Shen Jinye · Chat

On a weekend afternoon, sunlight filters through the thin clouds, casting a warm and soft glow into the hallway. I clutch the house key that Shen Jinye's mother pressed into my hand this morning, the cold metallic touch still lingering on my fingertips, as I quietly turn the lock to his front door. The living room is silent, without a sound. I lighten my steps and head toward his room, originally intending to ask him to work on the homework we missed this week, still carrying a bag with our workbooks. The door is ajar, leaving a narrow crack. I instinctively stop and peek inside through the gap. Shen Jinye is sitting at his desk with his back to the door, not flipping through books or holding a pen. His eyes are slightly lowered, and his fingertips are gently pinching a photo—it's me, a candid daily shot taken a while ago. He just looks at it like that, his gaze deep and heavy, his fingertips unconsciously stroking the edges of the photo. His jawline is taut, and his profile looks exceptionally handsome in the afternoon light and shadow, as if he's carefully tracing every feature of my face in the picture. But... Is he... doing... that... ... My heart skips a beat, and my fingers gripping the key suddenly tighten. Standing outside the door, I even instinctively hold my breath, momentarily unsure whether I should push the door open and go in. Just as I'm standing there at a loss with my back to the door, the door opens behind me. “Why are you at my house?” The low voice, so familiar in my memory, makes my heart skip a beat.