absent
The wind at the end of April seemed to carry a hint of Italy—the coolness of olives and lime.
As soon as Pan Qiu pushed open the door to the department building, she was immediately surrounded by the familiar smell of markers and printing paper.
The bulletin board has been updated with the final exam week schedule, and people are hurrying past in the hallway carrying stacks of exam papers.
The sound of whispered answers and rapid typing came from the crack in the door, and the campus quickly entered "closing-off mode".
Ethan didn't come back with them.
On the third day after landing, Panqiu and James received an email copied to each other—
Subject: quick update
I will travel around Europe and visit several collaborative research teams (Leuven, Zurich, Berlin).
Please continue with the field research as originally planned—maintain the alternating schedule of "weekday evenings" and "weekend mornings".
Panqiu, you're in charge of drafting the semi-structured interview outline; James, please add the emotion markers we discussed to the observation form.
If you encounter any obstacles, please email me. I will try my best to reply, even across time zones.
——EE
(Sent from mobile phone)
His tone was as concise and precise as ever, like placing road signs in order—where to go, what to do first, and where to call when encountering problems.
“Then let’s continue, just the two of us.” James gave her a thumbs up. “He’s in Europe, and we’re on the front lines.”
Upon returning from the meeting, both seemed to still be carrying the effects of dopamine; they were in high spirits and had clear goals.
Although Ethan wasn't there, the lab was still bustling with activity.
Without the third shadow, the space felt much cleaner.
The two of them spoke Chinese at a faster pace and had a more efficient division of labor.
Weekend field observations are increasingly resembling a well-coordinated duet.
Panqiu was responsible for capturing the moment of language switching, while James marked the timestamps and emotional changes.
They tacitly agreed that Tianye would organize the materials as soon as he returned to the lab that day.
The fresh notes lay on the corner of the table, still warm; the memos were saved to the shared drive, the filename still in Ethan's format—date and version number neatly arranged.
As usual, Panqiu added a small note after the title: —Maggie tip: tell the story first.
Before we knew it, it was early June.
The shadows of the trees on campus grew ever denser. Pan Qiu barely noticed how time had passed—
The research is progressing steadily, with each round of observation, coding, and interviews proceeding as if on a pre-laid track.
The data began to take shape, and the ideas gradually became clearer.
Ethan seemed to have enjoyed his trip. He hasn't shown up since that email.
Occasionally, collaborative updates would pop up in his shared folder—brief comments, calm instructions, but not a single greeting.
He appears to be shuttling between various research centers across Europe, with his schedule packed to the brim.
Pan Qiu occasionally thinks of that night in Bergamo. The moon, the cobblestone streets, and the words, "The moon is beautiful tonight."
Sometimes she would drift off into thought, wondering where Ethan was right now—speaking at a conference in Brussels? Drinking coffee on the streets of Berlin?
On some foreign night, did I see the same moon as that day again?
I can't quite explain why. Perhaps it's because the research has reached a crucial stage, or perhaps it's some inexplicable expectation in my heart—
Pan Qiu hesitated to book her flight back home. This was the first time she had decided to stay at school for the summer vacation.
That evening, the sky outside the laboratory building was already beginning to lighten.
Just as Panqiu was about to shut down her computer, the email icon suddenly popped up.
From: Chase, Department Head
Subject: Are you free to chat for a bit tomorrow morning?
Hi, looking forward to autumn!
Could you come to my office at 10 a.m. tomorrow?
No rush—I just wanted to know how you've been doing lately.
—C.
She stared at the email for a long time.
"No rush"—this was both a reassurance and something seemed amiss.
Chase is the kind of person who always speaks perfectly and never wastes a single punctuation mark.
She is the department head and usually only interacts with students during quarterly reports or formal occasions; she would never personally send an email to schedule a time.
Panqiu hesitated for a moment, but still replied to the email: "Okay, I'll be there at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."
After sending the email, she felt a strange sense of unease.
Perhaps it was the fatigue of the end of the semester, or perhaps it was because—she subconsciously thought that this email might be related to Ethan.
The next morning, Panqiu arrived a few minutes earlier than agreed.
Chase's office door was ajar, and the sound of light typing could be heard from inside.
She knocked twice and heard that familiar and steady voice: "Come in."
The office was spacious, yet perfectly organized.
The folders on the bookshelf were neatly arranged, from "A – Assessment" to "W – Workload", with even the spacing between them looking as if they had been measured.
On the bookshelf against the wall are several framed photos—a row of pictures documenting Chase and her daughter's lives from infancy to adolescence and college graduation.
Her smiles are gentle and restrained, just like her personality.
Several small plants sat on the windowsill, one of which was a succulent. A handwritten label was affixed to the rim of the pot: "Please don't die."
Pan Qiu was stunned for a moment. That small black ceramic pot, with its crookedly pasted label, was almost exactly the same as the one in Ethan's office.
She was momentarily dazed—a string in her heart twitched slightly.
Chase looked up and met her gaze. He smiled and pointed to the sofa: "Sit down, don't be nervous."
She walked over and sat down, placing her bag beside her lap. A faint aroma of coffee wafted in the air, along with a hint of paper.
A thesis lay open on the table, its pages marked with fine pencil marks.
Chase closed the file, his tone relaxed: "I heard from Ethan that your meeting in Bergamo went very well. The report was well received, right?"
Pan Qiu was slightly taken aback by Ethan's words, then nodded: "It's alright... It's my first time at an international conference, I'm a little nervous."
“Being nervous is a good thing,” Chase smiled. “It means you take it seriously. Ethan told me that you spoke very steadily. He’s very proud of you.”
Pan Qiu lowered her head, as if she heard an echo coming from a very far place—gentle, yet carrying a faint sense of distance.
She looked up and saw Chase tilting his head slightly, quietly observing her.
That look wasn't scrutinizing, but more like a confirmation: whether she was ready to hear what was to come.
Chase pushed the succulent back onto the windowsill, gently sat back in his chair, and placed his fingers interlaced on the documents.
The tone became formal, gentle, and cautious.
"What I'm going to tell you next is about the tutor assignment."
Pan Qiu was slightly taken aback and subconsciously straightened her back.
Before going to Europe, Ethan formally submitted a sabbatical application to the college.
Actually, he had mentioned it a long time ago, but the departure date hadn't been confirmed yet.
Panqiu didn't make a sound, but felt her breathing become a little slow.
He said he didn't want to tell you in advance—not to hide it, but because he didn't want to distract you.
He felt you were fully capable of conducting research independently. In fact, your project progressed very well during his absence, which pleased him greatly.
"So... how long will he be gone?"
"One year."
This answer is brief, yet it's like drawing an invisible line in the air.
“A year?” Pan Qiu repeated, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible.
"He plans to complete several collaborative research projects in Europe, and may take turns staying at several schools."
By the time he returns, you should have already finished your thesis and defense.
The phrase "wait for him to come back" is like a cleverly placed cushion—gentle, yet clearly drawing a line.
Chase pulled a signed document from the folder and placed it in front of Panqiu.
“During his absence, I will take over as chairman of your doctoral committee and will also officially become your mentor.”
Ethan has already signed the documents, and his recommendation is very detailed—you are perfectly capable of completing the rest of the work independently.
Panqiu stared at the paper, its surface reflecting the light from the window.
She saw herself reflected in the light, as if silently divided in two—one still listening attentively to every word Chase said, nodding and responding; the other, however, drifted further and further away with the news about Ethan, as if floating out of that bright and quiet office.
Chase, observing her expression, seemed to sense something but did not press the matter further.
He simply spoke in a low, steady tone: "Ethan cares about you a lot."
She paused, then added, as if gently catching up with that heavy sentence—"He trusts me, and you should trust me too. I will do my best to support you so that you can graduate smoothly this year."
Her voice carried a touch of sincere gentleness, which left Panqiu speechless.
She simply nodded, her throat tightening.
Chase looked at her for a moment and said softly, "You can rest for a while. When you're ready, we'll schedule a regular meeting time."
Pan Qiu nodded again. In that instant, she felt her mind was in turmoil, all her words seemed to have been swept away by the wind, leaving only an empty buzzing.
She forced a polite smile and got up to leave.
Just as she turned around, Chase called out to her.
She picked up the pot of succulents from the windowsill and gently placed it in front of Panqiu.
“Ethan asked me to give this to you,” she said. “He said you would take good care of her.”
Pan Qiu looked down and saw that familiar label—Please don't die.
Suddenly something blocked her throat, and she had to be careful when she breathed.
She picked up the small succulent plant and noticed a light yellow sticky note stuck to the side of the pot.
The corners of the paper were slightly curled up from the sun, but the ink marks were still clear.
All she needs is light, air, and water.
All she needs is light, air, and water.
She's stronger than she looks.
She is stronger than she appears.
Take care of her when I'm away; I'll get her when I'm back.
Please take care of her while I am away; I will personally pick her up when I return.
—Ethan
Pan Qiu looked at the note, her lips twitched slightly, and a bitter smile appeared on her face.
The "she" here refers to that pot of succulents, doesn't it?
As she carried the plant out of the office, sunlight streamed in from the window at the end of the corridor, so bright it was almost blinding.
At that moment, she suddenly had a strange feeling—
It's as if the whole world is moving forward, but she's the only one standing still.
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