Happy birthday
In psychology, there is a concept called "projective attention".
This means that when we feel someone is watching us, it is often because our attention is first drawn to the other person; that feeling of being "seen" is actually an illusion that we actively create.
Pan Qiu felt that she was probably experiencing this theory firsthand.
After Ethan's lightning talk, he sat in the very edge of the first row, directly opposite her. She continued with her stagehand duties—checking slides, passing the microphone, and keeping track of the time. On the surface, everything was orderly, but inside, she felt like a string about to snap.
She dared not be distracted, much less look up. But for some reason, she could always feel—a gaze following her, almost imperceptibly. It was a gaze that was too quiet, as light as air.
She kept telling herself: This is just a typical symptom of "projective attention"—she cares about him, so she mistakenly believes that he is looking at her too. In other words, she is not "being looked at," but "hoping to be looked at by him."
But in that instant, once she realized that she "wanted to be seen," she could no longer pretend to be "indifferent"—she had already cast herself into that gaze.
The entire day's orientation process seemed to be disrupted by Ethan's "sudden appearance." Time passed in a strange mood as the dinner party approached.
The banquet was held on the rooftop terrace of the department building as usual.
Two years have passed, and the string lights are still hanging in the same spot, only the food has been changed to a buffet—probably because someone complained about the portion sizes last year. Pan Qiu finished her duties, carrying a plate of salad and roast chicken, and stood by the high table. The night breeze was gentle, and the city lights in the distance flickered like scattered thoughts.
Ethan was standing a short distance away, surrounded by several students, seemingly discussing course selection and research directions. His laughter was gentle and polite, almost exactly the same as his usual demeanor by the railing—restrained, gentle, and approachable.
But with Panqiu, he was both closer and farther away from her.
Soon, people started approaching her to chat: asking about her courses, her choice of advisor, her research direction, and whether she was in Professor Ellery's lab. She answered with a smile, and was surprised to find that she could also say "It depends on what you want to do" in a very relaxed tone. At that moment, she suddenly realized—she had truly transformed from that bewildered person being greeted into someone others saw as a "senior."
But no matter who she was talking to, she could always see him whenever her gaze inadvertently swept across the other side of the terrace.
Ethan managed to slip away from the group of students on the other side as the banquet drew to a close. Only a handful of people remained on the terrace.
Night fell completely, the string lights swayed softly, and the air carried the scent of wine and paper plates.
She was just finishing up when she suddenly heard a familiar voice behind her: "You've been busy all day, haven't you?" The tone was relaxed, like air that had been suppressed for a long time finally finding an outlet.
Pan Qiu turned around and saw him standing not far away. He had unbuttoned one button on his collar and was holding an empty wine glass in his hand.
For a moment, she almost forgot to answer, and only nodded slightly: "Yes."
This was the first time they had spoken in such a relaxed tone since the beginning of the semester.
After that brief glimpse during the march, every meeting she made was a struggle with herself, deliberately maintaining a "work-only" tone. She could sense that Ethan seemed to be carefully maintaining the same boundary as well. Both of them were restrained, and both were unnatural.
But tonight, he no longer seemed awkward.
Ethan placed the empty glass on the recycling table and turned to look at her. "Want to go together?" he asked, his tone almost as natural as an old habit. She nodded, and the two walked out onto the terrace side by side.
The corridor was dimly lit, and footsteps echoed softly on the carpet. The wind outside was a bit chilly, carrying the minty scent of an autumn night.
That phrase, "Let's walk together," was just like their daily routine after the teaching assistant incident last semester. They often walked back side by side like that, without saying a word to each other.
The walk from the department building to "Little Fox Cafe" wasn't long, but it felt endlessly stretched. The streetlights cast two shadows side by side on the ground, one in front of the other, yet side by side.
No one spoke; the silence was so profound that one could almost hear the sound of shoes scraping the ground. Pan Qiu felt her heartbeat become erratic, as if she were being led by some unseen force.
Ethan's steps were steady, but a little slower than usual.
As I turned the corner, the sign of the small café was lit—the familiar fox glowed faintly in the dim light.
The two of them stopped almost simultaneously. In that instant, Panqiu felt as if the world had stopped too.
Ethan spoke first, "Happy birthday."
His eyes were deep in the night, yet carried a faint warmth. He paused, then added softly, his voice slightly hoarse: "I'm late again this year, sorry."
Pan Qiu paused for a moment. On her birthday, she almost knocked on his office door, just to hear this simple blessing.
Now, he actually said it. At that moment, she almost thought she had been drinking.
Ethan took a paper bag out of his coat pocket. It was white with blue lettering and slightly creased at the corners.
He handed it over: "A small gift."
Pan Qiu gently took it, her fingertips burning uncontrollably. She opened the bag—inside was a passport holder. Dark gray leather, with a fine texture, and a line of tiny silver lettering pressed in the corner:
Dedicated to your next journey.
She was speechless for a moment. The emotion welled up from her chest, almost overwhelming her.
Ethan smiled slightly at her reaction: "We'll need it soon—for meetings."
A brief silence followed.
The wind blew through the street, carrying a faint scent of pine.
Pan Qiu suddenly raised her head, her tone calm, yet with a hint of unexpected courage: "So what did you buy for your wife and children?"
Ethan was clearly taken aback, his breath catching in his throat.
Then, he said in a low but clear voice, "No..."
The air was almost shattered by that not-so-loud sound.
He raised his eyes, his tone softening as he slowly stated:
"I have no wife and no children."
Pan Qiu simply watched him quietly.
Neither of them spoke again. The streetlights cast a silent shadow between them.
She didn't remember how she got home. The night breeze was just the right coolness, and her footsteps felt like walking on a thin layer of clouds. When she came to her senses, the door had already closed behind her. Leaning against the door, her back against the cold wooden board, she couldn't help but smile wistfully. The smile was initially faint, as if it couldn't be hidden, but it gradually spread out.
Just as she was about to burst out laughing, the light at the bottom of the stairs suddenly came on. Yueyue, wearing a bathrobe, poked her head out, half-closing her eyes: "Kid, you've gone crazy just because you attended a welcome party?"
Pan Qiu covered her mouth, laughing so hard her shoulders were shaking: "He doesn't have a wife or children."
Yueyue paused for two seconds, then slowly blinked: "Huh?" She glanced at Panqiu, who was still grinning foolishly, and was about to turn around and go back to her room when she lazily tossed out a sentence: "Alright, kid. Just because someone doesn't have a wife and kids doesn't mean you can lose your mind."
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com