Flower
Ling's smile softened, just a little. "That wasn't strategy."
"Then what was it?"
"My last clean intention," Ling said. "If you said no, I would've let you walk away without chasing you."
Rhea's breath hitched. "You're lying."
Ling shook her head. "I'm not."
Rhea stared at her. "You destroyed the room after I left."
"Yes."
"You drank."
"Yes."
"You almost broke yourself."
"Yes."
"Doesn't sound like letting go."
Ling's gaze dropped. "I said I wouldn't chase you. I didn't say I would survive it well."
That landed hard.
Rhea's voice dropped to a whisper. "And the kiss?"
Ling closed her eyes briefly. "That was selfish."
Rhea blinked. "What?"
"I knew if I kissed you like that," Ling said, opening her eyes again, "you would feel it for a long time. Even if you left."
Rhea's hands curled into fists. "So you marked me."
Ling didn't deny it. "Yes."
Rhea stood up abruptly, pacing once, then turning back. "Do you have any idea how cruel that is?"
Ling looked up at her, calm, honest. "Do you have any idea how scared I was?"
Rhea stopped.
Ling spoke softly now. "I don't fall in love halfway. I don't want people lightly. If I'm in, I'm in to the point of ruin."
Rhea's voice cracked. "And if I wasn't ready?"
Ling's eyes softened. "Then you shouldn't have smiled at me the way you did when I knelt."
Rhea froze. "…You saw that?"
Ling nodded. "Just for a second. You smiled like someone who wanted to say yes but was terrified of the cost."
Rhea sank back in Ling's lap same place. "I didn't reject you because I didn't want you."
Ling leaned forward slightly. "Then why?"
Rhea finally looked at her, eyes shining but dry. "Because if I said yes… I would've never been able to hurt you."
Ling went still.
Rhea laughed bitterly. "And I was supposed to."
Understanding flickered across Ling's face—slow, dangerous.
"So that's what that night was," Ling said quietly. "You choosing pain over honesty."
Rhea whispered, "I thought I was protecting everyone."
Ling reached out, hesitated for once, then gently took Rhea's hand. "You were protecting a lie."
Rhea squeezed her eyes shut. "I'm not asking for forgiveness."
Ling tightened her grip slightly. "Good. I'm not giving it yet."
Rhea looked at her sharply.
Ling's mouth curved faintly. "But now you know why I knelt."
Rhea nodded, throat tight. "I didn't expect that answer."
Ling leaned in, resting her forehead against Rhea's. "You said truth. Not comfort."
They stayed like that, breath mingling, the air heavy with everything unsaid.
After a long moment, Rhea whispered, "Your turn."
Ling smiled slowly. "I already know what I'm going to ask."
Rhea braced herself. "Truth or dare?"
Ling's eyes darkened. "Truth."
Rhea swallowed. "Ask."
Ling murmured, dangerously calm, "If I asked you again—right now—would you still run?"
Rhea didn't answer immediately.
And that silence mattered.
Rhea's silence stretched too long.
Ling didn't move at first. She just watched her—watched the way Rhea's jaw tightened, the way her eyes lost focus like she was somewhere else entirely.
And Rhea was.
Her mother's voice replayed, cold and precise, like it had been carved into her bones:
Make her feel safe.
Make her depend.
Then run.
Rhea's hands trembled in her lap.
Ling noticed.
She leaned forward slowly, deliberately, like approaching something volatile. "Rhea," she said quietly. "Answer me."
Rhea shook her head once. "Don't."
Ling frowned. "Don't what?"
"Don't make me say it," Rhea whispered.
Ling's patience snapped—not in anger, but in fear. She reached out and pulled Rhea into her arms, hard, sudden, like she was anchoring her to reality.
Rhea gasped at the contact.
Ling held her tight, injured hand and all, ignoring the pain, her chin pressing into Rhea's shoulder. "You don't get to disappear when I ask something real," she said into her hair. "Not with me."
That was it.
Rhea broke.
Her hands fisted into Ling's shirt. Her breath hitched once—twice—and then the tears came, hot and unstoppable, soaking into Ling's shoulder.
Ling stiffened. "Hey—"
Rhea clutched her harder. "Don't—don't stop," she choked.
Ling wrapped her fully, one arm around her back, the other cradling her head. "I'm not going anywhere," she murmured. "I've got you."
Rhea shook against her, crying silently but violently, like she'd been holding it in for years.
Finally, through broken breaths, Rhea spoke.
"Ling," she said, voice raw. "Even if I run… even if I do something unforgivable…"
Ling pulled back just enough to look at her. "Don't."
Rhea kept going anyway, tears sliding down her cheeks. "Just remember this one thing."
Ling's throat tightened. "Rhea—"
"I will never," Rhea said, each word shaking, "live peacefully without you."
Ling froze.
"What?" she whispered.
Rhea laughed weakly through tears. "I tried. I thought I could. But it's like you lodged yourself somewhere I can't reach to remove."
Ling cupped her face, thumbs brushing away tears, hands trembling now too. "Then why are you talking like goodbye?"
Rhea swallowed hard. "Because wanting you doesn't mean I'm allowed to choose you."
Ling's eyes darkened. "Who told you that?"
Rhea looked away.
Ling followed her gaze, jaw tightening. "…Your family."
Rhea didn't answer.
Ling leaned in, forehead resting against Rhea's. "Listen to me," she said softly, but there was steel underneath. "If you run, it won't be because you don't love me. It'll be because you're scared."
Rhea whispered, "And if I stay?"
Ling's voice dropped. "Then you'll have to stop lying—to me and to yourself."
Rhea closed her eyes. "I don't know how."
Ling kissed her forehead, lingering, grounding. "You don't have to know tonight."
Rhea opened her eyes, searching Ling's face. "You're not angry?"
Ling gave a short, humorless laugh. "I'm terrified. Big difference."
Rhea let out a shaky breath. "I thought you'd hate me if I said that."
Ling pulled her back into her chest. "I hate the world that made you think love is something you survive instead of choose."
They stayed like that for a long moment, breathing each other in.
Rhea finally murmured, exhausted, "If I stay… I stay scared."
Ling replied without hesitation, "Then I'll stay too."
Rhea's fingers tightened in Ling's shirt. "That's not fair."
Ling smirked faintly, eyes wet. "I've never been fair."
Silence settled again—but it was different now. Heavy. Charged. Unavoidable.
Ling spoke quietly, almost to herself. "You didn't answer my question."
Rhea didn't pull away this time.
She whispered, honest and broken, "If you asked me again right now… I wouldn't run."
Ling closed her eyes.
That answer landed like a promise—and a threat.