Meng Siyi’s profile picture was a simple white design—a watercolor-like cloud, hazy and soft, with faint outlines of droplets in the middle.

Zhu Shiyu opened their chat history, scrolling up. Their messages were mostly brief and ordinary, but the conversation dates showed no long gaps.

The longest they’d gone without contact was about three days.

There was no intentional break, nor any active seeking out; time just passed naturally, and it wasn’t until one of them thought of the other that they’d realize they’d disappeared from each other’s lives for days.

That night, just before she went to bed around midnight, a new message popped up on her phone.

It was from Meng Siyi.

**[Good night]**

In that moment, in the stillness of the night, Zhu Shiyu could almost smell the scent of lemon-salted seawater.

She carefully phrased an invitation for dinner and sent it to him.

Meng Siyi replied quickly; he didn’t ask any questions and agreed readily, settling on a date without hesitation.

Both Zhou Zhen and Zhu Anyuan seemed slightly excited, and they started planning the dishes well in advance. On the day of the visit, Zhu Shiyu woke up to the sounds of chopping in the kitchen just as dawn broke.

On the cutting board lay seafood filling and dumpling wrappers.

It was Zhou Zhen’s specialty—seafood dumplings.

Since going off to college, Zhu Shiyu hadn’t tasted them again.

During the college entrance exams, she’d insisted on applying to a university in Jing City and choosing film production as her major, causing a rift with her family. Years of tension finally erupted when, after graduation, she chose to stay in Jing City, rejecting their offer to have her come back to take the civil service exam.

From that point on, Zhou Zhen had never spoken to her kindly.

Meng Siyi arrived right on time, courteously coming half an hour early. When he showed up at the door with his hands full of gifts, Zhu Shiyu was taken aback by his formality.

“Why… did you bring so many things?” She glanced back toward the kitchen and lowered her voice.

“It’s my first visit; this is basic courtesy,” Meng Siyi replied, standing tall at the door, his expression calm and respectful.

Zhu Shiyu nodded and, without another word, stepped aside to let him in.

The two in the kitchen had already heard the noise and quickly took off their aprons to come greet him warmly.

“Xiao Meng, you’re here! You didn’t have to bring so many things. Next time, treat this as your own home,” Zhou Zhen said with a kind smile, inviting him to sit on the living room sofa. Zhu Anyuan hurriedly took the gifts from his hands and carefully placed them on the cabinet.

“Would you like some tea? This is your uncle’s favorite Maojian tea, or would you prefer plain hot water?”

The long-held silence in the house was suddenly replaced with an unusual warmth, creating a lively atmosphere unlike anything Zhu Shiyu had experienced in a while. Compared to their enthusiasm, she felt more like an outsider, sitting quietly on the sofa.

The dinner table was laid out with six dishes and a soup, each meticulously prepared and fragrant. At the center was an intricately plated dish of hibiscus shrimp.

“Xiao Meng, give it a try—your uncle and aunt’s cooking,” they urged, heaping his bowl with food until it was overflowing.

The seafood dumplings were set closest to Zhu Shiyu. She picked one up, placed it in her bowl, and took a bite. The familiar taste filled her senses.

The steam brought tears to her eyes.

That flavor had accompanied every morning of her senior year in high school.

High school life was tough, especially senior year, with the academic pressures even heavier. The school enforced strict attendance for morning and evening study sessions, meaning she had to be up before dawn.

During that time, Zhou Zhen, worried she’d be worn out or undernourished, would prepare the dumpling filling the night before and wake up early to cook them for her to take to school.

Every day for an entire year, over three hundred days, she never missed a morning. Later, fearing she’d tire of the same breakfast, Zhou Zhen would vary it with different dishes.

Before they fell out, Zhu Shiyu had been cherished and cared for by her family for eighteen years.

Her mother would bring her an umbrella when it rained, layer on clothes when it was cold, and nurse her tirelessly whenever she was sick. Her meals and everything she used were always chosen with utmost care. Growing up, Zhu Shiyu was never allowed into the kitchen.

Her memories were filled with endless plates of fruit she couldn’t finish at her desk.

With scenes of Zhou Zhen ushering her back to study or rest every time she tried to help with chores.

Countless acts of love and moments of warmth as a family of three.

Lowering her head, Zhu Shiyu felt a tight ache in her chest, her eyes moist for a fleeting second before she quickly regained control.

She finished the dumpling in her hand in one big bite but didn’t reach for a second.

As the meal drew to a close, dusk had fallen outside the window.

Meng Siyi put down his chopsticks and, as usual, picked up a napkin.

The lively chatter at the table suddenly came to a halt, as if someone had pressed pause.

Uncertain of what was happening, Zhu Shiyu looked up and saw Zhou Zhen and Zhu Anyuan exchange glances before they turned their gaze to Meng Siyi, preparing to speak.

Her heart skipped a beat, a subtle premonition rising within her.

The next second, she heard Zhou Zhen ask Meng Siyi, “Xiao Meng, when do you plan to get married?”

Meng Siyi paused.

He turned and looked gently at Zhu Shiyu. She sat there, her profile delicate and porcelain-like, her eyes slightly wide, momentarily frozen as if caught off guard.

He withdrew his gaze, lowering his eyes to the white porcelain bowl in front of him, his manner gentle and considerate.

“I’ll go with whatever Shiyu wants. Whenever she’s ready to get married, I’m fine with it.”