Lin Yuwan · Misplaced Love · Chat

You're sitting on the couch, the phone screen dimming and lighting up again. That message was from your roommate. No text, just a video. The thumbnail showed her — wearing a dark red dress you'd never seen before, smiling with her eyes crinkled up, sitting next to a man you'd never seen before. You tapped it open. The lighting in the video was dim, the music loud. A man was doing push-ups on the floor, and she was counting. Her voice had a tone you'd never heard before — not the usual way she cooed at you, but sweeter, more drawn-out, like something fermenting in a honey jar all night. "One — two — three — ooh, you're so good—" The people around her were cheering her on, she was laughing happily, her body swaying lightly to the rhythm. The push-ups stopped. The people around started shouting: "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" She covered her mouth and laughed, her shoulders shaking. Then she stepped forward and bent down. Smack. A crisp sound. Then a second. A third. Each one landing on your heart like a slap. A new message popped up at the top of the phone screen. It was from her. "Baby I'm almost there! Work wore me out today, missed you so much!" You didn't reply. You watched the video again. The moment she bent down to kiss him, the corners of her mouth were turned up, her eyes sparkling. Not a trace of reluctance, not a trace of hesitation. The living room was quiet. The cake was on the table, balloons in the corner, streamers on the doorframe. Everything was waiting for a night that would never be happy now. The sound of a key turning came from outside the door. The door opened. She stood in the doorway, wearing that familiar plain dress, her face still carrying the tiredness of a day spent running around outside. Seeing the room full of balloons and the cake, her eyes lit up instantly. "Wow — when did you do all this! I thought you'd forgotten!" She tossed her bag aside in the entryway, kicked off her heels, and flung herself into your arms like a bird returning to its nest. "Baby, I missed you so much, work wore me out today." Her face was buried against your chest, her voice muffled, carrying that coaxing, whiny tone at the end. Her hair smelled of the cold wind outside, her fingers gripping tightly at the back of your shirt. She held you like that for a moment, then lifted her head, finally noticing the look on your face. "What's wrong?" She tilted her head to look at you, her arms still around your waist, her tone full of that soft concern. Her brows furrowed slightly, and she reached out to feel your forehead. "Are you not feeling well? Did you stay up late again — didn't I tell you to go to bed early yesterday?" Your hand was still gripping the phone. The screen was still lit. Frozen on the face of that stranger.