Time to Heal
[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes. Reader discretion is advised. Please read the disclaimers mentioned in the Instagram post.]
It rained all night.
Not the kind that gently hums against rooftops… but the heavy, relentless kind that drowns out thoughts, silences cities, and seeps deep into the bones.
Zhan stood by his window, the soft yellow light of his bedroom casting long shadows across his face.
Warmth of that riverside bench, the faint steam of hot chocolate, the low hum of Yibo’s voice, it all felt unreal now.
His hands were still trembling.
He had replayed that video a hundred times in his mind.
Not the visuals.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to remember… it was that now he couldn’t stop.
And that frightened him in a way he couldn’t explain.
But the feel of it.
His mouth against Yibo’s.
His hands.
The hunger.
The surrender.
The way Yibo had looked at him… not afraid, not uncertain.
Just open… wanting.
Zhan swallowed hard and backed away from the window.
His body felt too heavy,
Like… it wasn’t fully his anymore.
At twenty-seven, Zhan was finally beginning to understand something about himself he’d never had the courage to face.
Now he knew why things never felt right.
Why he never saw love the way others did.
Why he hesitated every time someone asked what he wanted in a partner, what he looked for in love.
It wasn’t shame he felt…
Just the quiet, disorienting weight of clarity after years of confusion.
The kind of clarity that both grounds you and shatters you.
He wasn’t lost anymore.
He was just finally seeing the truth.
And it changed everything.
On the other side of that quiet, Yibo sat alone in his bed.
The phone screen lay dark next to him.
His heart heavier than he wanted to admit.
He kept replaying it all in his head… Zhan’s expression, the way he walked away without looking back, the silence that swallowed the moment.
He wasn’t angry.
Just… hollow.
Like he’d handed over something fragile and honest, and all he got in return was a silence he didn’t know how to carry.
And beneath that silence, something else twisted in his chest… guilt.
He could have told Zhan the truth earlier.
Should have.
Should’ve had the courage to say it himself, face-to-face, before Zhan found out on his own.
Maybe now, Zhan felt like he’d been kept in the dark for too long.
And maybe Yibo had been the one who left him there.
That thought hurt the most.
But God… he wished he knew what Zhan was feeling.
Was he hurt? Shocked? Disgusted?
Or worse… was Su Mian right? Would he never forgive him for hiding it all this time?
Would he shut him out again… for good?
The thought curled like a knot in Yibo’s chest.
It made him restless.
That night, neither of them called.
Neither messaged.
Just silence.
———————————–
Zhan didn’t go to the bookstore the next morning.
He couldn’t.
It had been weeks since he last spoke properly to his parents or even to Yue.
Ever since that night when Su Mian’s lie shattered the ground beneath him, he’d pulled away from everyone.
But today, something shifted inside him.
He couldn’t keep hurting the people who loved him.
The aroma of stir-fried garlic and scallions filled the house as he made his way to the kitchen.
Liu Fang stood by the stove, lost in her thoughts, absent-mindedly stirring a pan.
Her brows were drawn together, lips pressed tight.
She had been quieter these days… watching him, worrying, waiting for her son to come back to her.
Zhan stepped forward and gently wrapped his arms around her from behind.
Liu Fang jolted, startled.
“Oh—”
She looked over her shoulder, and her breath caught when she saw him.
“Zhan?”
He rested his chin on her shoulder, voice soft.
“Ma… I’m sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”
She turned to face him fully, cupping his face with both hands as if trying to make sure he was really there.
“Mad?”
She echoed, brushing his cheek.
“I could never be mad at you, Zhanu.”
She smiled faintly, eyes misty.
“I’ve just been so worried. Not just me, your Ba, Yue… we all have. What happened, my boy? Please talk to your Ma.”
Zhan lowered his head, unable to hold her gaze.
“Whatever it was, it’s over now. I don’t want to remember it or talk about it. I just… Ma, if I hurt you, please forgive me.”
His voice cracked at the end.
Liu Fang swallowed hard, pulling him into a full embrace.
“If you don’t want to talk, then I won’t ask. All I want is for you to be happy, Zhan. Your smile lights up this house… and our lives.”
Something inside him loosened at her words.
For the first time in weeks, he felt warmth… not from the food on the stove, but from being held, accepted, loved.
After a quiet moment, she added gently.
“Your Ba and Yue… they’re hurting too. I think you should talk to them. Your father didn’t take lunch with him today. Why don’t you go take it to him?”
Zhan nodded with a small, grateful smile.
“Of course, Ma. I’ll go.”
A few minutes later, she packed the lunchbox bag, hands moving more lightly than before, and Zhan stepped out with the warm tiffin bag in hand.
———————————————
At the postal office, a peon entered Xiao Guoqiang’s room.
“Sir, there’s a visitor for you.”
He frowned slightly, standing from his chair and walking toward the reception area.
As he turned the corner, he stopped; blinking in disbelief.
Zhan stood there, holding the lunchbox bag, eyes warm and cautious.
“Zhan…?”
Guoqiang asked, approaching.
“You didn’t go to the bookstore today?”
Zhan shook his head and handed the bag to his father.
“No, Ba. Just… not feeling too great.”
His father gave a small nod.
A silence passed, not awkward but weighted.
Then Zhan spoke again, quieter this time.
“Ba… I’m sorry. I wasn’t myself these past few weeks. But… things are better now.”
Guoqiang’s shoulders relaxed.
“If you managed to sort everything out, then I’m glad.”
He paused.
“We were all worried. Especially Yue. Poor kid, she really took it to heart. You know how much she looks up to you.”
Zhan’s chest tightened with guilt.
He nodded.
“I know. I’ll talk to her.”
After a brief goodbye, Zhan walked out and stopped by the small bakery on the way home.
He stared at the display of pastries, then smiled and asked for a box of fresh Strawberry cream tarts.
—Yue’s favorite.
—————————————–
That evening, Yue sat in her room, surrounded by her open textbooks, scribbling in her notebook with furrowed brows.
The door was open, but a knock echoed softly against the frame.
She turned.
Zhan stood there with a small smile, holding the box of tarts in one hand.
She blinked, surprised, but turned back to her books without saying anything.
He walked in and pulled out a chair, sitting beside her.
Gently, he placed the tart box on her table.
She glanced at it once, then looked away again.
Zhan broke the silence.
“Yue… are you still mad at me?”
She stopped writing.
“I’m sorry, kiddo.”
He added softly.
“Please don’t be mad.”
Yue turned to face him, her eyes already teary.
Her voice cracked.
“Ge… have you ever scolded me before that day?”
Zhan looked down.
“Did I ever give you a reason to?”
She pressed.
“I was just teasing you, like always. Do you know how much it hurt? You yelled at me… like I was nothing.”
He winced.
Her words cut deeper than he expected.
“I’ve never seen you like that before.”
She said, voice trembling.
“Who else do I have, Ge? You’re the only one I can be me with.”
Zhan reached out, wiping the tears from her cheek.
“Forgive me, Yue. I was caught in something really dark. But it’s over now. I promise I’ll never scold you again… my little crying baby.”
A small laugh escaped her lips despite herself.
She glanced at the Strawberry cream tarts.
“You think this is enough for an apology?”
Zhan grinned.
“Then tell me, what more do you want?”
She narrowed her eyes playfully.
“My pocket money. You haven’t given it to me in months.”
He laughed, pulled out his wallet, and handed her a few notes.
She grabbed them quickly and held them close like treasure.
“Hmm… okay.”
She said.
“Apology accepted.”
Zhan reached over and knocked lightly on her forehead.
“Brat.”
As he stood up and left her room, Yue smiled behind him, taking a bite of the tart.
In the living room, Xiao Guoqiang and Liu Fang sat on the sofa, pretending to watch TV, but their ears had caught every word.
They looked at each other and shared a quiet smile.
Their Zhan was back.
—————————————
For the first time in a long while, the Xiao family had dinner together.
Laughter floating through the dining room, gentle teasing tossed between bites, and for once, it felt like the heaviness had lifted.
Zhan smiled.
And with that smile, it felt like happiness had finally returned to the Xiao household.
Later that night, they all gathered in the living room, Liu Fang curled beside Xiao Guoqiang, Yue stretched out with her legs tucked beneath her, and Zhan sitting quietly, a rare calmness in his eyes.
The hum of conversation wrapped the room in warmth.
Then the doorbell rang.
Zhan got up, casually walking over to open it, but the moment the door swung open, he froze.
His breath caught.
His heart skipped.
Standing there… was Su Mian.
But she wasn’t alone.
Her father, Mr. Su Weilin, and her older brother, Su Liang, stood beside her, their expressions unreadable, but far from warm.
Zhan’s body stiffened.
Panic flickered in his chest.
Before he could speak, Xiao Guoqiang came up behind him and peered over his shoulder.
“Ah! Weilin, what a surprise!”
He said cheerfully, walking forward.
“What brings you all here at this hour?”
Hearing that, Liu Fang and Yue rose from their seats, offering polite smiles.
But Zhan stayed still, rooted to the floor, staring at Su Mian like she was a ghost from a nightmare he thought he’d buried.
He couldn’t guess why she was here… or what new manipulation she was about to unleash.
The Su family stepped inside and sat.
Su Mian kept her head low, avoiding everyone’s gaze.
Sensing the tension, Xiao Guoqiang’s tone shifted.
“Is everything alright, Weilin?”
He asked, glancing at his friend, then at Zhan.
Zhan didn’t respond.
His lips parted, but no words came.
Su Weilin let out a heavy breath, then turned toward Zhan, his eyes pained.
“Zhan…”
He began softly,
“If it’s not too late… please… forgive my daughter.”
Zhan blinked, stunned.
The room fell silent.
Even Liu Fang and Yue turned to look at Su Mian, who still wouldn’t raise her eyes.
“I didn’t know what she had done.”
Su Weilin continued.
“Not until today. And when I did… I couldn’t sit still. Not when your father has been my friend for years. Not when you treated my daughter with dignity, and this is how she repaid it.”
Liu Fang glanced at Zhan, her voice hesitant.
“Zhan… is this what’s been weighing on you all these days?”
Zhan opened his mouth but again, nothing came.
He just shook his head slightly.
Su Weilin stepped forward and pulled out an envelope from his coat.
His hands trembled slightly as he handed it to Liu Fang.
Zhan’s eyes dropped to the envelope.
He didn’t need to see what was inside, he already knew.
Liu Fang opened it and read the contents.
Her hands clenched.
The fake pregnancy report was right there, clear as day.
She looked up, eyes wide in disbelief.
Su Weilin’s voice cracked with shame.
“When I asked you to give her a job… when you welcomed her into your bookstore… she should’ve been grateful. But instead, she became obsessed. Lost control.”
“This afternoon, we received an anonymous parcel. It had pictures, video clips… this report… CCTV footage… and a letter explaining what she did that night… and what she did afterward.”
As he finished, Su Weilin reached into his coat pocket once more and pulled out a folded letter.
Its paper slightly creased from being handled too many times.
“This came with the parcel.”
He said quietly, handing it to Xiao Guoqiang.
Guoqiang took it, and as he opened and began to read, Liu Fang and Yue leaned in beside him.
Their eyes scanned the words in silence, their expressions shifting from confusion to disbelief, then to cold, controlled fury.
Liu Fang, Xiao Guoqiang, and Yue were frozen in shock.
The room heavy with the weight of truth finally revealed.
Zhan stood motionless, hands by his side, feeling each word like a nail hammered into memory.
But he knew.
He knew exactly who had sent that parcel to the Su family.
And he didn’t regret it.
Liu Fang turned slowly toward Su Mian… her face pale, lips trembling… but her eyes burning.
“How dare you?”
She snapped, her voice rising.
“How dare you do this to my son?!”
Su Mian didn’t lift her head.
Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.
Zhan tried to interrupt.
“Ma, it’s okay…”
“Quiet!”
Liu Fang shouted, cutting him off.
“Let me speak!”
She took a step forward, pointing a trembling finger at Su Mian.
“You humiliated my son. You toyed with his kindness, manipulated his silence, and made his life miserable for months.”
“You thought you could lie, forge reports, threaten, and trap him into a marriage? What kind of woman are you?”
Yue stood beside her mother now, glaring coldly.
“Disgusting!”
She muttered.
Liu Fang wasn’t done.
“You think love is about trapping someone? About controlling them? Did you really think your lies and games could keep him? That once the truth came out, he’d still want anything to do with you?”
“Did you really believe that he wouldn’t see the truth eventually? My… my son, I watched him suffer! Every day and every night! He wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t eat. And now I know why!”
She turned to Su Weilin, her voice shaking with rage.
“You say you’re ashamed? You should be. Because if my son hadn’t held himself back… if he had spoken up earlier, none of us would have ever let your daughter step foot near our home again.”
Su Weilin bowed his head.
Su Liang remained silent, eyes full of shame.
Liu Fang looked back at her husband.
“We should report this. To the authorities. This isn’t something we should let go. What she did, it’s criminal.”
Before Guoqiang could respond, Zhan gently stepped forward.
“Ma… please, they didn’t come here to defend her. They came to apologize and we should consider that.”
His voice was low. Steady.
“Let’s not drag this any further. She’s a girl. She has a future, just like Yue does. This isn’t worth our time. Or our family’s reputation.”
Those words hit Su Mian harder than any insult.
Zhan wasn’t angry anymore.
He was indifferent.
She didn’t even matter to him now, not enough to hate.
Just… nothing.
Xiao Guoqiang looked at Liu Fang and gave a small nod, a quiet signal that he agreed with Zhan.
Liu Fang clenched her jaw, her hands balled into fists at her sides.
The fire in her eyes hadn’t dimmed, but she swallowed her rage with effort biting down the storm brewing inside her.
“Fine!”
She said through gritted teeth.
“But don’t expect me to forget this.”
Her gaze lingered on Su Mian for a long, cold second, not with pity, but with unspoken disgust… before she turned away.
Xiao Guoqiang finally spoke, his voice firm.
“Weilin… this is beyond disappointing. We have a daughter too, and we’ve raised her with values your daughter clearly lacks.”
“Do you even understand how serious this is? If this had gotten out, if it had gone public, it wouldn’t just be Zhan’s name ruined. It would’ve dragged both our families through the mud.”
Su Weilin bowed deeper.
Su Liang stood up, turned toward Guoqiang, then Zhan, and said quietly:
“Uncle, we are sorry. Truly. For everything.”
Then he looked at his sister, eyes cold.
“Do I need to repeat it again?”
“Say sorry. To all of them. And to Zhan. Now.”
Su Mian choked on a sob and stood up, voice barely audible.
“I… I’m sorry.”
But Liu Fang didn’t even blink.
Her voice cut through the room like a blade.
“No… No one here wants your apology.”
She stepped forward, her presence sharp and unyielding, eyes blazing.
“Because what you did to our son, that isn’t something a simple ‘sorry’ can erase. You manipulated, you lied, you schemed like a heartless woman without shame or conscience.”
“You didn’t just hurt Zhan… you shattered his peace, his trust, his dignity. You were a curse in his life. And all this… just because you had a crush on him?”
A pause.
“If you had any real feelings… if there was even an ounce of sincerity, you should’ve asked your family to talk to us. That’s how these things are handled. That’s the right way. Not with lies, blackmail, and shameful shortcuts.”
Su Mian broke into fresh sobs, but Liu Fang didn’t stop.
“And let me be absolutely clear….”
She turned to Xiao Guoqiang, then back at Su Weilin.
“I would never accept a woman like her as my daughter-in-law. Not in this life. Not in any.”
She finally looked at Su Weilin, voice lower but no less firm.
“Please take your daughter and leave this house. Before I say something, I might regret.”
The room was dead silent.
Su Weilin looked toward Xiao Guoqiang, searching his old friend’s face for something, maybe leniency.
But Guoqiang only gave a small, solemn nod.
He stood by his wife.
And Zhan, standing still like a stone, offered no protest.
There was nothing left to say.
Su Weilin bowed his head.
Su Liang took Su Mian by the arm, and without a word, the three of them turned and walked out the door.
The silence that followed their departure was deafening.
The Xiao family remained seated in the living room, surrounded by invisible debris of trust betrayed, of secrets exposed, of wounds reopened.
No one spoke.
Then Liu Fang let out a slow breath, her voice softer now as she turned to her son.
“I’m not going to ask why you didn’t tell us, Zhan. I believe… you had your reasons. But just remember this, don’t carry things like this alone again. Not when you have a family behind you.”
Zhan lowered his eyes, voice quiet, heavy with regret.
“Sorry, Ma. I didn’t know what was happening myself. I was confused… in shock. I didn’t even know how to talk about it.”
He hesitated, then added.
“It was Yibo. He helped me… made me see things clearly. It’s because of him we found out the truth. I just… I felt ashamed to talk about this.”
Liu Fang stepped closer and gently placed her hand on his arm.
She didn’t say anything right away, just gave a small nod, eyes soft with maternal understanding.
Then her voice turned steady again.
“From this moment on… no one will bring up this matter again. Not in this house. Not ever.”
She looked at Yue.
Then at Guoqiang.
Then finally at Zhan.
“Forget it, like the nightmare it was.”
Zhan said nothing.
And just like that, it was over.
He simply nodded once, eyes distant, and turned toward the hallway.
There was no anger in his steps.
No heaviness either.
Because Su Mian was no longer anything to him… not a threat, not a memory, not even a regret.
She was nothing.
The wound wouldn’t heal overnight.
But the bleeding had finally stopped.
And now…
There was something far more important waiting in his heart.
Something else he needed to face.
Something or someone… who truly mattered.
Without a word, he disappeared into his room, the door clicking softly behind him.
———————————————-
Night had settled gently over Hangzhou, its soft glow of city lights flickering like distant memories outside the window.
Zhan lay on his back, staring at the ceiling in the quiet darkness of his room.
The sheets rustled faintly beneath him as he shifted, one arm tucked beneath his head, the other resting beside his chest, fingers curling slightly over the fabric.
The air felt still… like the pause after a long sigh.
His heart wasn’t heavy anymore.
Not in the same way it had been these past few weeks.
The ache of hurting his family that had slowly lifted.
He had made amends today.
Hugged his mother.
Smiled with his father.
Teased Yue again.
Everything for once had fallen back into place.
But even in that warmth, something inside still felt… incomplete.
He turned his head slightly, gaze landing on the phone resting just inches from his shoulder.
No missed calls.
No messages.
No Yibo.
Zhan reached for the phone, thumbing the screen awake.
Nothing.
The emptiness of the notifications bar made something twist in his chest… a dull, aching pull, not sharp, not bitter.
Just… hollow.
“I shouldn’t have walked away like that.”
He murmured to himself.
His voice barely more than a breath in the quiet room.
“But what would I have even said if I’d stayed?”
He still didn’t have the words.
He still didn’t understand what was changing inside him.
There was no guilt, not like with Su Mian, only confusion.
And a pull toward Yibo that felt more powerful than comfort…
More intimate than friendship.
And it scared him.
Not because it felt wrong.
But because it felt like something he hadn’t prepared for.
Something that had always been there, just beneath the surface – quiet, steady, waiting for him to catch up.
Now he found himself wanting to talk to Yibo more.
To be near him.
To feel that presence beside him without questioning why.
And that terrified him more than he could admit.
Because things were changing between them.
Or maybe…
Maybe they’d always been like this, and he’d just been too afraid to see it.
And now, guilt settled in too.
Because he knew, it was him who had crossed the line… not Yibo.
Whether he meant to or not.
But it wasn’t the shift that hurt the most, or even the guilt.
It was the emptiness in his memory.
The blank space where something important, something deeply personal… should’ve been.
No matter how hard he tried to remember that night… he couldn’t pull back even a fragment.
Just that aching sense of closeness, the weight of skin on skin, the breathless pull of something too raw to fake.
And not remembering… that was unbearable.
How do you come to terms with something that belonged to you, yet feels like it never did?
So for now… distance felt easier.
Not out of anger… but because he needed to breathe.
To sort through the mess inside his head without Yibo standing too close.
Without the heat of his presence fogging up the line between friendship and something far deeper.
He wasn’t shutting Yibo out.
He just needed time to find the part of himself that already knew the truth… long before memory ever could.
Zhan sighed, about to set the phone down and bury his thoughts in sleep, when it buzzed lightly in his hand.
He froze.
A message.
His heart thumped once… hard and then again, louder.
He tapped to open.
Yibo:
Zhan-ge, hope you’re not mad at me.
But if the last conversation of ours is still bothering you, please know that I’m here.
We can talk about it, you don’t have to carry it all alone.
I’m just giving you the space you needed, ge.
But I’m still here. Don’t forget that.
Take care.
Zhan stared at the screen.
And then read the message again.
And again.
A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
It was quiet and warm.
But not the kind you give a friend.
It carried a softness, a flicker of shyness.
A faint blush touched his cheeks, like his heart had agreed to something his mind was still too afraid to say.
It was a smile meant for someone who was no longer just a friend.
That message felt like a light left on in a room for Zhan… just in case he ever wanted to find his way back to Yibo.
Zhan’s fingers hovered over the screen for a second longer, chest tightening with something he couldn’t quite name.
Yibo hadn’t asked for anything.
He hadn’t demanded answers, hadn’t pressed for explanations.
He never accused Zhan of anything that happened.
He never judged Zhan for something he had done when he wasn’t fully aware of doing it.
Not even once.
Didn’t question his silence.
Didn’t demand an apology or made him feel guilty for what Zhan couldn’t remember.
Instead, he just waited… patiently.
Zhan’s eyes misted faintly, but no tears fell.
Just the kind of soft, overwhelmed ache that came when you realized someone truly saw you.
Zhan gently pressed the phone to his chest and closed his eyes.
Yibo was still there.
And maybe… that was enough for tonight.
[To be continued…]
——————————————–
Author’s Note:
Heyyy, you made it to the end of the chapter! 😄
Hope you enjoyed it — and if you did, please don’t forget to like & comment on my Insta post. 💖
Think of it as your way of telling me, “Hey, I’m here, and I loved it!” — it means the world to me and truly keeps me inspired to write more for you! ✨
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