雨还在下，不大不小，淅淅沥沥的，像陈默那天走的时候一样。沈晓雨 tilted the umbrella lower, trying to catch the droplets bouncing off the pavement. She'd been standing there for what felt like an eternity—the corner coffee shop had closed an hour ago, the streetlights glinting off wet leaves.

"Idiot," she muttered. "Why did he leave? Was it because of Sun Xiaoyu?"

The name hit her like cold rain. Sun Xiaoyu, who'd been all over Pema like glittering tinsel. She'd seen them arguing in the park two weeks ago, Pema trying to push her away, Sun Xiaoyu's face tight with annoyance—soon enough. Now it made sense. Pema was scared. Scared that he’d lose her, so he’d run.

Wait. That didn’t fit. Pema had said he’d never abandon her. Broken promises, yes. But abandonment? Never.

She watched the taxi door close at the corner. Pema’s reflection flashed in the window—shoulder-length hair, stubborn chin, the way his jaw clenched when he thought no one was looking. Then the door slid shut and he disappeared into the crowd.