The library was where I reigned. Not the buzzing lecture hall, not the busy corridors. Here, in this hushed sanctuary of ambition, I wasn't just top of the class–I was untouchable.
I sat at my usual table by the far window, a stack of case studies spread out in neat precision. My pen moved fast, margins filled with notes that would make most students sweat.
Then I felt it again–that presence. A flicker in my periphery.
Zhang Rui.
He walked in, took one sweeping look around, and–of course–headed my way.
"Mind if I sit here?" he asked, nodding at the seat across from me.
He sat. Quiet at first. A few pages flipped. His pen tapped.
Then–"I heard you're the one to beat."
I smiled at my faintly without lifting my eyes. "Only if you're trying to catch up."
Silence.
And then–he laughed. A short, genuine sound.
"You don't hold back, do you?"
"No point in pretending," I replied coolly. "That's more your style."
He tilted his head slightly. "So, is this how you scare the competition?".
I finally met his gaze. "No. This is how I remind them that I don't need to."
That landed. For the first time, I saw it–a flicker of something behind his composed expression. Not weakness. Not admiration. Something closer to…recognition.
Respect. Maybe.
We returned to our notes, tension coiled between us like a drawn bowstring.
He thought he has the upper hand. He just forget–I play the long game.
Later that day.
The click of porcelain echoed too loudly in the dining room. No one spoke. The silence wasn't peaceful–it was a performance. Like everything in this house.
I pushed my rice around with my chopsticks, not particularly hungry. Across the table, my mother sipped her soup delicately, her expression unreadable. My father scrolled through something on his phone between bites.
This was normal.
No scolding. No small talk. Just the unspoken expectation that I'd do what I always did: succeed.
"I saw the new rankings," my father said suddenly, voice neutral.
I didn't look up. "Mm"
"You're second," he added. Not disappointed. Not pleased. Just…stating it.
"Only by a small margin," I replied, steady.
He didn't respond. I wasn't sure which answer he wanted.
Then my mother chimed in, folding her napkin neatly. "Speaking of the rankings…your father and I are having guests over this weekend. Old friends of ours. From Australia.
My head lifted. "Australia?"
She smiled, the kind of smile that didn't reach her eyes. "You might know their son. Zhang Rui."
The name hit harder than I expected.
My chopsticks froze mid-air.
"Zhang Rui?"
"You're friends with his parents?", I added with an astound.
"We all went to university together in Shanghai," my father said, finally putting down his phone.
"They moved abroad around the time you started primary school. You probably don't remember."
I searched my memory–there was something faint. A hallway. A little boy. Laughter, maybe. But nothing solid.
"They're back for a while.
We thought it would be nice for you two to reconnect," my mother added. "He's new here. It must be overwhelming for him."
I almost laughed. Overwhelming? That boy walked into the classroom like he owned the air.
But I kept my face blank. "Sure."
I didn't want to see him in my house.
Not because I feared him. But because I couldn't afford to let anyone get too close. Especially not someone with the same relentless glint in his eyes.
Dinner resumed in silence.
And I wondered if Zhang Rui knew. Or if he'd soon find out we weren't just on paper.
We had history.
And it was about to resurface.
"You didn't tell me you two knew each other as kids?" Mei Chen laughed as we crossed the street into a boutique stretch near Huaihai Road. "This is the drama I live for."
"I didn't know either," I muttered, adjusting my sunglasses.
The city buzzed around us–storefronts gleaming, people weaving through narrow lanes with shopping bags and iced tea. Mei dragged me through at least three stores before we agreed to take a break.
We found a quiet corner cafe just before lunch–minimal, modern, walls painted sage green with arched windows overlooking the street.
As we stepped in, my eyes scanned for a table–and landed on someone already seated by the window.
Of course.
Zhang Rui.
And next to him, guy I hadn't seen before–tall, laid-back posture, loud laughter. His friend.
"Should we sit somewhere else?" I whispered.
Mei grinned. "No. We're going to say hi."
Before I could protest, she was already walking over.
"Fancy seeing you here," she chirped. "Twice in a week " Must be fate."
Zhang Rui looked up, mildly surprised–but not unpleasantly so. "Shanghai's smaller than it seems."
His friend leaned forward, intrigued. "You're Li Wei, right?"
I nodded, wary.
"I'm Jian Hao," he offered with a warm smile. "Zhang's oldest friend. And an occasional damage control unit."
Zhang Rui smirked. "You're not very good at that."
"Because you don't give me enough warming," Jian Hao shot back, then turned to us again. "Join us?"
I hesitated. Mei didn't.
She dropped into the seat across from them like she owned it. I followed, slower.
Zhang Rui met my gaze across the table. Calm, like always. But his eyes lingered for half a second too long.
"Shopping?" he asked.
"Obviously," I replied, sipping my tea.
"I figured you only spent your free time rewriting case studies."
"I do," I said with a small smile. "But even war generals need armor."
He laughed, low and surprised. "Fair enough."
Jian Hao watched us with interest, then leaned toward Mei. "So…how long have these two been pretending not to be fascinated with each other?"
Mei grinned. "Since day one."
I didn't answer.
But my gaze drifted to Zhang Rui again–and this time, he didn't look away.
Zhang Rui's fingers toyed idly with the rim of his cup, his eyes still on mine. I wasn't sure if he was challenging me again or just…studying. Either way, I refused to blink first.
"I think I preferred it when you were just a myth," I said, tone dry.
"And here I thought I was making good impression."
"You're making an impression," Mei Chen chimmed in, leaning back with her coffee. " not sure what kind yet."
"Intense," Jian Hao offered. "That's the word, right." The kind of guy who wins chess games and doesn't celebrate. Just nods like he expected it."
"That's…scarily accurate," I muttered.
Zhang Rui shrugged. "I grew up with him. He's had time to study."
"Unfortunately," Jian Hao added with a sigh. "Though watching you two go head-to-head is better than cable."
I nearly choked on my drinks. "We're not–"
We both echoed at the same time.
A beat passed.
Jian Hao raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.
"Sure."
The silence that followed wasn't awkward–but it wasn't casual either. There was a strange charge beneath it, as if none of us wanted to name the shift that had just occurred.
Mei saved us. "Anyway. Jian Hao, where have you been hiding? You're way too fun to keep off campus."
"Oh, I'm more of a freelance chaos artist," he said proudly. "But I do show up when I sense drama on the horizon."
"And you sensed it here?" she asked.
"Please," he smirked. "The sparks between these two? I nearly brought goggles."
I shook my head, hiding a smile behind my cup.
The chit-chat goes on.
Somehow, we didn't leave after lunch.
I should've. I told myself to. But instead of making an excuse, I stayed. So did Mei Chen. And Zhang Rui. And his friend Jian Hao—who, to my surprise, was annoyingly charming.
"Let's walk off the caffeine," Jian Hao said as we stepped out of the café. "Or at least pretend we're not just four students hiding from responsibility."
"I don't hide," I replied.
Zhang Rui glanced sideways. "She stalks it. Strategically."
I shot him a glare that barely masked a smile. "You're learning."
We wandered through the art district behind the café—a row of side streets filled with indie bookstores, ceramics stalls, and oddly shaped street murals that made Jian Hao stop every few steps to pose.
"This one's got my spirit," he said, mimicking a bizarrely twisted bronze statue.
Mei Chen snapped a photo mid-laugh. "That's going on your application to the clown academy."
"You joke, but I'd get in," he said with mock confidence.
Meanwhile, Zhang Rui walked a little ahead of us. Hands in his pockets. Calm, as always. But every so often, his gaze flicked back toward me.
And for the first time, I really looked at him.
There was something cinematic about him—like he stepped out of a too-perfect frame and forgot to apologize for it. His shirt, a dark green that somehow deepened the angles of his face, was rolled at the sleeves, casual yet meticulous. Tousled dark hair brushed against his forehead in an artfully careless way, like it had been sculpted by sunlight and wind. He didn't try to stand out. He just did.
Effortlessly magnetic. Unbothered. And maybe that was the problem.
We ended up at a vendor stand selling ice-cold hawthorn sticks and sugar-dusted fried buns. I reached for one at the same time he did.
We paused.
His fingers brushed mine—barely, but enough.
I pulled away first. "You have a habit of showing up at the wrong moments."
"I thought this one was working out."
He was smiling now, but it wasn't smug. Just amused. Steady.
I took a bite of the fried bun and chewed slowly. "You always this composed?"
"Only when I'm being watched," he said, tilting his head.
"You're not that interesting."
"Then why are you still standing here?"
Touché.
Behind us, Mei and Jian Hao were deep in conversation—laughing at some shared joke, shoulder to shoulder as they examined handmade bracelets at a pop-up stall.
I turned back to Zhang Rui, suddenly aware of the space—or lack of it—between us.
"Don't read too much into this," I said.
"I don't," he replied. "But I notice things."
"Like what?"
He looked at me for a second longer than necessary.
"Like how you don't walk behind anyone."
I blinked. "Meaning?"
"Exactly what it sounds like."
He stepped back then, just enough to give me space again—but his presence still lingered. Like a shadow that didn't overtake, just quietly stayed close.
I hated how that made me feel.
No, not hate.
I just wasn't used to it.
I cleared my throat. "We should go."
"Already?" Jian Hao pouted.
"We still have stores to hit," Mei said quickly. "And Li Wei has a very intense checklist."
Zhang Rui jested with a smirk. "Well. Try not to rewrite any business plans in the shoe stores."
I narrowed my eyes. " Try not to charm every cafe in the district."
He gave a mock bow. "No promises."
As we headed back, sunlight warming the pavements, I felt it again–that strange awareness of him.
Of all people to keep bumping into…why did it have to be him?
Beside me, Mei nudged my shoulder lightly.
"What?"
"There's something about that guy— you become unusual when he is around." she hummed.
"Not at all." I denied in an instance.
"U sure?," She asked unconvinced.
"Undoubtedly," I persuaded her.
"Fine. How boring", she muttered.