The Invitation

The earth was still wet from morning dew as Lou Yan stepped out of his sleek car, carrying a small bundle of white lotus flowers and a box of mooncakes wrapped in silk. The countryside air was cool and clean, threaded with the scent of firewood and old citrus trees. It reminded him of peace. Of beginnings.

Syra's parents lived in a modest house nestled between orchards and low stone walls. The last time he visited, Nasreen had teased him about his stiff posture and too-polished shoes. This time, he wore canvas slippers and a loose jacket—simple, like the man he hoped to remain before them.

The door opened almost immediately after he knocked.

"Lou!" Nasreen's eyes lit up, her smile warm and immediate. "Come in, come in. You don't need to bring gifts every time, you know."

"I can't help it," he said with a soft bow. "You once told me food is the way into a mother's heart."

She laughed, already reaching for the box. "Well, you listened. That's more than I can say for Li Wei."

Inside, the house smelled of cardamom and rice. Nasreen poured him tea while he set the flowers in a shallow bowl by the window. The house was quiet, but not empty. It carried the hush of a place where love had settled into the bones of the walls.

Li Wei entered moments later, leaning lightly on his cane, a faint smile beneath his trimmed beard. "Lou," he said, nodding. "You've lost weight. Are they overworking you at that tech empire of yours?"

"Only a little," Lou replied. "But I still come home to Syra's voice. That makes the rest easy."

That made Li Wei chuckle. "Spoken like a man in love."

Lou's expression softened. "That's why I came."

Nasreen raised a brow, already sensing something more.

"I wanted to formally tell you," Lou said, reaching into his coat pocket and placing a scroll-sized invitation on the table. It was embroidered with plum blossoms and stamped with the Lou family's seal.

"The engagement will take place next Sunday in the ancestral garden," he said. "I know Syra already told you, and Madam Yan's aide came by yesterday, but it was important to me—to ask you in person."

The room fell still for a moment.

Then Nasreen smiled. Not just with her lips, but her eyes—tender, proud, deeply moved. "You've always had our blessing, Lou. Not because you brought mooncakes or bows, but it helps though. But because you make our daughter feel safe. And happy."

Li Wei nodded.

Lou bowed deeply. "Thank you—for raising someone I could spend a lifetime learning to love."

Nasreen waved him off, but her voice was thick with emotion. "Enough of that. Come eat. You'll need strength if you want to survive our side of the family."

Lou smiled. "With pleasure."

That evening, Syra received a photo from her mother: Lou sitting at their table, head bowed as Nasreen served him second helpings of stew. The caption read: Your father says he's finally found someone who listens when he talks.

And for the first time in days, Syra smiled until her chest ached.

----

It was already past midnight when Syra finally stopped painting. Her hands were smudged with charcoal, and her back ached from standing too long. She hadn't even noticed how many hours had passed. The studio was dim, lit only by a single desk lamp and the soft blue glow from the street outside.

She sat on the floor, cross-legged, arms resting on her knees. All around her were unfinished sketches, test strokes on torn paper, and empty mugs of cold tea. Her body was tired, but her mind wouldn't quiet down.

Lou hadn't come by. Not even a message.

She reached for her phone, checked it again—nothing. A part of her told herself to stop expecting him to show up every night. He was busy. He was being respectful. He was trying to do the right thing. But still, she missed him.

She lay back on the cold floor, staring up at the ceiling. Above her, Lou's mural stretched across the wall. She didn't even realize she was crying until she felt the tears sliding past her temples.

Then came the sound of keys turning in the lock. Her heart jumped. She sat up too fast, wiped her face quickly, unsure whether to feel angry, relieved, or embarrassed. The door creaked open, and Lou stepped in.

He looked tired. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, and his hair was slightly messy, contrary to his usual impeccable appearance, like he'd been running his hands through it all night. He closed the door behind him quietly, not saying a word.

"I thought you weren't coming," Syra said, voice dry.

He didn't answer right away. He just walked toward her, slow and careful, like he was afraid he might break the moment if he moved too fast. Then he sat down beside her on the floor, leaving just enough space between them that it hurt.

"I couldn't sleep," he said finally. "Me neither," she muttered. "The studio's too quiet." Lou looked around at the mess, the sketches, the cold mugs. "You've been working all day?" She shrugged. "Trying to. Mostly just... thinking."

They sat in silence again. It wasn't awkward, just heavy. Lou pulled a blanket from the couch and draped it around her shoulders. She blinked, surprised by the warmth.

"I didn't mean to disappear," he said. "I just—every time I see you, it's like I forget where the line is."

Syra didn't say anything at first. Then she leaned her head against the wall and sighed. "I don't need you to disappear. I just need you to be here. Even if it's like this." He nodded, slowly. "I know."

She turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face. "Are we okay?"

He looked down at his hands, thinking. "I think so. I'm just figuring out how to do this right. How to give you everything without giving in to what we promised we'd wait for."

Her chest tightened. "I'm not asking you to break your word, Lou."

"I know. But I'm scared of disappointing you while trying to keep it."

She reached out then, her fingers brushing his—just barely. "I'm already proud of you."

He looked up, and for the first time in days, his expression softened fully.

They didn't talk after that. They just sat there, shoulder to shoulder, wrapped in the quiet comfort of being together. At some point, she leaned into him and closed her eyes. He didn't move away. He just sat there, still as stone, until her breathing slowed and she drifted off.

He stayed until dawn, watching over her like he always did, like she was something precious. Something worth waiting for.