Against the Algorithm

Chapter 22: How It Begins

"Okay?"

Sicheng went completely still. Not tense. Not frustrated. Just... stunned. His jaw tightened slightly, not in anger, not even in disbelief, but in something heavier, something deeper, something bordering on awe—because this girl, this beautiful, blunt, logical, emotionally straightforward girl, genuinely didn't understand why he thought this mattered. She wasn't brushing it off. She wasn't pretending. She just... didn't care. Because it wasn't relevant to her. Because to her, it didn't change anything. And that realization—that—was more disarming than anything she had ever said to him.

Yao, still watching him expectantly, still clearly trying to work out what he was waiting for, leaned forward slightly, her fingers brushing the corner of the investment portfolio he had prepared, her voice quiet but steady as she asked again, slower now, like she was trying to meet him halfway in the explanation he never actually needed to give, "I don't understand why you're telling me this like it's supposed to change something."

And Sicheng just stared at her. Watched the way she sat across from him, completely relaxed, completely sincere, with no hidden layers in her voice, no attempt to avoid the truth, no nervousness, no retreat. And in that moment, something inside him shifted.

Not sharply.

Not suddenly.

But steadily.

Permanently.

Because she wasn't just okay with the truth—she had never even considered it a problem in the first place. And that kind of certainty, that kind of quiet, unwavering trust, settled into his chest like a lock finally clicking into place. Because she was already his. And whether she fully understood it yet or not—he was hers. So he exhaled once, long and slow, the tension that had crept into his shoulders bleeding out of him all at once, his amber gaze softening just slightly, and then—finally—he allowed a smirk to tug at the corner of his lips.

It was slow.

Sharp.

Unmistakable.

And then, with a voice low, smooth, threaded with something absolute, something settled, something final, he said, "It doesn't."

Yao blinked again.

And that was it.

That was all she needed.

And Sicheng?

Sicheng leaned back, the last of his hesitation slipping quietly into the past, because now—now—he had nothing left to hold back.

The moment Sicheng decided that there was truly nothing left to hold back, no further need for caution, no lingering thought to hesitate over, he knew—without a shadow of doubt—that there was still one thing left to say, one truth that needed to be spoken aloud, not later, not eventually, but now, while she was still seated across from him, still wrapped in his hoodie like it was a shield, still looking at him with that wide, open expression that meant she was ready to hear whatever he needed her to understand.

Because this wasn't just about affection. This wasn't just about dating. This wasn't about indulging in a feeling or entertaining the idea of something temporary just because it felt good in the moment.

No.

This was about her.

This was about the only person he had ever wanted with the kind of slow, terrifying certainty that made everything else he had once thought important fall completely out of focus.