The rain fell softly over Beijing that evening, blurring the neon lights into streaks of pink and gold. Inside a quiet bookstore café, Wen Yu sat by the window, lost in his thoughts. He worked there part-time after classes, serving coffee to strangers who never looked twice at him — except one.
Every Thursday at exactly six, a tall man in a dark coat would walk in, order the same jasmine tea, and sit in the same corner seat. His name was Li Zhi. Calm, polite, always with a faint smile that never quite reached his eyes.
Wen Yu tried not to stare, but he always did. There was something about Li Zhi that felt lonely — like a melody waiting for its missing note.
One rainy evening, Li Zhi’s usual seat was taken. The café was full, so Wen Yu, nervous but brave, brought his tea over and said softly,
“You can sit with me, if you’d like.”
Li Zhi looked surprised, then smiled — a real smile this time. “Thank you.”
They talked. About books. About music. About how neither of them liked crowds but both loved the sound of rain. When Wen Yu laughed, Li Zhi couldn’t look away. When Li Zhi spoke, Wen Yu listened like every word mattered.
As the weeks passed, it became their quiet ritual — tea, rain, and soft smiles shared across a small wooden table.
One night, when the rain was especially heavy and thunder shook the windows, the lights went out. In the darkness, Wen Yu whispered, “Are you still here?”
A warm hand found his. “Always,” Li Zhi said, his voice low.
When the lights flickered back, Li Zhi’s hand didn’t move away. He looked at Wen Yu, eyes gentle but certain, and said,
“I didn’t know what love felt like until you smiled at me.”
Wen Yu’s heart beat too fast. He squeezed Li Zhi’s hand and whispered back,
“Then don’t ever forget it. Love never felt so good… until you.”
Outside, the rain kept falling — but inside the café, two hearts had finally found their rhythm.
