Bad woman, am I pretending to be bad?

Charlotte was still savoring the fleeting sensation when the surge of physical excitement turned into a blush on her ears. Only then did she realize that she had been forcibly kissed.

The sound of a drunkard humming came from the alley entrance. Without thinking, she instinctively led her friend deeper into the shadows to prevent others from peeking at her treasure. Her white-trimmed coat also smeared a gray mark on the brick wall.

"So you started following me as soon as you got back?"

“It was a chance encounter.” Ms. Z pulled out an oil paper package from her suitcase. “Ten years ago, we met at the college. We talked about everything and made promises to each other. Old Henry’s dessert shop was the place where we first had afternoon tea together, a memory that is still fresh in our minds.”

"I never expected that after so long, that old gentleman would still be running the shop, and even his signature dessert is still someone's favorite lemon tart."

The sweet aroma diluted the musty smell of the alley and the previous silence. Charlotte took a bite of the pastry and felt that the sweetness was not very rich. This was not a criticism, but compared with the honey-like kiss, it was far inferior.

"I need an explanation."

Unfazed by the shame in their hearts, the two women always expressed their emotions subtly, through glances and gestures, a brief but perfectly tacit understanding.

"Because, when I saw that report, that mask covering half of your face, I truly realized that you might..."

Ms. Z lowered her head, and in the shadow of her bangs, her eyes were already filled with tears, and her voice was choked with emotion.

"They left me and will never see me again."

The tartness of lemon spread across the tip of the tongue, leaving a bitter aftertaste. It wasn't the aftereffect of the dessert, but rather Charlotte's initiative to lean in and interrupt the pale words with a kiss. Only when they tasted the mixture of lemon and rust between their lips did they pull away from each other.

A blush crept up her cheeks, and Zelena opened her eyes wide in disbelief. She instinctively wanted to push him away, but was also captivated by this one and only moment of reciprocation.

Their feelings were expressed through a kiss, which should have been a happy ending, but the latter's eyes dimmed.

She has received the answer, the answer she least wanted to hear.

Her own friend, the gentle Bella, would never do that.

Chapter 172 Goodbye (4k)

The streetlights suddenly came on, their dim yellow light piercing the ambiguous darkness of the alley. Ms. Z took a half step back, her back against the damp brick wall, her fingertips unconsciously tracing her pink lips that had just been kissed.

"Zelena, how long do you plan to stay in Florence?"

“Merman’s identity is sensitive, as it is related to the plague that was triggered by his mentor four years ago, so I need to report the relevant information to the Vatican.”

The words were brewing on his lips, but as the conversation progressed, a denial finally came out after a moment of silence.

"You are not her."

The words were as soft as a sigh, echoing gently in the narrow alleyway. After speaking, Zelena lowered her eyes, her thick eyelashes casting a shadow on her face, concealing the surging sorrow within.

Charlotte's heart sank. She saw Ms. Z's fingers trembling slightly and her biting her lower lip—these were habits Isabella remembered her friend having when she tried her best to control her emotions.

"Zelena, I..."

In fact, she had considered that the people in front of her might notice something from the smallest details, so she deliberately distanced herself from Tinggen and from the sight of acquaintances in order to indulge in her own romantic feelings.

How could friends who cherish each other like honey not see through the subtle differences in their relationship?

Sometimes, I feel that I can always outpace reason and blurt out the established truth.

Charlotte's words were interrupted by a gentle hug.

"Shh." Ms. Z raised her head, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "Let me finish."

She stepped forward and gently took Charlotte's hand. "Your eyes are brighter than before. When you smile, the curve of your right eye has changed. It's less gentle and more confident."

The church bells rang in the distance, startling the white pigeons perched under the eaves. Charlotte felt a warm, damp sensation on her shoulder; her friend, though trembling, stubbornly refused to look up.

“But…” She then rested her forehead on Charlotte’s shoulder, her voice muffled, “when you look at those patients, your eyes are still the same as before. You still touch your earlobe when you’re worried, you still remember my likes and dislikes, and you still prepare sweet candies for the children during consultations.”

Ms. Z raised her head, her eyes slightly red but filled with a tolerant smile, "So I don't care who you are, I only know... the person standing in front of me right now deserves to be treated with the same sincerity."

"Do you remember the first time we met?"

"Under the college's laboratory building, the rain was pouring down, soaking the lone person. You took the initiative to step forward and clear away the heavy clouds above my head. Like a selfless act of kindness in the world, our first encounter was so ordinary and simple."

A sudden ache rose in her chest; it seemed that Dr. Bella's spirituality was influencing her emotions. She saw the tears glistening in Dr. Bella's eyes and the forced smile on her face—Ms. Z wasn't seeking confirmation, but rather using these fragmented memories to build a wall, a wall that blocked out the truth.

"Zelena".

"Shhh."

Once again, he pointed and fell silent, but this time, the tear stains at the corners of his eyes were still wet.

"The moonlight is beautiful tonight, isn't it?"

Outside the alley, a crescent moon hung above the steam tower, its light fragmented into blurry spots by the swirling smoke. Ms. Z gazed at the hazy moonlight, a fragile smile playing on her lips.

“Once, we disregarded the honor of our families and lived together in a small house. I watched you draw with a knife, and you watched me write with a pen. It was peaceful and serene.”

She changed the subject so quickly it was heartbreaking.

"I bought that house later, just to commemorate the unforgettable time we shared."

Last year, you said that when we had some free time, we would go to the northern region of the empire to see the aurora borealis...

Her voice trailed off abruptly, as if she had suddenly realized something. A subtle silence fell over the alley, filled only by the distant hum of steam pipes.

"I'm sorry," Charlotte whispered, though she didn't know why she was apologizing.

Zelena shook her head and reached out to straighten her disheveled collar: "You're always like this, you forget everything when you get busy."

She took Charlotte's hand and led her outside, her grip neither too tight nor too loose, just enough so that Charlotte wouldn't pull away.

"Come on, it's just for one night. Come home with me, okay?"

The streetlights cast long shadows of the two women, and Ms. Z deliberately slowed her pace to make it look like they were embracing.

Night had fallen, and the streets were becoming increasingly deserted. Zelena insisted on holding hands and walking home; her palms were slightly sweaty, but she refused to let go.

As she passed a flower shop that was still open, the woman suddenly stopped.

"Wait for me." She jogged into the shop and came out holding a bunch of white hyacinths. "The flowers in that room haven't been changed in a long time."

Charlotte accepted the bouquet. The rich fragrance was mixed with a subtle herbal scent—it was calming lavender. Both Ms. Z and Isabella had this in mind, hiding their care in the smallest details.

"why?"

“Because, it’s so much like you.” Her words were almost unconscious. “Like when we first became best friends, the owner of that florist said… some people are like hyacinths, seemingly drifting with the wind, but actually…”

“More steadfast than anyone else.” Charlotte couldn’t help but chime in, then froze, an instinct shaped by her memories.

Ms. Z's eyes lit up, like stars suddenly illuminated in the night sky. She tiptoed and placed a feather-light kiss on Charlotte's lips.

“You see, you actually remember everything.” Her voice was gentle yet firm. “You’re just too tired.”

Watching her trembling fingers, Charlotte suddenly did something that surprised even herself—she leaned forward and kissed away the tears at the corner of Zelena's eyes.

A salty, astringent taste spread across her lips, and she experienced an emotion more complex than sadness.

"Don't cry," she whispered, wiping away Ms. Z's tears with her thumb. "I'm here."

"Yes, let's go home." They nodded slightly, their soft breathing lingering on each other.

When the apartment lights came on, Charlotte noticed a framed photo on the coffee table containing a black and white picture of the two of them together.

Ms. Z noticed her gaze and explained with a smile, "I just took a shower a long time ago, but you had left Florence by then, and I was busy with the arbitration tribunal's appointment..."

Her voice suddenly stopped, as if she realized she had let something slip. The kettle whistled from the kitchen, and she hurried over as if granted a reprieve. "The tea is boiled."

Hearing the busy signal, Charlotte stood in the center of the living room, looking around at the space full of traces of life—the medical books on the bookshelves were arranged alphabetically, the coffee table had a first-aid kit embroidered with images of a hospice on the bottom shelf, and even the curtains were Isabella's favorite brown color... Everything here silently told one thing: she was encroaching on someone else's life.

She should blame herself, she should feel guilty, yet that wicked side of her heart always seemed to linger. When her identity was subtly exposed, and when Zelena still expressed her dependence on her, she felt a strange sense of pleasure rising within her.

"I added a spoonful of honey." She walked out slowly, carrying a cup of tea with wisps of steam rising from its rim. "You haven't been sleeping well lately, so I added some chamomile as well."

They took the teacup, their fingertips briefly touching. Ms. Z withdrew her hand as if burned, but immediately pretended to be nonchalant and began tidying up the cushions on the sofa.

“Tomorrow…” she said, her back to Charlotte, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible, “Tomorrow, I want to go with you to see the old academy.”

Her shoulders trembled slightly, betraying the unspoken words behind this simple request. Charlotte put down her teacup and gently hugged her from behind.

"Okay," she replied, feeling the rapid heartbeat of the person in her arms.

Outside the window, the last neon light went out.

Florence fell into a deep sleep, with only the small nightlight by the bedside casting a soft glow. Ms. Z curled up on one side of the bed, her fingers tightly gripping the corner of the blanket, as if afraid that if she let go, she would wake up from her dream.

Charlotte lay gently beside her and heard a barely audible sound:

Goodnight, Bella.

These words were like a dull knife, slowly cutting into her heart. She reached out and turned off the lamp, responding in the darkness:

Goodnight, Zelena.

Moonlight streamed in through the gaps in the curtains, drawing a silver line on the floor.

Charlotte stared at the faint light and suddenly understood Ms. Z's choice—some truths are too cruel, so it's better to wrap them in gentle lies, like wrapping a sharp blade in silk, so that at least it won't hurt so much when you hold it.

......

As morning light filtered through the gauze curtains, Charlotte found the bed beside her already cold. On the pillow lay a silver bookmark, its edges engraved with tiny dandelion patterns—the brooch she had pinned to her collar the night before.

The hot milk on the bedside table had long since cooled, and a neatly written note was pressed under the glass:

The sycamore trees behind the college gate are in bloom; I went to pick some, just like back then.

The edges of the note showed signs of being crumpled and then smoothed out, as if the writer had held it in their hand for a long time.

Charlotte got up, put on her coat, and found the apartment eerily quiet—there was no sizzling sound of frying eggs, no gentle breathing from Ms. Z, and even her favorite jasmine incense had been turned off.

Breakfast for two was laid out on the kitchen counter, the fried eggs perfectly browned at the edges, just as promised last night. But the angle of the knife betrayed its owner—Zelena always cuts bread with the blade facing inwards, and now it sat empty in a corner of the stove.

The gramophone in the study turned slowly, and a familiar farewell song, unique to that era, played on a loop.

As Charlotte approached, she noticed the stylus dangling from the edge of the record—a yellowed train ticket lay quietly on the record: Florence to Tingen, departing at 7:15.

The hands of the clock point to 6:50.

As her fingertips lightly traced the serrated edges of the ticket, the brown-haired beauty curved her lips into a playful smile.

She should have realized it sooner—last night's kiss was too gentle, too gentle to be a farewell, more like... a kind of indulgence.

The sight in the walk-in closet made her squint. Ms. Z's usual dark trench coat was gone, but what was even more concerning was that all the couple photos had been taken out of their frames.

The empty photo frames were neatly arranged on the dressing table, like blank promises waiting to be filled.

A second sticky note rests quietly on the vanity mirror.

Please forgive my cowardice.

A long, wet trail stretched across the end of the writing, as if the writer had been suddenly interrupted. Charlotte's fingertips traced the wetness, unfolding the folded portion.

[By the time you read this letter, I will already be on the train back to Tingen. Please don't come looking for me, at least not now.]

[I can deceive myself, but I cannot accept a similar face, a similar voice, even if, Bella, you and she look very alike, very alike.]

[Admittedly, my emotions tell me that you've simply changed; everyone changes with their experiences and circumstances. But my reason tells me that I dragged you down with me, leading you into that dangerous world, which has resulted in this bitter outcome.]

[It's ridiculous—I clearly saw through your disguise, yet I still prepared breakfast for you and organized the documents.]

[Because when you look at those sick children, the tenderness in your eyes is exactly the same as hers. My spiritual vision tells me that you have a part of her, while my intuition, while denying me, tells me that you are ultimately not her. Yet, I can't help but think: perhaps, without distinction, you are the same person.]

[Remember to water the hyacinths on the windowsill every day, organize the medical journals on the third shelf by date, and I've mended the tear in the cuff of your white coat...]

[Consider these trivial matters my final act of willfulness.]

[Sorry, I deliberately burned the edges of the fried eggs this morning. If it were the real Bella, she would surely smile and forgive me.]

The final tone was like a lively young girl making a teasing laugh, but Charlotte's fingertips moved to the wrinkled ink spot—a tear stain that had dripped and dried.

The content that follows is no longer a statement of feelings, but rather the results of an investigation into the plague four years ago. The last page is stamped with a bright red church seal, symbolizing the authority of the information.

How gentle! Even knowing that this person was not someone she knew, she still provided evidence and clues to smooth over any potential problems later.

As she watched, Charlotte suddenly burst out laughing.

From a soft chuckle to a loud laugh, from a whisper to a deafening roar.

"You clearly can't let go, yet you speak so emotionally, yearning for kisses and companionship. Zelena, your heart is still lonely, still empty."

Outside the window, the first ray of sunlight shone into the room and landed on the still-warm glass of milk on the bedside table.

Charlotte picked up the glass and poured the steaming liquid into the flowerpot with the hyacinths inside.

The delicate flowers withered rapidly under the scalding liquid, the edges of the petals curling and turning black, shrinking as if scorched by flames.

Charlotte bent down to sniff gently, her fingertips also playing with the dying flower stamens. "How pitiful, Zelena..."

She whispered as she ruthlessly uprooted the withered flower stems.