chance encounter
On a late autumn afternoon, sunlight filtered through the gaps in the plane tree leaves, casting dappled shadows on the sidewalk. Zhong Hua pulled his beige trench coat tighter and hurried across the street corner. As the glass door of the café opened, the wind chimes tinkled. He glanced habitually at the bar, but stopped abruptly when his eyes fell on the window seat.
The woman stirring her coffee with her head down had a profile like jade carefully polished by time, and a pearl hair clip tucked behind her ear reflected shimmering light. It was Su Man, her senior from the same department in college, and also Lin Wanqing's former best friend.
Zhong Hua's heart skipped a beat. Twelve years had passed since he last saw her at the graduation ceremony. He instinctively wanted to turn and leave, but his gaze was caught by hers as she looked up.
"Zhong Hua?" Su Man's voice carried just the right amount of surprise. She put down her coffee spoon and stood up, the hem of her trench coat lightly brushing against the chair. "It really is you. I thought I was seeing things."
Zhong Hua composed himself and stepped forward, his fingertips clenching slightly: "Long time no see, Senior Sister Su Man."
"Have a seat," Su Man said with a smile, pointing to the chair opposite her. "Just got off at the company? You look travel-worn."
As Zhong Hua sat down, the aroma of a latte filled the air. He noticed a design yearbook beside Su Man, with her name printed on the cover—she was still working in interior design. Su Man had always said she wanted to open her own studio in Shanghai; it seemed her dream had come true.
“I just went to discuss a project nearby,” Zhong Hua said, unbuttoning his trench coat and looking out the window. “And you? You’re still the same as always, unchanged.”
Su Man chuckled softly, the fine lines at the corners of her eyes curving into a gentle arc: "You're almost thirty-five, how could you not have changed? But you, you're much more composed than before. I remember back in college, you would always wear a windbreaker, holding a camera, waiting for Lin Wanqing at the library entrance, and I could hear you calling her name from far away."
The air seemed to freeze for a moment when Lin Wanqing's name was mentioned. Zhong Hua picked up the lemonade on the table and took a sip. The icy liquid slid down his throat, but it couldn't suppress the bitterness rising in his heart.
“That’s all ancient history,” he said softly.
Su Man slowed down her stirring of the coffee, the steam forming a blurry mist in front of her eyes: "Speaking of which, I saw Wanqing in Paris a while ago."
Zhong Hua's fingers tightened around the cup, the coolness of the glass seeping into his skin. He opened his mouth, but found his throat constricted, and could only hear the roar of his own heartbeat in his ears.
"In Paris?" He finally found his voice, the last syllable trembling slightly.
“Yes, when I went to the design exhibition last winter,” Su Man nodded, her gaze falling on the sycamore leaves falling outside the window, “she opened a charity gallery in the Marais district, which specializes in exhibiting the works of disabled artists. When I went there, she was framing an oil painting, wearing a navy blue sweater, and her hair was shorter and neater than before.”
Suddenly, Zhong Hua's mind conjured up the image of Lin Wanqing with her ponytail. In college, she always loved wearing white dresses, spending entire days in the studio with her easel, sunlight falling on her focused profile, her eyelashes casting soft shadows. He also remembered how, before her first trip to Paris, she hugged him and cried downstairs in her dorm, saying she was afraid of the language barrier and worried she wouldn't be able to paint well.
"Is she... alright?" Zhong Hua's voice was very soft, as if afraid of disturbing something.
“Very good,” Su Man said warmly. “She exudes a peaceful aura. There’s a small courtyard in the gallery, where her favorite hydrangeas are planted. She said she’d invite me for afternoon tea when they bloom in the spring.” She paused, then looked up at Zhong Hua. “Oh, and Ah Yu is there too.”
Zhong Hua's hand holding the cup trembled suddenly, and lemonade splashed onto the back of his hand. The icy touch made him shiver.
"Ah Yu?" He could hardly believe his ears. "Isn't he a photographer in Shenzhen?"
“I went to Paris a few years ago,” Su Man said. “I helped out at Wanqing’s gallery and occasionally took on photography jobs. When I went there, he was shooting a series of photos of disabled models. The people in the photos were smiling very brightly. He said that was the most powerful work he had ever taken.”
Zhong Hua's mind flashed back to Ah Yu. The boy who always wore ripped jeans, carried a camera, and wandered through the city's corners, his smile revealing two small tiger teeth, his eyes shining like stars. When he graduated from university, Ah Yu hugged him and said he wanted to go to Shenzhen to try his luck, to take photos that would truly move people.
"They..." Zhong Hua hesitated for a long time before finally asking, "Are they together?"
Su Man nodded, a gentle smile on her lips: "Yes, they are a good match. When Wanqing is busy with the gallery, Ayu will cook and wait for her to come back; when Ayu goes out to collect photos, Wanqing will organize them for him. The night I went there, they invited me to a small bar by the Seine for drinks. Ayu took photos of Wanqing with his camera, taking a whole roll of film, saying he wanted to capture her image in every picture."
Zhong Hua gazed out the window. The sunlight was gradually obscured by the clouds, and pedestrians on the street hurried past, their necks hunched. He remembered that summer twelve years ago, in similar weather, when he saw Lin Wanqing off at the airport. She held his hand and said, "Zhong Hua, once I've established myself in Paris, I'll bring you over." He smiled and nodded then, but he knew in his heart that there was more than just distance between them.
He later received three letters from her. The first said the Parisian winter was very cold, the second said the gallery was facing financial difficulties, and the third only contained a small painting of a hydrangea, without any words. After that, her email address became invalid, and her phone number was no longer reachable. He had thought countless times about going to Paris to find her, but was always delayed by various reasons—his fledgling job, his sick mother, unexpected projects… until one day, while sorting through old things, he saw that yellowed plane ticket and realized he had long since missed his flight.
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