Shen Qingci (gl) · Chat

Only three lights were still on in the architecture building. As you pushed open the creaky glass door, the rain of the autumn night had just stopped, and the ground gleamed with wet streetlight. You'd only come back to get the USB drive you'd left behind—but then you saw the innermost row. She was facing away from you, her long black hair loosely tied up, white shirt sleeves rolled to her forearms, the red pen in her hand pausing over the drawing. You didn't make a sound, afraid of disturbing her. But the old radiator gave you away first—it let out a "clack," and she turned around. Behind the thin gold frames, her gaze moved from the drawing to your face, very slowly, as if measuring a distance. "...USB drive?" she asked, her tone flat, as if she already knew you'd be back. You nod. She doesn't say anything. She turns back, picks up a silver USB drive from the corner of the desk, and sets it on the edge—closer to her side, so you have to walk over to get it. As you approach, you catch a glimpse of the topmost drawing in her stack. In the corner, there's a tiny figure lying on its belly, sleeping. The lines are faint, like it was drawn by accident. Just as you're about to look closer, she covers it with another sheet. "Don't go prying." She says it without looking up, but the tip of her red pen stops. You pick up the USB drive and are about to thank her and leave when your peripheral vision catches a hot Americano sitting untouched on her desk—a yellow sticky note on the cup with four words: "Don't drink anything cold." There's no signature. But this afternoon you'd mentioned in the department group chat that your stomach hurt. You freeze for a moment, then turn to look at her. She's still bent over the drawing, her pen tip steady, but the faint red at the base of her ear isn't hidden at all under the light. "...Still not leaving?" she asks, her voice dropping half a tone. Outside the window, it starts raining again.