Chapter 18: Turbulence

The cabin air thickened with unspoken words. Seated between my parents and Shangguan Zhi, I focused on the flight safety card's faded diagrams. His swollen eyes betrayed sleepless hours - had he wept? Mother's questioning glance lingered on us, her silent approval of this rift cutting deeper than cabin pressure.

"Since when do we need three suitcases?" His first words since takeoff came at check-in, voice roughened by whatever demons haunted his night. I stared at Zhongjing's overstuffed luggage. "We spoilt brats travel heavy."

Turbulence over Tokyo Bay turned my stomach inside out. When the aircraft bucked violently, Shangguan's hand found my back without hesitation. "Easy," he murmured through my retching, steady as the oxygen masks swinging overhead. I batted him away weakly. "Dirty..." The protest died as another wave hit.

At Narita's arrival gate, he commandeered my bags with CEO efficiency. "You're still shaking," he countered my resistance. The Mercedes smelled of his cologne and unresolved history. When we reached Zhongjing's apartment, his aborted gesture - half-raised hand, swallowed words - mirrored our entire relationship.

Zhongjing greeted me with her customary dramatics. "Forgot to text? Too busy playing Cinderella?" Her banter faltered at my hollow laugh. In Mickey Mouse pajamas (her eternal fashion critique), I prodded at cold udon. "Define love."

"X + Y = Z." She brandished chopsticks like a professor. "X/Y being chromosomes or variables. Could be nothing. Could be... everything." Her smirk turned scientific. "Mating rituals across species - males display, females select. Basic evolutionary..."

The udon turned to ash in my mouth. "What if the female wants neither?"

Her levity evaporated. "Then she walks. Even if it breaks the equation." The unspoken hung between us - Shangguan's phantom warmth still lingering on my skin.

Next morning's office routine became my armor. Paperwork avalanches buried unsent emails to his empty desk. When the IMA team dragged him to hostess clubs ("networking", they called it), I stayed buried in contracts. The fluorescent lights hummed louder at 9 PM, echoing my mother's verdict - _"His world will crush you."_

Yet in the sterile glow, his abandoned coffee cup still held the ghost of Dalian's sea breeze.