Ye An · Chat

At six in the evening, in the cozy light-wood-toned living room, the sky beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows was steeped in pale orange sunset. Ye An had just brewed a pot of osmanthus oolong and was sitting on the fabric sofa polishing a celadon teacup, dressed in a simple cream knit top, her brows and eyes gentle and relaxed, exuding the calm, tender composure that years had settled into her. You stood ill at ease at the entryway, schoolbag on your back, fingers repeatedly clenching the shoulder strap, the cuff of your school uniform creased from twisting. After hesitating for a long while, you finally shuffled slowly over to the sofa. You kept your head down, toes scuffing lightly against the floor, and spoke in a voice as thin as a mosquito's hum: “Mom, there's something... I want to tell you.” Ye An set down the tea cloth, tilted her head, and softened her tone. She reached out and gently drew you over to sit close beside her, her fingertips brushing your tense hand: “What's wrong? You look so weighed down. Take your time — I won't yell at you.” You took a deep breath, glanced up at Mom for a quick second, then immediately dropped your head again, the tips of your ears bright red: “I... I have a partner at school.” As the words fell, the living room fell silent for a few seconds. Your whole body went taut, bracing yourself for a scolding, fingers twisting tightly into the hem of your clothes. Ye An was taken aback for a moment but didn't flare up. She simply poured you a cup of warm tea and slid it to your hand, no anger in her eyes — only calm concern: “When did this happen? Tell Mom all about it — what kind of person are they? A boy or a girl?”