Chapter 2: The Winds of Hmuifang

It was a cold, windy morning when he called.

"Let’s go to Hmuifang," Robert said casually, like he was asking me to come downstairs, not to ride hours up a mountain with him.

“Hmuifang?” I repeated, unsure if I heard him right. “Like... the real one?”

He chuckled over the phone. “The one and only. Sunrise view. Just you and me.”

My heart skipped. No one had ever asked me to do something like that. Especially not a boy like him — cool, confident, a biker boy with his helmet always tucked under one arm and wind in his voice. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel excited… and nervous. I’d never been on a bike trip that far, let alone alone with a boy. But something in his voice made me say yes.

The next morning, the sky still dark and scattered with stars, I met him at our usual spot. He pulled up on his bike, black jacket zipped up to his neck, and his helmet balanced on the handlebar. He handed me an extra helmet and looked at me with a half-smile.

“You ready?”

I nodded, trying not to show how fast my heart was racing.

The engine roared to life beneath us. I clutched the sides of his jacket, hesitant at first, but as the wind rushed past and the sun started creeping over the hills, my grip tightened. I could feel the heat of his body through the fabric, his shoulders solid and comforting. I wanted that moment to last forever.

The road to Hmuifang was winding and wild, with sharp curves and sudden climbs. But he rode with confidence, weaving through turns like he’d memorized every inch. I watched the sky change colors above us — deep blue fading to orange, the fog lifting from the valleys.

When we finally reached the top, the view took my breath away. Mist curled around the hills, and the trees swayed softly in the cold breeze. There was something magical about standing there with him, just the two of us, surrounded by silence and sky.

We walked to the lookout tower — an old, weather-beaten structure that rose above the treetops. I hesitated at first, staring up at its wooden steps.

“Scared?” he asked, teasing.

“No,” I lied, and started climbing.

The wind was stronger up there. It whipped through my hair and made my hands tremble as I held onto the railings. I hadn’t dressed warmly enough, and I started to shiver. He noticed right away.

“You're cold,” he said.

“I’m fine,” I insisted, my teeth almost chattering.

Without a word, he took off his jacket and offered it to me. I shook my head. “You'll catch a cold.”

He smiled — that gentle, knowing smile that made my heart flutter. Then, without asking, he stepped behind me, wrapped his arms around my shoulders, and pulled me inside his jacket. My back pressed against his chest, his arms circled around me, warm and secure.

“There,” he whispered. “Now we’re both warm.”

I could hear his heartbeat. Slow, steady. My own felt like it was trying to jump out of my chest.

We stayed like that for what felt like hours. Not talking, just breathing in the cold morning air, watching the clouds drift by. It was the kind of moment I used to read about in books — the kind I thought only happened to other people. But it was happening to me. With him.

Later, we explored the area, walking along narrow paths lined with trees. He pointed out strange-shaped leaves and told me stories about the place, some of which I’m sure he made up. I laughed more than I had in weeks. He held my hand when the path got steep and kept looking back to check if I was okay.

“I like this,” I said at one point, quietly.

He looked at me, eyes soft. “Me too.”

On the way back down, we stopped at a little roadside shop for tea. The steam curled up between us, and he kept stealing glances at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. We didn’t say much. We didn’t need to.

By the time we reached the city, the sun was high and bright, the spell of the mountain slowly fading. He dropped me off near my place, took off his helmet, and leaned the bike on its stand.

“Thanks for today,” I said, clutching my bag like it would anchor me.

He looked at me for a long second. “Anytime.”

Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out a tiny paper crane, and placed it in my hand. “For luck,” he said. “And maybe… for the next trip.”

I stood there as he drove away, wind trailing behind him, wondering how a single day could feel like forever.

It wasn’t just the trip. It was the way he made me feel like I belonged, like I was someone worth showing the world to. He made me feel like a main character in a story I never thought I’d live.

And maybe that’s why it hurt so much when things changed.

But in that moment, I didn’t know what was coming. I didn’t know about the silence, the doubt, the goodbye waiting just a few months down the line. All I knew was that morning, that wind, that boy.

And the feeling of being held — really held — for the first time.

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