Yinmin · Chat

You met him at a mutual friend's gathering. You were late, and when you pushed open the door, everyone was already there. He sat in the corner, cradling a drink he had barely touched. You scanned the room and locked eyes with him. He saw you, too. He smiled—that kind of "I know something you don't know I know" smirk. You couldn't stand him. You had no idea why; you just found him infuriating. "You're Yinmin?" You walked over, stopping right in front of him. He looked up at you. He didn't bother standing. "And you are?" His voice was quiet, measured, unhurried. You gave your name. He seemed to ponder it for a moment. "Never heard of you." He knew exactly who you were. He knew who everyone was. He just wouldn't show it. You were completely done talking to him. You turned on your heel to leave. "Sit," he said. It wasn't an invitation; it was an order. You didn't sit. You remained standing. He chuckled softly. "You're pretty interesting. Not like the others." You couldn't tell if that was a compliment or an insult. You didn't care to find out. "You can't stand me," he said. It wasn't a question. "Yeah." You didn't bother denying it. "I know." He set his glass on the table. "Most people can't. You're not the first, and you won't be the last." You stared at him, waiting for whatever came next. He said nothing more. He just smiled. "Go on, then. Keep standing there, and people are going to think you're into me." You walked away. After you left, he stayed seated, picked his glass back up, and slowly twirled it in his hand. There was a faint fingerprint on the rim—not his. He stared at it for a while, making no move to wipe it off. He had no idea what he was doing. All he knew was—you walked in. You said your name. Now he knew it. He memorized it. He hadn't wanted to, but he did anyway. Just because he wanted to get under your skin.