The room was cloaked in the soft glow of the dying embers in the fireplace, casting long shadows across the walls. Noor stood near the window, her silhouette bathed in the cold silver light of the moon. Her hands were clenched at her sides, the silk of her somber dress whispering against the silence. She had prepared herself for this moment—rehearsed the words in her mind a thousand times. And yet, standing here now, with Sanlang's gaze burning into her back, she found herself unable to speak.
Sanlang took a step forward, the sound of his breath uneven. He had sensed it the moment she walked in tonight—something was different.
"You're leaving." It wasn't a question. It was a statement laced with raw disbelief, as if saying it aloud would somehow make it unreal.
Noor inhaled deeply but didn't turn. "Yes."
The single word sliced through the air, sharp and merciless.
Sanlang felt his chest tighten, his fingers curling into fists. "Why?" His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.
Noor finally turned to face him, her eyes carrying the weight of a thousand unsaid things. "Because this… you and I… it's not meant to be."
Sanlang let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "Not meant to be?" He took another step closer, his eyes dark with frustration, with pain. "After everything… after all these years, you stand here and say it was never meant to be?"
Noor held his gaze, refusing to look away. "Yes."
The silence between them stretched, thick with agony. Sanlang's breath grew ragged, his emotions barely restrained. "Then look me in the eyes," he demanded, his voice shaking, "and tell me you feel nothing. That leaving me won't tear you apart."
Noor's lips parted, but no sound came. She wanted to lie, to give him the cold, finality he needed to let her go. But she couldn't.
Sanlang reached out suddenly, grabbing her wrist—desperate, trembling. "Don't do this," he pleaded. "Stay. Even if you hate me, even if you can never love me again, just—stay."
Noor closed her eyes, inhaling shakily. "Sanlang…"
"You said you'd never leave me," he whispered, his grip tightening as if she'd slip through his fingers like sand. "You swore it."
She had. And now she was breaking that promise.
"I have to." Her voice was barely audible, laced with sorrow so deep it nearly drowned her.
Sanlang exhaled sharply, his body going rigid. For a moment, he said nothing, only staring at her as if trying to memorize every detail of her face, as if trying to carve her into his soul before she vanished.
His voice was hollow now, empty. "If you've already decided, then just… go."
Noor hesitated for a moment, her heart screaming for her to stay, to turn back, to take his face in her hands and tell him the truth. That leaving him was killing her.
But she didn't.
With a final glance, she turned and walked toward the door.
Each step was heavier than the last.
Each breath felt like a dagger to her chest.
Sanlang didn't move. He didn't call after her. He simply stood there, watching as the woman he loved walked out of his life.
And when the door finally closed behind her, the silence left in her wake was deafening.
Sanlang stood in the middle of his room, his breathing still unsteady, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. Noor was gone. The warmth of her touch, the scent of her lingering presence—it was all fading too quickly, slipping from his grasp like sand through his fingers.
His chest ached with an unbearable heaviness, frustration tightening his throat. Why? Why did she always run?
He turned sharply, his pulse thundering in his ears as he stormed toward the balcony. The night air was cool against his heated skin, but it did nothing to calm the tempest within him. His hands gripped the stone railing as he exhaled harshly, his mind replaying every second of what had just happened.
Her trembling breath.
The way she leaned into him.
The way her fingers curled against his shirt as if she was holding on.
And yet—she had left.
A bitter laugh escaped his lips, low and broken. Did she not feel what he did?
A quiet knock at the door made him stiffen. His temper flared instantly—he was in no mood for company—but before he could bark out a command, the door creaked open.
A tall figure stepped inside, moving with a relaxed grace that was almost mocking. "Should I congratulate you or offer my condolences?"
Sanlang turned his head slightly, his sharp gaze locking onto the man who had just entered. "If you're here to be annoying, leave."
Liang smirked, his hands tucked into the pockets of his sleek black suit. "You wound me, old friend." He leaned against the doorframe, eyes gleaming with knowing amusement. "Though, judging by that expression, I'd say she got to you again."
Sanlang's jaw tightened. "Stay out of this, Liang."
Liang hummed thoughtfully, stepping further inside. "I would, truly. But watching you torture yourself over this woman is becoming my favorite source of entertainment." His gaze flickered over to the half-empty glass of whiskey on the table. "What did she do this time?"
Sanlang exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "She exists."
Liang chuckled. "That bad, huh?"
Sanlang shot him a glare, but the irritation quickly faded, replaced by something far heavier. He ran a hand through his hair before sinking into the chair beside him. "She let me hold her." His voice was raw, almost disbelieving. "For the first time in years, she didn't push me away."
Liang's brow arched slightly, though he masked his interest behind an easy smirk. "And then?"
Sanlang let out a hollow laugh. "Then she left."
Liang tilted his head. "And you're surprised?"
Sanlang's eyes snapped to him, sharp and filled with barely restrained anger. "Don't."
Liang sighed, pushing off the doorframe and walking over to the liquor cabinet. He poured himself a drink, swirling the amber liquid in his glass before turning back to face Sanlang. "You know what your problem is?"
Sanlang let out a dry chuckle. "Enlighten me."
"You keep chasing after , who's spent her entire life learning how to run." Liang took a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down. "And worse, you expect her to stop just because you want her to."
Sanlang stared at him, silent.
Liang sighed, shaking his head. "You love her, I get it. Hell, even a blind man could see it. But love doesn't fix what's broken, Sanlang. It doesn't make ghosts disappear."
Sanlang's fingers curled against his knee. His voice was quiet, yet laced with steel. "She's not broken."
Liang studied him for a long moment before letting out a slow exhale. "Maybe not. But she's not whole either."
Sanlang's throat tightened. He wanted to argue, to deny it—but the truth was, he had seen it in her eyes. The sadness. The weight she carried. The way she never let anyone close enough to share the burden.
Liang drained the last of his drink and placed the glass down with a soft clink. "So what now? Keep running after a woman who's mastered the art of leaving?"
Sanlang leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze dark and unreadable. "I don't care if she runs," he murmured. "I'll just keep catching her."
Liang smirked, shaking his head. "You're a fool."
Sanlang's lips curved slightly, but there was no humor in his expression. Only quiet determination.
"I know."
Noor moved through the crowded airport with a calm, deliberate pace, her heels clicking against the polished tiles in an unbroken rhythm. Around her, life bustled—families reunited, lovers embraced in teary goodbyes, and impatient businessmen barked into their phones. The air was thick with the scent of coffee and exhaustion, but none of it touched her. She was a ghost, drifting through the world unnoticed.
Well, almost unnoticed.
A man in his late fifties, dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit, walked beside her with an easy stride, his hands casually tucked into his pockets. His sharp, fox-like features carried an air of constant amusement, like he was perpetually in on a joke no one else knew.
"So, running away now, are we?" he mused, his voice light yet edged with curiosity.
Noor didn't bother to glance at him. "I prefer the term 'strategic relocation.'"
He chuckled. "Ah, yes. Because fleeing across continents with nothing but a suitcase and an unshakable sense of doom is very strategic."
She smirked but said nothing.
The man, Renard DuPont—a longtime acquaintance from the European business world—had a knack for appearing in the most inconvenient moments of her life. He wasn't a friend, nor an enemy. Just… someone who had made it his habit to pop up when least expected.
As they approached the security checkpoint, Noor's phone buzzed in her pocket. She already knew who it was.
She ignored it, placing her belongings onto the conveyor belt with effortless efficiency.
Renard leaned slightly to peek at her screen. "Ah, a persistent caller? Must be important."
"Not particularly," she replied, her voice even.
"Really? Because I swear I saw that same number calling you five minutes ago. And ten minutes before that."
Noor shot him a look. "You keeping track?"
"What can I say?" He shrugged. "I enjoy watching a woman unravel."
Her phone buzzed again. She pulled it out, stared at Sanlang's name glowing on the screen, and let it ring.
Renard let out a dramatic sigh. "Poor bastard. He must think he still has a chance."
"But does he?" he teased, watching her closely.
She declined the call. The sound of the ended call was final, absolute.
Renard raised a brow. "Ah. The cold-blooded silence treatment. Remind me never to fall in love."
Noor gave him a flat look. "That would require you to have a heart."
He grinned. "Touché."
The security officer waved her through, and she strode forward, feeling Renard's gaze lingering on her. He caught up effortlessly, falling into step beside her again.
"You're not getting on my flight, are you?" Noor asked, half-expecting the answer to be 'yes.'
He placed a hand over his chest in mock offense. "What, you think I'd just drop everything and follow you across the world?"
"Yes."
Renard smirked. "Fair. But no. I have business."
They reached the gate, and the final boarding call echoed through the terminal.
"Well," he said, tilting his head. "This is where we part ways."
Noor nodded.
Renard studied her, his usual amusement replaced by something unreadable. Then, with a small shake of his head, he gave her a lazy salute. "Good luck, Noor."
She didn't reply.
With one last glance at her silent phone, she turned away and stepped onto the jet bridge, leaving everything—and everyone—behind.
The city was too loud. Too bright. Noor stepped out of the airport, pulling her coat tighter around her as the humid night air wrapped around her like an unwanted embrace.
A taxi pulled up, and she slid in, mumbling the address of a hotel she had booked at the last minute. The driver, an older man with thick-rimmed glasses, glanced at her through the rearview mirror.
"First time here?" he asked in an accent thick with local dialect.
Noor didn't feel like answering. She only gave a slight nod, turning to stare out the window as the city blurred past. Neon lights cast fractured reflections on the glass, distorting her face into someone unrecognizable.
"Business or pleasure?" the driver pressed, his tone casual.
Noor let out a dry, humorless chuckle.
"Just passing through," she muttered, tapping her fingers against her lap.
The car weaved through the bustling streets, past restaurants spilling over with laughter, street vendors calling out their prices. She hated them all in that moment—every single one of them who could live without suffocating on their own emotions.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Her stomach twisted. She already knew who it wasn't.
Still, she pulled it out, staring at the blank screen. No messages.
She shoved the phone back, staring blankly at the seat in front of her. This was what she had wanted, wasn't it? To walk away before she made a mistake she couldn't undo?
Then why did she feel like a hollowed-out shell of a person?
The taxi finally pulled up in front of the hotel. Noor handed over a few bills and stepped out, rolling her suitcase behind her. The bellboy at the entrance rushed forward, eager to help, but she shook her head.
The lobby was dimly lit, a stark contrast to the bright streets outside. The receptionist, a young man barely out of his twenties, greeted her with a polite smile. "Checking in?"
Noor nodded, sliding her ID across the counter.
"Long flight?" he asked, typing something into the system.
She exhaled sharply. "Feels like it."
The receptionist handed her the keycard. "Room 704. Elevator's to your left. Enjoy your stay."
"Yeah," she murmured, picking up her bag.
The room was small but clean. A single bed. A desk. A window overlooking the city she wanted nothing to do with. She dropped her suitcase by the door, her limbs feeling heavier than they should.
She sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through her hair. The weight of everything settled over her—Sanlang, the past, the choice she made.
Her eyes burned.
Her phone buzzed again. She grabbed it, heart pounding. But it wasn't him. Just a notification from a bank. Some transfer she had scheduled days ago.
A bitter smile curled at her lips.
She let the phone slip from her fingers onto the bed.
Outside, the city kept moving. People laughed, horns blared, life continued.
And inside, Noor sat frozen, drowning in the one thing she had tried so hard to escape the fate.