By the time Chen Qianmo came out, Yan Qingruo was hanging her head low, not daring to lift her eyes to look at him.
Chen Qianmo didn't speak to her but went straight to the kitchen, reached for the milk, and expertly put it in the microwave to heat up.
It was as if nothing had happened just now.
Yan Qingruo felt somewhat deflated, after all, it was she who had been at a disadvantage, wasn't it?
But he acted as if he had indeed leveled the playing field with her.
Yet as she watched him bustling about the house, taking care of things as if nothing was amiss, Yan Qingruo wanted to say something but didn't know where to start.
"Ding," the milk was ready, and the fragrance of toasted bread wafted through the house.
Chen Qianmo brought everything to the dining table and pointed to the chair opposite him.
Yan Qingruo sat down, and her discomfort gradually subsided. Seeing him eat earnestly, graceful and efficient, she ventured to ask, "What kind of job do you do?"