□□ prisoners
By the time they rode down the bridge and returned the bikes to the shop, they were drenched in sweat, their legs aching. Their stomachs were also terribly empty, practically protesting. Yet, Pan Qiu felt a long-lost sense of exhilaration. The howling sea breeze, the vibrations of the bridge, the uphill climb, and the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees—all of this made her feel incredibly refreshed. She suddenly recalled the anguish she had felt recently; those recurring thoughts now seemed utterly unnecessary. The world was so vast; rather than getting bogged down in petty romances, she should broaden her horizons and see more of the world.
Lin Yue took off his helmet, wiped the sweat from his sleeve, and turned to smile, "Hungry? Let's go to a highly-rated restaurant near Fisherman's Wharf. Their clam chowder is a must-try when you're in San Francisco."
Pan Qiu nodded, a slight smile appearing on her lips: "Sounds good."
The restaurant stood right by the sea, its wooden exterior slightly weathered, with the undulating water visible through the windows. At midday, there weren't many customers, and the atmosphere was much quieter than she had expected. The air was filled with the aroma of cream and seafood, mingled with the salty sea breeze blowing in from the entrance. The waiter led them to a window seat. Outside the glass was a vast seascape, with white sailboats dotting the distant water, and occasionally seagulls gliding by, their shadows flickering gently on the windowpane. Pan Qiu shed the fatigue of her morning's ride, feeling as if she were stepping into a postcard.
Lin Yue opened the menu, glanced at her, and said casually, "If you have no objections, shall I order?"
"Okay." She nodded.
Soon, the food was served one after another. The first dish placed on the table was San Francisco's most classic clam chowder. Thick sourdough bread was hollowed out, and steaming hot soup was poured into it. Clam meat and potato chunks floated in the white broth, sprinkled with finely chopped parsley, and the aroma was rich and creamy. Panqiu scooped up a spoonful; the soup was smooth and creamy, the creamy aroma intertwined with the salty freshness of the sea. The bread was slightly softened from soaking, yet it still had the characteristic chewiness of sourdough bread when bitten into. The warmth spread from her throat to her stomach, as if replenishing all the energy she had lost during the ride.
Lin Yue watched her quietly, and seeing her satisfied expression, a smile unconsciously crept onto his lips. He lowered his head, tasted his own portion, nodded, and said softly, "Really good."
Next came the grilled lobster, its shell glowing red, brushed with butter and minced garlic, its aroma irresistible. The meat was snow-white and firm; dipped in lemon juice, it burst with sweetness and freshness in the mouth. Two brightly colored cocktails sat on the table: Pan Qiu had ordered a "Tequila Sunrise," with ice cubes floating on the glass, sunlight refracting through layers of halos; Lin Yue had a "Mojito," with mint leaves gently floating among the ice cubes, bubbles rising and a refreshing aroma filling the air. The chilled drink was initially sweet and sour, followed by a pleasantly warm, slightly tipsy sensation.
Pan Qiu suddenly remembered that night last year on the corner of Flamingo Street. It was her belated birthday celebration. The three of them—she, Zhiwei, and Lin Yue—each ordered cocktails, raised their glasses under the pink neon lights, and jokingly recited little riddles like "something old, something new…". She couldn't help but chuckle softly. Lin Yue noticed her expression, raised his glass, and gently clinked glasses with hers: "Cheers." The crisp sound of glasses touching echoed by the window, a brief moment that made the atmosphere warm and intimate.
Pan Qiu took a sip, put down her cup, and casually said, "If Zhiwei were here, that would be great."
Lin Yue nodded, her gaze falling on the bubbles in her glass, her tone tinged with regret: "Yes. She told me she was transferring schools. She also said that the person she would miss the most was you."
Pan Qiu was slightly taken aback. Of course, she knew that Zhiwei was close to her, but hearing the words "reluctant to part" still touched her heart gently. She thought that without Zhiwei, this period of studying abroad would probably be much bleaker, lacking countless laughs and companionship. She looked up at the clam soup on the table and suddenly smiled: "Should I take a selfie and send it to her? Let her be envious."
Lin Yue nodded quickly. Pan Qiu picked up her phone, moved closer to him, and pointed the camera at herself. She smiled gently at the camera first, then made a slightly awkward "V" sign. Lin Yue leaned closer, smiling quietly, his eyes filled with peace. Click—the screen captured their side-by-side: she wore a faint smile, a touch of understated playfulness; his brows were relaxed, his smile reserved. On the table sat steaming clam chowder and bright cocktails, outside the window the sea and sails.
After lunch, they strolled slowly along the shore. The afternoon sun was brighter, casting shimmering reflections on the water. Fisherman's Wharf was bustling with activity, the air filled with the aroma of grilled squid and caramelized nuts. A street performer played his guitar, the sound drifting intermittently on the wind.
As they reached the end of the pier, they could hear laughter from afar. Tourists crowded around the railing, pointing and gesturing with their cameras. Panqiu went closer to take a look and couldn't help but laugh out loud—a dozen plump sea lions lay side by side on the wooden pontoon, their bodies huddled together, lazily basking in the sun. Occasionally, a few would roll over, grunt, and flap their flippers, as if protesting that someone had taken their spot.
"It's kind of like a dorm turf war, isn't it?" Lin Yue laughed.
Pan Qiu shook her head and didn't respond. She felt that this kind of meaningless scene was more healing than any tourist attraction.
Further ahead is Pier 43. A white sightseeing boat is moored at the pier, its deck and railings gleaming, gently rocking on the water, the splashes creating a shallow rhythm. Lin Yue had booked to board at 3 PM, a journey of a little over an hour—perfect as the last activity of the day.
The cruise ship gradually left the dock, the noise slowly dissipating in the sea breeze. People on deck leaned against the railings in twos and threes, taking photos; children chased the shadows of seagulls, their laughter echoing in the air. The ship rocked gently, and the silhouette of a desolate gray prison building slowly approached—a solitary structure standing on the water.
Pan Qiu suddenly felt a sense of disorientation. Last summer, on a riverboat in Shanghai, it was the same: the river breeze was blowing, the lights were dazzling, and Lin Yue said "I like you" on the deck. She didn't agree. Now, a year later, she found herself in an almost identical scene.
Lin Yue spoke, his voice weakened by the wind, yet still clear: "Don't you think... it's a bit similar to last year?"
Pan Qiu was slightly startled, but didn't deny it, only gazing quietly at the water. He paused, then said softly, "I won't repeat what I said last year. Because I already know the answer." After a moment of silence, he turned to look at her: "But there's something I still want to tell you."
Pan Qiu looked up, her gaze briefly meeting his. Lin Yue slowly exhaled: "That night, I was downstairs, and I saw you and him walking out together. The way you looked at him... and the way he looked at you." His tone was calm, yet carried a certainty, "They were two people who admired each other."
Pan Qiu's heart skipped a beat, her fingertips gripping the railing tightly, her knuckles turning white in the wind. Those words were like a knife, yet also like a beam of light.
The knife was like a sharp blade, cutting open her mind and exposing her carefully suppressed feelings to the wind.
The light, however, carries another layer of meaning—it's saying that Ethan also loves her. It's her deepest, most secret desire, yet also her most shameful wish.
She pursed her lips and whispered, "...Maybe you're only half right. He...you're definitely mistaken." Her voice was carried away by the wind, barely audible. It was as if she were admitting something, yet also as if she were erecting a fragile barrier for herself.
Lin Yue paused for a moment, then smiled and looked down at the sea. His smile held a bitter edge, but he didn't press further or offer any explanation. The wind ruffled his collar, creating a bulge on his back that accentuated his stillness.
The cruise ship rounded the [unclear - possibly a place name]. The sea breeze was sharp, carrying the smell of salt and mist, causing the figures on the deck to sway slightly.
San Francisco summers are often unusually cold – “The coldest winter I’ve ever experienced was a summer in San Francisco.”
The mist churned on the sea, swirling around the island like an ever-present layer of thought. Once the place where the most dangerous prisoners were held, it is now known to tourists as "Island of Confinement." The gray prison towers stand coldly in the twilight, like a solitary stone monument on the sea.
Panqiu gazed at the desolate landscape. Her feelings for Ethan felt unjust to her; this stirring of her heart was perhaps destined to be trapped within invisible walls, forever without a home.
She felt guilty towards Lin Yue; the reason she was here at this moment was simply to find out what was behind Zhiwei's words, "Lin Yue saw through you."
She longed for inner freedom, yet she still drew an invisible cage in her heart.
She suddenly felt a pang of pain in her heart. Her true desire was never at sea, but in her heart.
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