Chapter 4: The Strange Comfort of Leo Yang

Belle wasn’t used to this kind of attention.

The gentle kind.

The kind that didn’t demand anything in return.

The kind that simply showed up—consistently.

After the breakup, most of her classmates expected her to retreat into heartbreak territory: listening to sad playlists, cutting her hair impulsively, or rage-posting quotes about betrayal on her Instagram stories.

But Belle didn’t do any of that.

Instead, she just… floated through the days. Numb. Present, but distant. Laughing at the right moments. Showing up for group projects. But a part of her—something soft and vital—had gone quiet.

That’s when Leo started showing up more.

At first, he was just there by coincidence:

• The same seat in the library.

• The same line at the cafeteria.

• The same train ride home.

Then Belle started noticing the little things:

— How he always waited until she took the first bite before eating.

— How he texted memes instead of questions when he knew she was down.

— How he never asked her for anything, but always offered help.

One afternoon, Belle was sitting on a bench near the engineering building, her face blank as she stared at a cold cup of milk tea. She hadn’t touched it in 20 minutes.

Leo appeared without warning, holding a tote bag.

“I brought snacks,” he said, sitting beside her.

“Did I ask for snacks?” she replied flatly.

“Nope. But I know you skipped lunch. And you hate eating alone.”

She blinked. “You’re starting to sound like a stalker.”

Leo grinned. “I prefer the term ‘observant admirer.’”

Belle rolled her eyes, but she reached into the tote bag anyway. Inside were Korean fish cakes, her favorite strawberry soda, and a folded paper crane.

“What’s this?” she asked, holding the crane.

“Something stupid I found online. It says if you fold one when you want someone to feel better, the wish gets absorbed into the paper.”

“That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Leo shrugged. “Yeah. But you smiled.”

Belle looked down at the crane and sighed.

“You’re too nice,” she muttered.

Leo leaned back, arms crossed behind his head.

“Not always. You just bring it out of me.”

Belle stared at him. There was something odd about Leo Yang. He wasn’t cool in the traditional sense. He wasn’t flashy or charismatic like Jhong. But he had this grounded, comforting presence—like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold day. You didn’t realize how much you needed it until it was right there in your hands.

A week later, Belle surprised herself.

She invited Leo to join her for a film screening on campus.

“Just so we’re clear,” she said, “This isn’t a date.”

“Got it,” Leo replied. “I’ll leave the roses and fireworks at home.”

They watched an old black-and-white romantic film. Halfway through, the projector glitched and froze on a dramatic kiss scene. Everyone groaned, but Leo leaned toward Belle and whispered, “Should I recreate the moment?”

Belle shoved him with a laugh.

When the movie resumed, Belle realized she wasn’t even paying attention anymore. She was too busy watching him.

That night, as they walked home, Belle asked him, “Why didn’t you ever say anything back in high school?”

Leo shrugged. “You didn’t remember me. I figured I didn’t stand a chance.”

“You’re saying that now? After you basically ninja-kissed me last week?”

He chuckled. “I panicked. You were crying. I was thinking, Wow, I can’t believe she’s this close to me—and then boom. My lips acted on instinct.”

Belle shook her head, smiling. “You’re so weird.”

“Yep. But I’m your weird now.”

Belle didn’t respond. But her silence wasn’t rejection.

It was hesitation. Thoughtfulness.

The kind you feel right before your heart starts opening again.

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