This time we skip walking. Nope. Absolutely not.
We're heading to the station again by bus—the cheapest, easiest, most evil form of transport known to mankind.
It's crowded. Like breathing is optional crowded.
Yuyu and I are stuck standing, pressed against the bus wall, which is honestly worse than walking. At least walking lets you suffer with dignity.
Meanwhile, our overly handsome boyfriends turn into human shields.
They stand in front of us, facing us, arms braced, bodies angled just right—blocking the crowd like trained bodyguards in a rom-com climax scene. Very cinematic. Very swoon-worthy.
Except.
Yuyu and I are not swooning.
Because we can see it.
Girls in the crowd "accidentally" tripping.
"Accidentally" stumbling.
"Accidentally" pressing themselves against our boyfriends' backs.
I narrow my eyes.
No.
No no no.
Girls don't trip like that. That's not clumsy—that's calculated.
Yuyu leans closer to me and mutters, "Yunhua… am I imagining things?"
