words, but true: if you feel genuine desire for her—it’s real. Do you? From *you*… or implanted belief?”

“When I wrote yuri novels, I researched deeply. Avoided traps. But today, some stigmatize lesbians—reduce them to fantasy. It shouldn’t be that way.”

“We’re all human. Orientation differs. Most lesbians feel deep aversion toward men.”

“You overcame physical revulsion—that’s strength. Or is this result just reinforced suggestion?”

Chacha listened, word by word.

“So?” She felt his answer nearing. He wasn’t as simple as she’d thought.

“I don’t know if orientation can be ‘tested’. Results would still reflect your mind. Simplest path: ask yourself—do you feel desire for women? Aversion… or desire… for men?”

“So? Your answer?” Lin An’s voice softened.

Chacha shook her head. “I don’t know.”

Her eyes reddened. A quiet ache spread unbidden.

“You’re avoiding again. Each escape feeds the cycle. Some can’t see themselves clearly. But growth comes.”

Chacha stood.

Steps unsteady, she approached Lin An. Bent slightly. Smooth shoulders gleamed under the light. One hand held her glass; the other rested gently on his shoulder.

“Then tell me… what should I do… Lin An… what should I do…”

Her careless mask had vanished. Only vulnerability remained. Tears traced glistening paths down her cheeks.

Lin An felt like solving a puzzle—close to the answer. He enjoyed the chase. Craved the truth.

Chacha was sixty percent drunk.

Taking advantage was wrong.

But Lin An prioritized curiosity. He was, after all, selfish.

“Want to try kissing me?” he said.