Same eyes

It wasn't her perfume.

Not her walk.

Not even the way she tucked her hair behind her ear when she was nervous.

It was the way she turned around — slowly, as if something in her bones recognized the man standing ten feet away.

Mo Zeyan watched her through the glass of the conference hall — the Paris sun painting golden outlines around her form.

She was dressed in white, her blazer crisp, her heels silent. Confidence in every step. But her eyes… they still held that softness.

The same eyes that used to look at him like he was her future.

Now they looked past him — like he was a stranger.

She didn't know.

Not yet.

But something inside him whispered — she would.

Ruoxi was on her way to the keynote panel, clutching the list of startup founders she was meant to meet. The past week had moved in a blur: sleepless nights, Ruiyan's growing questions, and a man she couldn't stop dreaming about — even though she didn't know his name.

At least, not in waking hours.

But in sleep?

He held her.

Kissed her.

Whispered promises like, "If you ever forget me, I'll just make you fall in love with me again."

Backstage, the panelists mingled. She stepped aside for a quiet moment near the window. The flowers outside reminded her of something, though she couldn't say what.

Then she heard the voice.

Low. Familiar.

"Ms. Liang?"

She turned.

Her breath caught.

It was him.

The man from her dreams.

Except… he was real.

In a fitted black suit, hair slightly tousled, eyes filled with a kind of sadness that didn't belong in this bright room.

She blinked, but he didn't vanish.

"Have we met?" she asked, heart pounding.

Zeyan's lips parted, but no words came. For five years he had rehearsed this moment — a hundred ways to tell her who he was, what they'd been, what they'd lost.

But now? Staring into her eyes, knowing she didn't remember a thing?

He could barely breathe.

"Not… officially," he said. "But I know you."

Her brows knit. "Are you with the conference team?"

"I'm just… here for someone."

Ruoxi nodded slowly, not knowing why her hands were shaking. She smiled — polite, distant.

And walked away.

Zeyan stayed frozen, letting her pass like a wave he couldn't catch.

That night, she sat in the courtyard with Ruiyan curled beside her, head on her lap. The boy had fallen asleep mid-sentence, his tiny fingers still clutching his sketchbook.

She looked down at him — his lashes, his jawline, the little furrow between his brows when he dreamed.

And for the hundredth time that week, she whispered to herself, "Who is your father?"

Her memories were shadows — too faint to follow, too heavy to ignore.

The next morning, she decided to find answers.

Zeyan stood in the same courtyard, only an hour later.

He had seen her name on the guest list weeks ago. He had flown across continents without telling a soul. He had spent days circling the venue, watching her from a distance.

But now?

Now he knew where she stayed. Where she walked. What time she drank her morning coffee.

He felt like a coward.

But more than that — he felt like a man on the edge of a second chance.

Later that evening, fate did what it always does: intervened.

Ruoxi's heel snapped on the cobblestone path outside the gallery, and she stumbled into a stranger.

Except it wasn't a stranger.

It was him.

Again.

She looked up, and this time, she didn't speak.

Because his hand was already around her wrist, steadying her.

Warm.

Firm.

Her breath hitched.

Zeyan held her gaze, then let go slowly, as if touching her burned and healed him at once.

"I'm sorry," he said softly. "For everything I haven't told you."

She tilted her head. "You're not just here for the conference, are you?"

He gave a tight smile. "No."

"Then why?"

"Because five years ago, I lost the love of my life."

Her lips parted.

"And today, I found her again."

Ruoxi didn't run.

Didn't cry.

Didn't even speak.

But something in her eyes cracked — like a mirror remembering what it used to reflect.

And though the city buzzed around them, time folded into stillness.

That night, she dreamed again.

Of being held.

Of soft laughter and tender kisses.

Of a name whispered in her ear: Zeyan.