The apartment is quiet except for the sound of rain against the windows. I stir the pot of soup on the small electric stove, the warmth seeping into my cold hands. Across from me, Guang sits on the only chair, her injured arm still in a sling, watching me with those intense eyes that seem to see straight through to my soul.

It's been two weeks since I found her bleeding in that alley, since I used my meager savings to pay her hospital bills, since my carefully constructed life as "Ziyu" began to unravel. She says very little about herself, but she's here, in my tiny apartment, making my once lonely existence feel almost like a home.

"You don't have to keep feeding me," she says, breaking the silence as I ladle soup into two chipped bowls. "My arm's nearly healed. I can take care of myself."

I set a bowl in front of her, avoiding her gaze. "I know. I just..." I trail off, not sure how to finish. That I enjoy cooking for someone? That having her here makes the empty spaces feel filled? That I'm terrified she'll leave now that she's better?

She reaches across the small table with her good hand, covering mine. Her skin is warm against my cool fingers, calloused in places that suggest she's no stranger to hard work - or perhaps something more dangerous. "Thank you," she says softly, her thumb brushing gently over my knuckles.

The simple touch sends a shiver through me. We've been dancing around something since she moved into the apartment across from mine, sharing meals and late-night conversations that reveal nothing and everything. There's a tension between us, thick as the soup I've made, simmering just below the surface.

I look up to find her staring at me, her dark eyes full of something I can't quite name - intensity, understanding, desire. The rain continues to beat against the windows, cocooning us in this small, warm world we've created together, while outside, the truth about who I really am waits to destroy everything.