“I like your haircut,” I breathed, and she let out something between a laugh and a whimper.

But just as suddenly as she had approached me, she turned away, strapping the helmet back over her head. My one hand was still raised to where her hair had been moments earlier.

“Shall we go home?” she asked. She did not meet my eyes. “Your grandmother didn’t want us biking in the dark.”

“Sure,” I said slowly, and packed up my computer.

Grandmother made an incredible dinner of lion’s head meatballs, pea pod stems, and stir-fried bean curd. Grandfather made the soup—oxtail with daikon, and even cut one of the roast beef sandwiches into fourths so we could share it. But when I went to serve Louise a bowl of rice, she politely declined and said she was avoiding rice.

“You don’t eat rice?” grandmother asked incredulously. It was the first time she had a vaguely negative reaction toward her.

Louise gave a sheepish smile. Then she pulled a packet of instant oatmeal from her bag.

“I break out pretty easily, so I stick with oatmeal. Can I microwave this?”

We all watched in wonder as she ate her oatmeal like we ate our rice, thick and watery and fiber-rich.

“Mm, so good!” Louise swooned at her first bite of the meatball. We gave her an extra plate so she would not have her meatball diluted in oatmeal water. “So much better fresh. And it was already delicious.”

“The sauce is best on rice.” Grandmother side-eyed.

“Next time,” Louise said before slurping up the rest of her oatmeal.

Since it was late after dinner, grandmother and grandfather went straight to bed.

“What time is your game tomorrow?” I asked as I washed the dishes.

“It’s in the afternoon. The team is getting brunch together, so I’ll have to head out in the morning. Is that okay?”

“Of course,” I said, even though I was disappointed. I’d thought we would have the morning together. Though maybe she did not want to spend more time with me.

But she had been the one who approached me. The one who pinned me to the wall, who moved her lips so close to mine. The one who pulled away and barely met my gaze afterward. Did I not react properly? Should I not have mentioned her hair? Or did some voice in her head remind her that she felt nothing toward me, that she had to turn around and leave at once?

“I’m going to sleep now,” she said, and touched my wrist lightly with her hand. “I had a really amazing day. Thanks for everything.”

And she went up the stairs, two at a time, to my father’s room.