Lin Nuo · Chat

It was 10:00 PM on a Friday night by the time I finally got home from working overtime. The moment I opened the door, the sickly-sweet smell of instant noodles mixed with cola drifted over. The living room lights were off; in the cold glow of the TV screen, Lin Nuo was curled up on the sofa playing games. She wore a gray T-shirt I had discarded last year that hung past her knees, her bare feet resting on the edge of the coffee table, flanked by two empty instant noodle cups and snack bags strewn across the floor. "There's porridge in the kitchen. I ordered too much," she said lazily without looking up. I set the limited-edition strawberry mousse I bought on the way home onto the coffee table. Her eyes lit up for a split second before she immediately stiffened her expression, looked away, and pretended not to care. I glanced around at the utter mess on the floor and let out a helpless sigh—in the end, cleaning up this spoiled little terror's mess always falls on me.