The Taipei Sports Tech Expo was buzzing with energy—athletes, developers, investors, and students filled the vast hall at the Taipei Nangang Exhibition Center. Jenny walked calmly between booths, her company badge clipped to her bzer and a sleek tablet in hand. She wasn’t just attending; she was part of the organizing staff for Aurora’s product demo.

  “Jenny, can you assist at Booth 14?” her colleague called out.

  “On it,” she replied, heading across the hall.

  Booth 14 was near the event’s premium exhibitors—a mix of major sponsors and tech companies. As she neared it, her steps slowed. Her eyes nded on a familiar logo.

  MediaTek.

  She almost ughed to herself. Of course.

  Just then, her breath caught.

  There he was.

  Li Wei.

  Standing tall in a bck dress shirt, sleeves rolled up, badge clipped on, discussing something with two clients. His jawline had sharpened, hair trimmed clean. He was different—but unmistakably him.

  Jenny stood frozen for a second.

  Three years.

  He gnced up mid-sentence. Their eyes met.

  Only for a second.

  Then he looked away, continuing his conversation as if nothing had happened.

  Jenny blinked.

  No smile.

  No nod.

  No flicker of acknowledgment.

  She swallowed. Okay. She turned, adjusting the tablet in her hands, and walked past them with quiet steps.

  She didn't hear her name. He didn’t follow.

  Later that evening, back in her apartment, Jenny sat at her desk reviewing feedback forms from the expo. Her fingers hovered above the keyboard.

  That moment kept repying in her head—his cold, unreadable expression.

  She didn’t know what stung more: the fact that he saw her and looked through her… or the part of her that still wished he hadn't.

  Her phone vibrated.

  A message from Victor.

  Victor:

  “Hey, how was the expo? Heard your company killed it ????”

  Jenny:

  “It was okay.”

  Victor:

  “You saw him, didn’t you?”

  She stared at the message.

  Jenny:

  “Yeah. He didn’t say a word.”

  There was no reply for a while. Then:

  Victor:

  “He’s probably still figuring things out. Or maybe he just didn’t know how to handle it.”

  Jenny:

  “Maybe.”

  She locked her phone.

  She had grown. She had healed—mostly.

  But that one-second gnce reminded her that some wounds never quite close. They just stop bleeding.