Bailey Dofen had always believed control was safety.  

If she could keep her serves precise, her emotions quiet, her heart steady—nothing could hurt her.  

But lately, everything felt louder.  

Even silence.

She was in the middle of practice when the world tilted.  

The shuttle hit her racket wrong—sharp pain shot up her shoulder—and for a split second, the sound vanished.  

Not completely. Just enough to make her remember the fear.

“Bailey?” her coach called.  

She blinked, forced a smile. “Just a slip.”  

She wasn’t about to let anyone see her break again.

That evening, she sat on the empty court long after everyone left.  

The lights buzzed faintly overhead.  

Her phone lit up—one new message.

**M: “Still practicing?”**  

**B: “Always.”**  

**M: “You don’t have to win every night.”**  

**B: “That’s the point of practice.”**  

**M: “No, the point is to stay human.”**

She stared at the message, a small laugh escaping her.  

Then she typed back: **“You sound like my therapist.”**  

**M: “Good. I charge less.”**

The next day, Man Olid had his own audience—his mother.

Xuewei sat at the head of a long glass table, a copy of *Business Weekly* beside her.  

On the cover: *“Man Olid—Love, Legacy, and Leverage.”*  

“This isn’t sustainable,” she said calmly. “You’re making emotional decisions.”

“They’re still my decisions,” he replied.

“And hers? Do you think she can handle this pressure? She’s already fragile.”

He frowned. “She’s not fragile. She’s fighting.”

“And if she loses?”

“Then I’ll still be here.”

Xuewei’s tone softened. “You think that’s love?”

“I know it is,” he said. “Because this time, I’m not trying to save her. I’m standing with her.”

For a moment, his mother said nothing. Then she nodded once. “Then prove it. Don’t just talk. Stand.”

That evening, Bailey walked into her small apartment to find him sitting on the floor with takeout and a playlist playing softly from his phone.  

He looked up, smiling like he belonged there.  

She sighed. “You broke in again, didn’t you?”

“Technically, Kaiylin let me in.”

“I’m firing her twice.”

“She’ll record it for content.”

“Of course she will.”

He opened the food containers. “Dinner?”

She dropped her bag, sat cross-legged across from him. “You always bring noodles.”

“It’s a theme now.”

“What theme?”

“Consistency.”

She smirked. “Romantic.”

“Hey, I upgraded. They’re spicy this time.”

They ate in comfortable quiet.  

Halfway through, he looked up. “You’re tired.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m practicing optimism.”

“Badly.”

She sighed, setting down her chopsticks. “Man, today was… rough.”

“The shoulder again?”

She nodded. “Just a flicker, but it scared me.”

He was quiet for a moment. “You don’t have to hide it.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“Bailey.”

She looked at him—steady, stubborn, scared.  

“I can’t afford to fall apart again.”

“Who said you have to fall alone?”

Her throat tightened. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Why?”

“Because you mean them.”

He smiled gently. “Exactly.”

They sat there, inches apart, the city noise drifting through the window.  

He reached out, fingers brushing her sleeve, careful not to push.  

“I’m not here to fix you,” he said. “I’m here to protect what makes you… you.”

“And what’s that?” she asked softly.

“Everything you try to hide.”

She blinked back tears, half laughing. “You really need new hobbies.”

“I’ve got one,” he said. “You.”

“That’s not healthy.”

“It’s honest.”

A sudden sound broke the moment—her stomach growling.  

She froze. He grinned.

“See? Real life,” he said. “Proof you’re still human.”

“Shut up.”

“Hungry hero, can’t fight love or hunger.”

“Stop talking before I throw something.”

He handed her a dumpling. “Violence delayed by food. Victory.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “You’re impossible.”

“Addictively so.”

When she leaned back against the wall, full and finally relaxed, he glanced over.

“Better?”

“Still complicated.”

“Good. I like complicated.”

“Of course you do.”

He smiled. “Bailey?”

“Hmm?”

“Promise me something.”

“What?”

“When it gets too quiet again, don’t fight it alone.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Only if you promise not to turn everything into a metaphor.”

“No deal.”

“Figures.”

Later, after he left, she sat in the quiet again.  

The city hummed outside—cars, voices, laughter.  

This time, she didn’t cover her ears.

She listened.

To the sound of life, of noise, of love that didn’t need to be fixed.  

And she realized maybe what they were protecting wasn’t silence or perfection—  

but the courage to keep listening, even when it hurt.