Post-interview syndrome
When Zhong Hua knocked over the coffee cup for the third time, the trembling in his fingertips could no longer be concealed.
Brown liquid seeped onto the off-white carpet, like an ugly scar. She stared at the stain, her throat tightening, when suddenly she heard the sound of camera shutters—not a real sound, but a memory, dense and numerous, like countless cicadas chirping.
"Let me do it." Ayu's voice came from behind, carrying the warmth of the sun. Zhong Hua didn't turn around until a warm towel was placed on the back of her hand, and she was surprised to find that her knuckles were white and she was gripping the sofa armrest tightly.
“Don’t touch that,” she said in a hoarse voice, her gaze still fixed on the carpet. It didn’t seem like a coffee stain; it looked like last week’s front page of a financial magazine—next to the huge headline, “The Mysterious Lady Behind the Tech Elite,” was a candid photo of her profile. In the photo, she was picking out yogurt at a supermarket, her hair casually tied up, a few specks of flour on her cuffs, completely out of place with the word “lady.”
Ayu didn't speak, but squatted down and used the spray to break down the stains little by little. Sunlight streamed through the blinds, falling on his head and casting dappled patterns on the floor. Zhong Hua suddenly remembered that when they first moved in, Ayu had said she wanted to plant lavender on the balcony, "and when it blooms, even the air will smell sweet."
But now the only smell in the air was the burnt coffee, and the lingering irritation in her heart.
Last week's interview had nothing to do with her. Zhong Hua is a researcher in the lab, dealing with data and microscopes every day, and her largest social circle consists of three colleagues in her group. But her husband, Lu Mingyuan, is different. He is the founder of a hot tech company, having recently completed a huge round of financing, and interview requests are pouring in.
That day, she worked late into the night, and Lu Mingyuan came to pick her up. The parking lot was dimly lit, and as he opened the car door for her, she casually complained, "Today's experimental data is always wrong." The next day, the media wrote, "Mrs. Lu visits the set late at night; the couple works together to overcome technical difficulties," accompanied by a picture of him smoothing her hair.
What's even more outrageous is what followed. Some people dug up her alma mater and called her a "highly educated wife"; some people found her college photos and said she "turned from an ugly duckling into a swan"; some marketing accounts even did a special feature analyzing her outfits and makeup, teaching everyone "how to become the perfect partner of a CEO".
"Perfect my ass!" Zhong Hua couldn't help but curse, startling A Yu. He straightened up, his apron smudged with foam, making him look like a clumsy penguin.
"Did you see those things again?" Ayu asked softly.
Zhong Hua didn't answer, but buried her face in her knees. Her phone was on the coffee table, the screen lit up, and the headline of the news push notification hurt her eyes—"Exclusive: Mrs. Lu was actually an ordinary researcher before marriage, how did she capture the CEO's heart?"
Her hands trembled even more violently. Not from anger, but from fear. Those magnifying gazes were tearing her life apart. Some people waited for her in the lab, some called her private phone, and even a neighbor filmed her taking out the trash and posted it online with the caption, "Even wealthy wives have to do housework; so down-to-earth."
"Zhong Hua." A Yu walked over and gently took the pillow from her hand. His palm was warm, covering her cold hand. "Stop looking at your phone."
"I didn't see it," she stubbornly insisted, turning her face even further away.
Ayu suddenly bent down and covered her eyes with both hands. Darkness instantly engulfed her, shutting out the glaring words and images. A sliver of light leaked through his fingers, carrying a faint scent of grass and trees.
"There's only the scent of lavender right now." His voice was right next to my ear, like a feather brushing against me. "Smell it."
Zhong Hua was stunned. It really was true; there was the scent of lavender in the air. It was faint, yet distinct, drifting in from the balcony, mingled with the warmth of the sunshine. She remembered that Ayu had indeed mentioned this morning that the first batch of lavender had bloomed.
“Last week you said the soil on the balcony wasn’t fertile enough, so I went to the flower market and bought some nutrient solution.” Ayu’s voice was soft and chuckled. “I wanted to surprise you, but you scolded me for ‘wasting money.’”
Zhong Hua's nose suddenly stung with tears. She hadn't meant to scold him. That day, she had just hung up a call from a stranger who claimed to be a reporter from a gossip magazine and asked her, "Does Mr. Lu have an illegitimate child?" She was so angry that her hands were shaking, and when A Yu came back, she had nowhere to vent her anger.
"I'm sorry," she said sullenly.
"I'm the one who should apologize." Ayu let go of her hand, squatted down in front of her, and looked up at her. "I shouldn't have let you bear it all alone."
Zhong Hua then noticed the faint dark circles under A Yu's eyes. He was a freelance illustrator with a flexible schedule, but these past few days he had been saying he was "inspired" and was still drawing in his study late at night. Now that he thought about it, he was probably keeping watch outside so she wouldn't be woken up in the middle of the night.
“This has nothing to do with you.” Zhong Hua turned her face away. “It’s my own fault for being so useless, making a fuss over such a small thing…”
“This is no small matter,” Ayu interrupted her, her tone serious. “Anyone would feel bad being pointed at and talked about by strangers. Look at me, last time someone said my painting looked like a primary school student’s doodle, and I was depressed for three days.”
Zhong Hua couldn't help but laugh. Ayu's paintings are clearly very popular; last month, a publishing house even approached him to draw a picture book.
"Really!" Ayu exclaimed anxiously, reaching for her phone. "I'll show you that comment..."
"Don't take it." Zhong Hua grabbed his wrist. She was afraid that if he picked up his phone, those annoying notifications would pop up again.
Ayu stopped immediately and took her hand in return. His palms had thin calluses from years of holding paintbrushes, and he felt at ease as he stroked the back of her hand.
“Let’s go to the balcony and take a look,” he suggested. “The flowers are in full bloom.”
The balcony has indeed changed. The once empty corner now holds more than a dozen flowerpots, with purple lavender in full bloom, its slender stems topped with spike-like flowers that sway gently in the breeze. Sunlight shines on the petals, making them look like they're coated with gold dust.
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