By the following week, Shen Yuqi stopped counting how many times she saw him.
Not because it happened too often—just often enough that counting felt unnecessary.
Monday morning came with clear skies and a sharper chill in the air. She left home earlier than usual, her mother reminding her to eat breakfast properly, her younger brother already half-asleep at the dining table, scrolling through his phone.
"You're leaving early again," her mother said.
"I have a meeting," Yuqi replied, slipping on her shoes.
It wasn't a lie. Just not the whole reason.
She reached the building without incident, passed through the lobby, and headed straight for the elevators. As the doors slid open, she stepped inside—
And found herself facing Li Wei.
He stood near the back, hands relaxed at his sides, eyes lifted briefly in acknowledgment.
"Good morning," he said.
"Good morning."
The doors closed.
There were fewer people this time. Enough space to breathe, enough quiet to be aware of it. She stood closer than she had before—not intentionally, just by default. The elevator moved upward.
She watched the floor numbers change.
He looked ahead, expression neutral, posture unchanging.
Nothing happened.
When the doors opened at her floor, she stepped out. She didn't turn back this time. She didn't need to.
At her desk, she opened her computer and reviewed her schedule. The meeting she'd mentioned earlier was real, scheduled for mid-morning. She prepared the documents, organized her notes, and went over everything twice.
Work, at least, remained uncomplicated.
Later, as she walked to the meeting room, she slowed slightly when she saw him standing at the end of the hallway, speaking quietly with another executive. She adjusted her path without thinking, passing by without interruption.
He noticed her.
He nodded once.
She nodded back.
It felt… normal.
That afternoon, she stepped out to buy tea. The small shop across the street was busy, the air inside warm and faintly sweet. She placed her order and waited near the counter, phone in hand.
"Same order as last time?"
She looked up, surprised.
The barista smiled apologetically. "Sorry—wrong person."
Yuqi laughed softly. "It's fine."
She stepped aside.
Someone took the spot next to her.
"You come here often?" Li Wei asked.
She blinked, then nodded. "Sometimes."
"The tea is good," he said.
"Yes."
They waited.
No follow-up question. No attempt at conversation. Just shared space and the low hum of voices around them.
When her order was called, she stepped forward. He followed a moment later.
Outside, they went separate ways again.
On Tuesday, she didn't see him at all.
The absence was noticeable only in hindsight.
On Wednesday, she nearly missed him entirely—just a glimpse in the lobby, walking past as she exited the building. They exchanged brief greetings, nothing more.
On Thursday, she ran into him twice before noon.
Once in the elevator.
Once near the copy room.
By the second encounter, neither of them seemed surprised.
"You're early today," he said, glancing at his watch.
"I had something to finish," she replied.
He nodded. "I see."
That was the whole exchange.
Later that day, her phone buzzed with a message from her younger brother.
Sister, are you coming home late again?
She typed back: Probably.
She hesitated, then added: Don't wait up.
When she left the office that evening, the sun had already dipped low, casting long shadows across the street. She walked toward the subway entrance, hands tucked into her coat pockets.
She heard footsteps behind her.
She didn't turn.
She didn't need to.
They walked in the same direction for a block, maintaining a polite distance. At the entrance, she slowed.
"Good night," he said.
"Good night."
She descended the stairs.
At home, dinner was quiet. Her father asked about work, her brother complained about classes. She answered automatically, her thoughts elsewhere.
Later, she stood by the window, watching the city lights flicker on.
It occurred to her then—not suddenly, not dramatically—that she had stopped thinking of Li Wei as the CEO outside the office.
In those brief encounters, he wasn't distant or imposing. He wasn't authoritative. He was simply… present.
The realization unsettled her slightly.
On Friday, she arrived early again.
The café line was short. She ordered quickly and stepped aside, scrolling through messages.
"Good morning."
She looked up.
Li Wei stood behind her, coat draped neatly over his arm.
"Good morning," she replied.
"You're early."
"So are you."
He smiled faintly—not enough to change his expression entirely, just enough to soften it.
"Habit," he said.
They waited in silence.
She left first.
In the elevator later that morning, she noticed something she hadn't before.
He always stood in the same spot.
Not close. Not far. Just within comfortable distance.
She wondered if he noticed the same about her.
The thought passed quickly.
At lunchtime, she ate with a colleague, listening halfheartedly to a conversation about weekend plans. When she returned to her floor, she stepped into the hallway and stopped short.
Li Wei stood by the window, phone pressed to his ear, voice low.
She hesitated, then walked past quietly.
"—handle it tomorrow," he was saying. "No, don't rush."
His tone wasn't cold. Just controlled.
She passed without looking back.
That evening, as she packed up to leave, her phone buzzed again.
Sister, can you bring snacks?
She sighed and typed: You're impossible.
She stepped into the elevator.
Li Wei was already there.
She didn't pause.
The doors closed.
They rode in silence.
At the lobby, they stepped out together. The night air was cool, the streetlights bright.
"Have a good weekend," he said.
"You too."
They walked apart.
On Saturday, she didn't see him.
On Sunday, she didn't think about him.
On Monday morning, she nearly collided with him at the building entrance.
"Oh—"
"Sorry."
They stopped at the same time.
She laughed softly. "We keep doing that."
He looked at her, then nodded. "It seems so."
They walked inside together.
The thought stayed with her longer this time.
It does seem so.
By the end of the day, it felt less like coincidence and more like routine.
And that, somehow, felt stranger than anything else.