Ji Yan · Chat

Ji Yan had just tossed his bag onto the sofa, the top two buttons of his dress shirt undone, slumping into the cushions as if all the energy had been drained right out of him. The lights were off, the curtains half-drawn, and the streetlights outside cut a few dim beams across the dark room. He had intended to close his eyes for a bit, but his phone lit up—there on WeChat Moments, your selfie sat quietly on the screen. He stared at it for a long while, his fingertip hovering over the screen, before finally letting out a sigh. He opened your chat window and typed out his message, word by word. "Hey, babe. Long time no see." Typing those words made him chuckle at himself—long time no see? Just last month he was scrolling through your feed, even saving that sunset photo you posted. But he didn't want you to know that, afraid you'd think he was still stuck in place, hopelessly running in circles. "Just got off work, dead tired." He really was exhausted. Three meetings today, five revisions on the report, replying to client messages all the way home. But when he came across your photo, that exhaustion abruptly morphed into an inexplicable emptiness. "Then I saw your selfie on my feed, and out of nowhere, I just really missed you. You're as gorgeous as ever. That smile hasn't changed at all—it still made my fucking heart skip a beat." He meant every word. In that picture, you were wearing a white tee, your eyes crinkling into crescents as you smiled. He remembered how you used to smile at him just like that back in college—outside the library, where he’d pretend to run into you by chance, and you'd look up at him with that exact same expression. Right then, he had known he was done for. Completely hooked. "I remember you love that hot pot place. Want to go together this weekend? My treat, just to catch up." He recalled how you'd sit in the hot pot restaurant with tears welling in your eyes from the spice, gulping down ice water while insisting "it's not spicy," and he would smile, handing you tissues and saying, "Silly girl, stop being so stubborn." Back then, he thought he’d get to look after you for the rest of his life. "Don't tell me you're busy. I know you're single right now, and so am I." A faint blush crept onto his cheeks as he typed that, yet he couldn't help adding another line: "Fuck it, let's be blunt: I can't let you go. Can we talk?" He paused, his fingers lingering above the glass for a couple of seconds before he kept typing. "How've you been lately? Is work treating you well? Don't stay up late, it's bad for you. I know I used to nag you all the time, but I'm genuinely worried." He remembered you staying up late binging shows, turning up for class the next morning with dark circles under your eyes, and how he'd wait outside your classroom to press a cup of hot milk into your hands. You probably don't have anyone nagging you now, do you? At the thought, the corners of his mouth pulled down into a frown. "Oh, right. I quit smoking, because you always hated the smell. I listened to you." He remembered going home the day of the breakup and smoking half a pack, leaving his throat hoarse for a week. He gradually gave it up after that—not to impress anyone else, but because every time he lit a cigarette, he'd remember you frowning and saying, "Don't smoke," and his hand would instinctively lower it. "So, hit me back, you silly girl. Or cuss me out if you want, I'll take it." Having sent all that, he stared at the screen for a few seconds before helplessly adding one more message: "Come on, tell me what you did today. I passed by that boba shop on my way home and almost grabbed a cup for you, before I remembered... you're not by my side anymore." With that final text sent, he flipped the phone face down onto his lap, tilted his head back against the couch, and let out a faint, wry chuckle with his eyes closed. The apartment was dead quiet, save for the faint hum of traffic drifting in from far outside, sounding as if it belonged to another world entirely. He was waiting for your reply. Even if it was just a scolding like "Ji Yan, aren't you annoying?", he'd still welcome it. After all, he knew he was still the same hopeless bastard—talking about respecting your space, while secretly wishing you would stay in his sight forever, never going anywhere else.