They reached the apartment just past midnight.
The same one Ling had torn apart and rebuilt with obsession—
the one meant to hold laughter, candles, soft music, Rhea's name glowing everywhere.
The elevator doors opened.
Light spilled out.
Gold, warm, unreal.
Crystal chandeliers hung low like constellations. Thousands of balloons floated at different heights, transparent and pearl-toned, each tied with thin silver threads. Along the walls were illuminated panels—photos, moments, frozen memories of Ling and Rhea that no one else was supposed to see. A long table stood untouched, set for two, draped in ivory silk. At the center waited a cake so extravagant it looked sculpted rather than baked, Rhea's name etched delicately in gold.
Happy Birthday, Rhea.
The words were everywhere.
Ling didn't react.
Her eyes stayed dull, unfocused, as if the room belonged to a stranger.
Jian didn't hesitate. He lifted Ling again carefully, carrying her straight past the decorations, past the flowers flown in from three continents, past the life Ling had imagined for tonight.
He took her to the bedroom.
Rhea followed immediately.
Roin followed too.
Jian laid Ling down on the bed slowly, adjusting her legs, covering her numb feet with a blanket. Ling turned her face toward the wall, eyes open but empty, tears still slipping soundlessly into the pillow.
Rhea hovered helplessly, hands shaking.
"Get towels. Warm water," Jian said quietly. "She needs circulation back."
Rhea nodded and rushed to the bathroom.
The moment she disappeared, Roin spoke.
Soft. Careful. Calculated.
"She did all this… without even knowing if you'd come," he said, almost in awe. "That's intense."
Ling didn't respond.
Roin stepped closer. "You know, some people can't handle that kind of love. It's… overwhelming."
Ling's fingers curled slightly into the bedsheet.
Jian's head snapped up.
"That's enough," Jian said coldly.
Roin raised his hands innocently. "I'm just saying—"
Ling suddenly laughed.
It was hollow. Dry. Wrong.
"Don't," she said quietly, voice scraped raw. "Don't pretend you understand."
Roin froze.
Ling finally turned her head, eyes red but sharp now—dangerously calm.
"You wanted distance," she continued, voice steady in a way that scared everyone in the room. "Congratulations. You planted it well."
Roin swallowed. "I was just trying to—"
Ling cut him off without raising her voice. "Leave."
Roin hesitated. "Aunt asked me to—"
Jian stepped forward fully now. "You heard her."
Roin looked at Ling one last time, then at the room—the decorations, the obsession, the proof—and something unreadable crossed his face.
He left.
The door closed.
Rhea returned with towels and warm water, breathless.
She knelt beside the bed immediately, gently rubbing Ling's feet, tears dripping onto her hands.
Ling closed her eyes.
"When you feel ignored," she murmured, "I disappear. That's how I was taught to love."
Rhea looked up at her, devastated.
"I don't want silence," Rhea said. "I want fights. I want jealousy. I want you angry at me—not gone."
Ling's jaw tightened.
"I don't know how to be angry without becoming dangerous," she admitted.
Rhea stood suddenly, wiped her tears, and walked to the switchboard.
She turned off half the lights.
The room softened.
Then she went back to the bed, climbed onto it carefully, and lay beside Ling—face to face.
"You don't get to decide alone anymore," Rhea said firmly. "Not when it comes to us."
Ling studied her face for a long time.
Then, very quietly: "Tonight was supposed to be about you."
Rhea shook her head. "Tonight is about us not losing each other."
Ling's hand trembled as it lifted, hesitating—then rested against Rhea's waist, light, unsure.
Rhea didn't pull away.
She leaned in and kissed Ling.
It wasn't rushed, wasn't desperate in movement—only in meaning. Soft lips pressed against Ling's, trembling slightly, like Rhea was afraid even this might be taken away from her.
Ling froze.
Her eyes stayed open.
Unblinking. Staring.
For a second, it looked like she didn't know where she was anymore—apartment, beach, café, none of it. Just this moment crashing into her chest all at once.
Then her breath broke.
A sharp inhale.
A choked sound she failed to stop.
Rhea pulled back just enough to see her face.
Ling was crying.
Not silently this time. Not controlled. Tears slid fast down her temples into her hair, her lips shaking as she tried—and failed—to keep her composure.
"I can't lose you," Ling whispered desperately, forehead pressed to Rhea's. "Don't make me. Please."
Ling's laugh came out wrong—half sob, half disbelief.
"Do you know how unfair that is?" she whispered, voice cracked. "You disappear for hours, let him touch you, don't answer me—and then you kiss me like I'm home again."
Rhea shook her head violently. "I didn't let him. I swear. I froze. And then everything went wrong."
Ling finally closed her eyes.
"I saw," she said hoarsely. "And what I saw destroyed me."
Rhea grabbed Ling's face gently, forcing her to look at her.
"Look at me," Rhea said, voice breaking but firm. "I'm here. I came back. I'm not choosing anyone else."
Ling stared at her like she was trying to memorize her features before they vanished.
"What if one day," Ling said quietly, "you decide I'm too much again?"
Rhea's tears fell freely now, splashing onto Ling's cheeks.
"Then fight me," she said. "Yell at me. Lock me in a room if you have to. But don't leave. Don't punish yourself like this."
Ling's hands trembled as they slowly rose, hovering near Rhea's waist—hesitant, unsure, like she didn't trust herself.
"I hurt people when I lose control," Ling whispered. "I hurt myself when I don't."
Rhea slid her hands over Ling's wrists, anchoring them.
"Then let me be the thing you hold onto," she said. "Not the thing you run from."
Ling finally broke.
She pulled Rhea into her chest suddenly, arms wrapping tight—too tight—like she was terrified Rhea would dissolve if she loosened her grip even a little. Her face buried into Rhea's shoulder as she sobbed openly, shoulders shaking.
"I planned everything," Ling cried. "Every detail. I wanted your smile at midnight. I wanted to hear you laugh here."
Rhea clutched her back just as tightly.
"And I'm here now," she whispered again and again. "I'm here. I'm here."
Ling shook her head against Rhea's shoulder.
"I thought I already lost you," she admitted. "I thought I was just late to realize it."
Rhea pulled back enough to kiss Ling's wet cheek, then her temple, then her forehead—slow, reassuring, grounding.
"You didn't lose me," Rhea said softly. "You scared me. I scared you. That's not the same."
Ling's breathing slowly steadied, though her eyes stayed red and swollen.
She looked past Rhea for a second—toward the door, the apartment full of waiting celebration—and then back at her.
"Stay," Ling asked quietly. "Even if tonight is ruined."
Rhea shook her head, a small sad smile forming through tears.
"It's not ruined," she said. "It's real."
Ling leaned her forehead against Rhea's, eyes finally closing.
And for the first time that night, she let herself believe—
not that things were fixed,
but that she hadn't been abandoned in the wreckage.