Ryan Lee didn't slam the door when he left Kai's apartment.
But he wanted to.
The morning had gone from tense silence to sharp words, then back to silence again. Kai's passive tone, the way he looked away when Ryan asked about the messages, the plane tickets—none of it added up. But it didn't need to. Ryan already knew.
And that knowing sat heavy in his chest like wet concrete.
He didn't go back home. He just drove. Aimless through the Kuala Lumpur traffic until his stomach growled and the thought of another lonely meal made him wince.
Instead, he pulled into a familiar street and parked in front of a familiar building.
Emily opened the door in her apron, hair tied up with a clip, a wooden spoon still in her hand.
"You look like you've been hit by a bus," she said.
"Close," he muttered. "More like emotional roadkill."
She gave him a once-over, then stepped aside. "Well, the kitchen's open. Come in."
The air inside her apartment smelled like garlic and chili—sharp, comforting. Sambal eggs sizzled in the pan, and a bowl of cut cucumbers sat on the counter, lightly salted and chilling.
Ryan rolled up his sleeves.
"You want to talk about it?" she asked.
"Nope."
"Okay," she said, already handing him the chopping board. "Then slice those onions thin. No tears allowed."
For the next twenty minutes, they cooked. Side by side. Her humming a song he didn't recognize, him finding rhythm in the mundane. They made simple things—rice, stir-fried kangkung with belacan, egg tofu in soy sauce. But something about the way she worked made it feel like more.
At one point, she flicked a drop of water at him when he forgot to stir.
He retaliated with a grain of rice.
She tossed a slice of cucumber back.
He forgot, for a moment, that this was fake.
They ate at her small dining table, legs brushing beneath. The fan overhead hummed gently. Outside, the call to prayer echoed from a nearby mosque, mingling with the distant sounds of traffic.
"This is nice," he said.
Emily didn't look up. "You're easy to feed."
"That's a dangerous trait. I might never leave."
She smiled, soft but unreadable. "You say that like it's a joke."
"It's not," Ryan said before he could stop himself.
A beat of silence stretched between them.
He looked away first.
After lunch, Emily cleaned while Ryan dozed off on the couch. He woke up to the sound of her zipping her bag.
"Private tutoring gig?" he asked, rubbing his eyes.
"Yeah. Two hours. Need a ride?"
"I'll pick you up later," he said before she could answer.
She blinked. "You sure?"
He stood. "I want to."
That evening, the city had cooled slightly, the golden hour light turning Jalan Tun Razak into a dreamscape. Ryan leaned against his car outside the tutoring center, watching students trickle out one by one.
Emily appeared last, hair messy, face tired.
"Your students good today?" he asked as she climbed in.
"One of them tried to convince me that 7×6 was 42 because it's the 'vibe' he got."
Ryan laughed, properly laughed, for the first time all day.
They ended up at a roadside stall in Kampung Baru, the kind where plastic stools wobble and the air smells like charcoal smoke and grilled satay. Emily ordered two bowls of curry laksa, and Ryan added grilled chicken wings and iced barley.
They ate under string lights, watching strangers walk past.
Ryan found himself watching her.
The way she blew on her spoon before tasting. The way she always overestimated how much chili she could handle and tried to hide it.
"You're so..." he began, then paused.
"So what?" she asked, wiping sauce off her chin.
"Reliable," he said.
Emily blinked. "That's not a word men usually use before proposing."
"I mean it," he said, softer now. "Today, I felt like I couldn't breathe. And you—you just opened the door."
She didn't say anything for a while.
Then: "I didn't do anything special."
"You let me exist without pretending. That's special."
Her cheeks colored, just slightly.
He wanted to reach for her hand.
He didn't.
Later, when he dropped her off, she lingered at the door.
"Tomorrow, we should finalize the song list," she said. "And confirm the venue's dress code."
"Sure," Ryan said. But what he meant was: Stay.
She gave him a small wave and disappeared inside.
He sat in the car a long time, fingers on the wheel.
This was supposed to be fake.
But today hadn't been.
Not even a little.