"Want to try some?" She handed over a knife and fork. "I asked Zhong Hua, and he said you like it medium-rare, with black pepper sauce."
Ah Yu took a bite of steak, the familiar taste washing over him, and he suddenly remembered the night of the mudslide. He carried Zhong Hua up the hillside, and she mumbled, "Ah Yu, I want to drink the porridge that Sister Wanqing cooked, and I also want to... eat the tomato and egg stir-fry you made."
At the time, he thought she was talking nonsense, but later he learned that Zhong Hua had already written down his preferences, along with Lin Wanqing's, on the last page of the interview notebook.
"Wanqing," he put down his knife and fork, "come with me somewhere tomorrow."
Lin Wanqing raised an eyebrow: "Montmartre?"
“No,” Ah Yu smiled, her eyes filled with warmth, “I’m going to buy red beans. I want to make you some porridge.”
A few more ginkgo leaves fell outside the window, landing on the red string on the windowsill. Lin Wanqing had tied it that morning, saying she wanted to echo the prayer wheels in Tibet. Ah Yu watched the red string sway gently in the wind and suddenly understood that some feelings are never a choice, but rather, like this red string, they are intertwined, mutually caring, maintaining a warm curve in the winds of fate.
The next morning, Ah Yu stood in front of the stove in the kitchen, watching the red beans in the pot slowly boil. Lin Wanqing leaned against the door frame, holding up her phone to take a picture, saying she would send it to Zhong Hua: "Let her see that someone has finally learned to take care of people."
Sunlight streamed through the wooden window, falling on the two of them and on the red rope on the windowsill. The distant church bells rang out. Ah Yu scooped up a spoonful of porridge, its aroma filling the room—the taste of home, the taste of being cherished.
He knew that no matter where the future led, the warmth of this bowl of porridge, the connection of the red string, and the care hidden in the details would always be as bright as the morning light over the Seine.
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