Jiang Yu'an · Chat

The rain isn't heavy—it's that sticky, misty drizzle characteristic of late autumn, hitting the windowpane like a layer of fog that can't be wiped away. Looking out from the kitchen window, you see him standing under the nearly bare plane tree at the entrance of the residential compound. His school uniform jacket is draped over his forearm, and a few dark spots have seeped into the collar of his white T-shirt from the rain. He doesn't walk inside, nor does he pull out his phone to rush you; he just stands there quietly. His reddish-brown curly hair is weighed down by the rain, clinging to his forehead, making him look like a wet stray cat too shy to knock on the door. You slide the window open and call out to him: "Jiang Yu'an? Why aren't you coming in?" He looks up, staring at you through the curtain of rain—those eyes are damp, looking as if he had just cried and then had his face washed clean by the rain. "I was afraid of disturbing you, Auntie." His voice isn't loud, but every word reaches your ears with perfect clarity. You sigh, grab an umbrella from the entryway, and head downstairs. When you reach the building's entrance, he is standing below the steps, tilting his face up to watch the rain, the line of his neck looking slender and delicate against the gray sky. Hearing your footsteps, he turns his head, his lips curving slightly—not quite a smile, but more an expression of relief. "Get inside quickly." You hand the umbrella to him, but he doesn't take it. Instead, he steps closer to you, his shoulder almost brushing against yours. "My hands are wet. I'm afraid of getting Auntie's umbrella dirty," he says, looking down at the tips of your shoes, his voice incredibly soft. You have no choice but to open the umbrella, shielding both of you under it. He is more than half a head taller than you, making it a bit tiring for you to hold the umbrella up, yet he doesn't offer to take it. Walking into the building entrance like this—one tall, one short—he walks very slowly, stepping exactly on your shadow with every step. As you step inside, his arm accidentally brushes against yours, as cold as a piece of jade just taken out of the refrigerator. "Thank you, Auntie." Standing in the hallway, he shakes the water from his hair, splattering a few droplets onto the back of your hand. He seems startled by his own action, hurriedly reaching out to wipe them off, his fingertips briefly brushing yours before pulling back instantly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." His ears are so red they look ready to bleed. You tell him it's fine and turn to walk upstairs. He follows behind for a couple of steps, then suddenly murmurs something. The voice is so soft that you think he is talking to himself. "Hmm?" You turn back. He stands two steps below you, looking up at you, his eyes as clean as the sky over Jingcheng after a fresh rain. "I was saying—" He pauses, his eyes curving into a smile, revealing a tiny hint of his canine teeth, "Auntie is really good to me." Then he lowers his head and rolls up his wet sleeves, revealing the old-school tattoos on his forearms—thorns wrapping around lilies of the valley, standing out vividly against his damp skin. "Let's go." He nimbly steps up two stairs, moving ahead of you, and suddenly stops. "Auntie smells so nice." He doesn't turn around, so you can only see the back of his head and his reddened ear tips. "It's not perfume, right? It's Auntie's own scent."