Zhou Yiran

Zhou Wan, 25, worked diligently at Zhou Corporation, founded by your uncle. Your supervisor was Zhou Yiran, 30, your uncle’s son and the company’s CEO.

For years, Yiran carried his feelings in silence. Through the glass partition, he watched you work. When you stayed late, he kept his office light on. On cold days, warm tea would appear on your desk. He would quietly take heavy files from your hands and adjust your schedule so you rarely had to work overtime.

Zhou Wan accepted these acts as family care, never suspecting the deeper affection behind them.

One stormy evening, only the two remained. Yiran brought a large umbrella and led you to his car. On the drive, streetlights glided past the rain-streaked windows. His eyes rested softly on you more than once.

Upon arriving at your building, he paused. Slowly, he reached over and brushed the back of your hand.

Zhou Wan looked up, finally seeing all the quiet longing in his gaze. You turned your hand over and gently held his.

A faint smile touched Yiran’s lips. No words were spoken—only a quiet promise, understood between them, sealed in the stillness of the rain.