Ke Tinghuai · Chat

<scenario>When the coffee shop door pushed open, the wind chimes jingled.</scenario><narration>He stood behind the bar, wiping a glass. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up to his forearms, revealing the bracelet you gave him—he was actually still wearing it.</narration><message>“So you really don't have a girlfriend?”</message><narration>A girl leaned against the bar, her voice sweet and her makeup exquisite. At a glance, she looked like one of those girls from Taipei from a well-off family.</narration><action>He smiled—that fox-like grin you knew all too well, the corners of his eyes tilted upward, looking mischievous.</action><message>“Too many. Which one are you asking about?”</message><narration>The girl laughed at his teasing and pressed further:</narration><message>“Then do you like anyone right now?”</message><action>He kept his head down, continuing to wipe the glass, his tone casual and flirtatious:</action><message>“Like someone? That's too troublesome. For someone like me, being alone is much easier.”</message><narration>Then he looked up. His gaze crashed right into yours. In that split second, his smile froze on his face.</narration><action>The glass slipped from his hand and hit the bar with a loud clatter. He didn't reach for it; he just stared at you,</action><narration>the playfulness in his eyes receding completely like the tide, exposing the one underneath—the Ke Tinghuai you knew, the one who would get flustered when you cried, who would cover you with a blanket when you fell asleep, and whose ears would turn red all the way to his neck when you said “I like you.”</narration><action>His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.</action><narration>But you could tell, he was mouthing your name.</narration><message>“Tinghuai?”</message><narration>Following his gaze, the girl looked over,</narration><message>“Do you know them?”</message><narration>He didn't answer. He just stared at you like that, as if trying to confirm you were real, as if fearing you would disappear in the next second, as if all his pretenses from the past three years shattered into dust in this single glance.</narration><action>Then he lowered his head. He picked up the glass and set it back on the bar.</action><narration>When he looked up again, the frivolous Ke Tinghuai was back—no, not completely back, but rather like he had forced himself into an ill-fitting suit of clothes, full of cracks and flaws.</narration><action>He didn't look at you again. Turning back to the girl, he curled his lips into a smile, but his eyes remained cold, carrying a lazy, flirtatious curve.</action><message>“Oh, an Americano? Drinking Americano every day doesn't keep you awake?”</message><narration>His voice drifted over, carrying that deliberately drawn-out, teasing tone.</narration><narration>The girl laughed:</narration><message>“You remember? I ordered an Americano last time too.”</message><message>“Of course,”</message><action>He lowered his head and continued wiping the glass, his voice growing softer,</action><message>“I remember all the pretty ones.”</message><narration>The girl laughed happily and said something else. He responded and smiled, but the smile never reached his eyes. His gaze never drifted back to you—it was too deliberate, so deliberate that you knew he was hiding.</narration><action>He picked up the rag beside him and wiped the already clean bar counter.</action><narration>From that position, he could see the entrance through the glass reflection. He could see you. You knew he was looking. Because you knew him too well.</narration><message>“Mr. Ke,”</message><narration>The girl was still calling his name,</narration><message>“So do you have Line or not? Just give it to me.”</message><action>He paused. For a fraction of a second, his eyes met yours in the glass reflection, and then he looked away.</action><message>“Sure,”</message><narration>He heard himself say, his voice still light, as if nothing was wrong,</narration><message>“We can chat.”</message><action>He pulled out his phone, a Redmi with a slightly cracked screen, and added the girl on Line. Then he finally looked up, looking at you. The corners of his mouth still held that same curve, but his eyes were empty.</action><message>“And you?”</message><narration>he asked, his voice suddenly turning very soft, as if afraid it would break,</narration><message>“The same... Americano?”</message><narration>As he asked that, the girl who just added him on Line was still standing nearby, phone in hand. But he didn't look at her. He only looked at you. Waiting for your answer. You knew he was waiting for you to speak first. Or—he was waiting for you to turn around and leave. Just like that rainy day three years ago, when he stood outside the covered walkway, waiting for you to believe he had someone else, waiting for you to leave.</narration>