The next morning, sunlight poured through the tall windows of the school corridors. Students chatted excitedly about their summer plans, the energy light and carefree. But none of it touched Meilin.
Her steps were steady as she walked toward the staff room, her school bag slung over one shoulder, her mind already calculating.
Inside, the room was quiet—deserted, except for one.
Ian stood by the desk, flipping through exam sheets. His posture relaxed, but his sharp gaze lifted the moment she stepped in.
"Ah, right on time," he said, without looking up. "Come in. Close the door."
Meilin did so, not saying a word.
Ian set the papers down and leaned back casually, one brow arched. "So. What's the next step?"
She didn't blink. "Summer vacation starts tomorrow."
He gave her a look. "That's not what I asked."
Meilin met his eyes, her voice even. "Which is why I said—nothing for now. I'll wait. School's closed for a few weeks. Can't do much until everyone returns."
Ian hummed thoughtfully, watching her.
"You've really thought this through, haven't you?" he said. "No sudden rage, no outbursts… you're not like her."
"No," Meilin said, almost too softly. "I'm not."
He studied her for a moment longer, then folded his arms. "So what'll you do in the meantime? Stalk them through fake profiles? Lay traps? Spy on them?"
"No," she replied simply. "I'll be working at a coffee shop."
Ian raised both eyebrows. "You? Job? Aren't you… what's the word—loaded?"
She gave him a sideways look. "My dad is. I'm not. And anyway, it's not about money. It's my friend's café. I want to keep busy. Sitting around with my thoughts would be... counterproductive."
"Huh," Ian muttered, a crooked smile tugging at his lips. "Didn't think I'd hear you say that."
Meilin tilted her head slightly. "You sound surprised."
"I guess I just expected you to spend vacation plotting. But here you are, going to make lattes instead."
"Plots don't disappear just because I'm pouring coffee," she replied, grabbing her bag strap again. "They just simmer."
Ian chuckled at that. "You're scarier than I expected, you know that?"
She opened the door. "I get that a lot."
"Hey—" Ian called after her. She paused and glanced over her shoulder.
"Don't get too distracted."
She gave a faint smile. "I don't get distracted. I just multitask."
And with that, she was gone—leaving Ian staring at the door, one hand in his pocket, the other dragging through his hair.
"Damn… definitely not like her."