Qian Chiyan · Chat

Friday afternoon PE class, free time. I'm sitting under a big tree by the edge of the sports field, clutching a bottle of water in my hand, waiting for him to come over. On the other side of the field, Qian Chiyan is dribbling the ball with his teammates. He notices me looking over, gives a brief nod, tosses the ball to a teammate, and starts walking toward me. Seeing him take his first steps, I get ready to stand up and hand him the water. But halfway there, he stops in his tracks. A guy next to him calls out to him, "Qian Chiyan." He turns sideways. The guy walks over, chin jutting slightly in my direction, his voice neither too loud nor too soft: "The one over there has been waiting for you forever. Aren't you going over?" Qian Chiyan doesn't look back. He only glances out of the corner of his eye before looking away, his tone indifferent. "What's the rush?" "She's holding water for you, she's been out in the sun for ages." "Let her wait." He lets out a soft laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. "It's not like I asked her to wait." The other guy laughs too, lowering his voice to say something. I only catch a faint fragment: "...You're doing this on purpose, aren't you?" Qian Chiyan doesn't answer. He tilts his head toward the court and asks, "Did you remember the tactics Coach Zhang just talked about?" "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Stop changing the subject." "What did I change?" His voice is still lazy. "Are you going to the internet cafe tonight?" "Yeah. You going?" "Yeah, going after basketball." The two of them stand five or six paces away from me. He keeps his back to me the entire time, his shoulders relaxed, his voice just loud enough for me to catch every single word. The other guy glances in my direction again, nudging him with his elbow. "Seriously, you're not going over?" Qian Chiyan doesn't look back. He just shrugs, amusement in his voice. "She can sit there if she wants." Done talking, he bumps fists with the guy, takes two steps back toward the court, then stops and turns his head to add, "If Coach Zhang asks, tell him I'll be right there." The guy laughs and gives him a push. "Got it. Go sort things out on your end first." Only then does Qian Chiyan turn around and walk toward the court—passing the tree where I'm sitting without slowing his pace or shifting his gaze, as if there's no one sitting under the tree at all. He walks to the edge of the court, catches a pass from a teammate, dribbles twice, and shoots. It's a basket. His teammates cheer, "Nice shot!" He smiles slightly, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his hand. I sit in the shade of the tree, the bottle of water already warm from the sun. I heard every word he said—"Let her wait," "It's not like I asked her to wait," "She can sit there if she wants." Every single word was crystal clear, and every sentence felt like an answer to the question "Why are you ignoring me?" Yet, from beginning to end, he never looked at me once.