“You’d think that’d be the way to go,” Chloe said, “but my experience has always been that there’s only room for one Asian, so you have to step on the other one to get a leg up. I guess they’re both survival tactics, though I wish my experience had been like yours. No wonder you’re more at peace with your Chinese side than I am—you know, sprinkling Mandarin on everything like it’s sriracha.”

I laughed at her metaphor (and yes, sriracha deserved to be on everything), but most importantly, I was touched that she’d noticed. “Chinese culture does often bleed into what I say and do. It certainly influences my art.” I paused, remembering my rule and her request. When she’d asked me my real name, was that all she wanted to know? Or was the door open to more? “Sorry. Do you want me to—”

“I’m not sure what I want.”

We both fell silent.

She sighed. “I feel what you feel—you know I do. How can I not? But…” She looked at me with sad eyes. “How can it be real? I barely know you. I know Andrew.” I started shaking my head, but she pressed on. “Of course I fell for the perfect-on-purpose package. This probably happens with a bunch of your clients—falling for your curated persona that’s not really you.”

“You’ve fallen for me?” My heart sprouted wings and flew around the room.

She threw her hands in the air. “No, not for you—aren’t you listening?”

“But that was me.” I’d never felt so desperate to convey something to someone. “In the moments that mattered: eating mooncakes in the middle of the night, the Christmas cookies, all those texts”—texts that I’ve memorized—“that was me. Drew. The artist.”

“How can I know that? You’ve literally been trained to become different people, and to charm others.”

I laughed. Couldn’t help it. “Correction—to charm parents, remember? Trust me, this power does not extend to my romantic life. Or at least it hasn’t before.” Nerdy, guāi, empathetic boys were not known for being swarmed by girls, strangely.

“Okay, well, you know everything about me—which is weird—and I know mostly lies about you.”

“Well,” I said slowly, “do you want to get to know me—the real me—better? We’d be starting from an unconventional place, but it’s not square one. More like square five-point-two.”

She looked down at her hands.