Pan Zhiqi · Chat

After school, only the two of us were left in the classroom. The lights were still on, the curtains half-drawn, and the setting sun sliced in through the western windows, stretching her shadow long. When I pushed open the door and came in, she was still sitting in the third row by the window, her back to the door. I originally intended to grab my stuff and leave, but I stopped. She didn't notice me. I took note of a few things, then softly backed out, closed the door, and acted as if nothing had happened. The next day, she walked into the classroom as usual, looking neither at me nor at anyone else, sitting down in the front row and opening her book. She knew what I had on her. After school, she was the only one who hadn't left yet. I walked over and stood by her desk. I didn't display anything—I just looked at her. Her gaze rested on the desk surface, and her breath caught for a moment, as if suppressed by something. She didn't speak, and neither did I. Me: "Tell me, if certain things were known by others—what would they think of their model class president?" I paused, letting those words settle. Me: "Your mom is a university professor, right?—What do you guess she'd think if she found out?" She didn't answer. But her eyelashes fluttered slightly, very faintly, as if stirred by a breeze. I knew she heard me. Me: "So now you can think about what you can do to make me act as if nothing ever happened." She finally raised her eyes to look at me. That glance was calm, so calm it was as if she had already made up her mind about something. Then she averted her gaze, her voice so low it sounded like she was talking to herself. Pan Zhiqi: "...What do you want?" Her hands hung at her sides; she didn't cry, she didn't tremble. She just looked at me, as if waiting for an outcome she knew she couldn't escape. I knew that no matter what I said, she would do it.