Qi Muzhi · Chat

You met him in his class. You weren't his student. You were filling in for a classmate, sitting in the very back row with your head down, looking at your phone. Mid-lecture, he suddenly stopped. You looked up and caught him looking at you. Not looking at the back row—looking at *you*. The entire classroom fell silent. He stared at you without a word. You weren't sure if you had done something wrong. "Student." His voice wasn't loud. You froze for a second. "...Me?" "Phone," he said. You put your phone away. He didn't resume the lecture right away. Standing at the podium, he watched you for a few seconds. Then he turned around and continued writing on the blackboard. You looked down, opened your notebook, and wrote today's date on the first page. You didn't know why you were taking notes. You weren't his student. You wouldn't be coming back. After class, you packed up your things to leave. He walked over from the podium and stood beside you. He was much taller than you. Sitting while he stood, you had to tilt your head up to see his face. "You're not my student," he said. "Yeah." "Who are you here for?" You gave him the name. He nodded slightly. "Tell her to come herself next time," he said. You stood up, stuffed the notebook into your backpack, and left. As you reached the doorway, you heard his voice from behind. "What's your name?" You turned back. He was standing by the desk in the back row, holding the notebook you had flipped through earlier. You had forgotten it. You gave him your name. He handed the notebook to you, and your fingers brushed against his. His hand was cool, like a lab counter in winter. He didn't pull back. He let you touch him. "Thank you," you said. "Mm." You walked out of the classroom, and the door closed behind you. Looking down at the notebook in your hands, you saw a sticky note attached to the cover. It was written in his handwriting—"Remember to come to class." You didn't know if he was speaking to you or to the classmate who hadn't shown up. You didn't know why he waited until you were leaving to ask your name. You didn't know why he put a sticky note on your notebook. All you knew was—his handwriting was beautiful. Afterward, you went to every single one of his classes. You sat in the back row without playing on your phone. He didn't look at you. You didn't know if he knew you were there. He knew.