Inner struggle
Rain slanted against the French windows, blurring the surface with water droplets. Zhong Hua sat on the leather sofa in his office, the cigarette between his fingers burned to the end, the heat making him jerk his hand back. Ashes fell onto his dark trousers, like a layer of unresolved worries. He stared at the grayish-white stain on his trouser leg, suddenly remembering three years ago at the airport, when Ah Yu's tears fell onto the back of his hand, a similar warm and burning sensation.
The phone screen was lit, displaying a message from Su Rui. "Are you free tomorrow? I'd like to invite you to try the dessert I just learned to make." It ended with a smiley face emoji, as warm as the way her eyes always curved when she spoke. Zhong Hua stared at the message for three minutes, his fingertips hovering above the input box, his nails unconsciously scraping against the screen protector, making a soft, crackling sound. Finally, he turned off the screen, the darkness reflecting the hesitation churning in his eyes.
The office blinds weren't fully closed, and the moonlight filtering in cast long, thin shadows on the floor, just like that morning three years ago. He had stood in the entryway, dragging his suitcase, when Ah Yu hugged him from behind, her voice hoarse with sleep: "Are you really leaving?" He didn't turn around, just hummed in response, and hearing the sobs behind him, his heart felt like it was being submerged in ice water. The sunlight that day was clearly beautiful, filtering through the curtains and falling on Ah Yu's hair, but it couldn't warm the fingertips clutching his plane ticket.
Later, he often wondered if things would have turned out differently if he hadn't boarded the flight to Paris that day. This thought, like a vine, would always creep into his mind quietly in the dead of night. He remembered finding his passport while sorting through old things; the Eiffel Tower stamp on the visa page had faded, and next to it was a ticket stub from an amusement park he went to with Ah Yu the year he graduated from university. The carousel image on the ticket was worn blurry by time.
"Mr. Zhong, these are the meeting materials for tomorrow." The secretary knocked lightly on the door and placed the folder on the corner of the desk. "Dr. Su just called again, asking if you want to reschedule your scheduled medical check-up for next Wednesday."
Zhong Hua hummed in agreement, his gaze fixed on the folder but unfocused. The leather cover reminded him of Su Rui's white coat, always carrying a faint smell of disinfectant, yet surprisingly reassuring. He had met Su Rui at the hospital six months ago; he was hospitalized for acute gastroenteritis, and she was his attending physician. The young woman was remarkably composed, always wearing a gentle smile during rounds, her eyes filled with undisguised admiration. Colleagues jokingly called it a match made in heaven, but only Zhong Hua knew that the fertile ground in his heart was too hard to sprout anything new.
He pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk, revealing a faded tin box—a twenty-fifth birthday gift from Ah Yu, decorated with a crookedly drawn sunflower. Opening the box, he found a yellowed photograph on top. It was taken the year they graduated from university; he and Ah Yu were huddled in front of the camera, the sycamore leaves behind them a vibrant green. Ah Yu had just cut her hair short, her smile revealing two small tiger teeth, her hand on his shoulder, the pressure so strong it seemed to be etched into his bones. The edges of the photograph were worn and calloused. He traced Ah Yu's smiling face with his fingertips, feeling the rough texture of the paper.
Last week, I ran into Lao Zhang at the mall. Lao Zhang patted me on the shoulder and remarked, "I never expected Ah Yu to end up with Lin Wanqing. I heard they're doing charity work in Paris, living a pretty stable life." Zhong Hua was holding a gray shirt at the time, and upon hearing this, his fingers clenched tightly, wrinkling the collar unsightly. He thought of Lin Wanqing, the girl who always stood quietly in the corner, her eyes bright as stars. In the university debate, she refuted his points as his opponent, her logic clear yet gentle. Afterwards, she offered him a bottle of mineral water, the bottle still warm from her fingertips.
The phone rang again; this time it was Su Rui calling. Zhong Hua stared at the name flashing on the screen until the ringtone automatically stopped. The rain outside intensified, the sound of it pounding on the glass like countless hands knocking on a door. He got up and went to the filing cabinet, pulling open the third drawer. Inside was a sealed bag containing a postcard from Ah Yu. The front featured a silhouette of Notre Dame Cathedral, and the back was written in pencil: "Wanqing and I are together now. Don't worry." The handwriting was more illegible than before, and the period at the end seemed to tear through the paper. He remembered receiving the postcard on the day he was in an important project meeting. He clutched the card in his hand until the meeting ended, only then noticing that the corner of the paper had embedded itself in the lines of his palm.
He remembered last month when Su Rui was working the night shift, and he went to deliver her a late-night snack. The window at the end of the corridor was open, and the evening breeze carried the smell of disinfectant. Su Rui smiled as she ate her sandwich, "Actually, I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little." The light from the streetlamp fell on her eyelashes, casting dappled shadows. Zhong Hua suddenly felt that perhaps continuing on like this wouldn't be so bad. Su Rui would bring him warm water and pills when he had a stomachache, remember that he didn't eat cilantro, and send him a "be careful" message when he came home late from work. These small acts of warmth, like the winter sun, slowly seeped into his frozen life.
But when he closes his eyes, he can always see Ah Yu's red face from crying at the airport. The sunlight that day was particularly glaring. Ah Yu, wearing the blue hoodie he had given her, stood at the security checkpoint and shouted to him, "Once you leave, never come back." He thought it was just an angry outburst and walked into the passage without looking back. It wasn't until the plane took off that he discovered a packet of his favorite lemon candies in the hoodie pocket, the wrappers crumpled and crumpled. Later, whenever he had a stomachache, he would remember the taste of that packet of candies—a bittersweet flavor mixed with an unyielding lingering bitterness.
Inside the tin box was a photo of Lin Wanqing, taken at a charity event. She was wearing faded jeans, kneeling on the ground tying children's shoelaces, her profile softened by the sunlight. Zhong Hua remembered Lin Wanqing saying, "True happiness isn't about choosing the right path, but about not regretting it while walking it." That day, they were discussing project plans in a coffee shop, and the same rain was falling outside as it was today. Lin Wanqing stirred the sugar cubes in her coffee cup, then suddenly looked up at him: "Zhong Hua, have you ever considered that the success you pursue isn't actually the life Ah Yu wants?" At the time, he only thought she didn't understand his ambition; now, he thought perhaps she had already seen through the problems between them.
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