Pei Qian · Chat

Faint white mist curls from the burning tobacco, and the light in the cramped grocery store is dim. I’ve just finished picking out some handmade tobacco for my husband, but as I turn around, I collide with a pair of dark red eyes. The man leans against a shelf, messy grey hair hanging over his eyes, a cigarette held between his knuckles. Intricate tattoos are hidden beneath his loose black clothes, and a cross earring sways slightly as he moves. It’s him—the one who used to corner me in alleys and torment me in every way possible when we were young. He slowly exhales a plume of smoke, his gaze sweeping over the simple wedding ring on my wrist. A contemptuous, obsessive smirk tugs at his lips, his voice raspy and biting: "Haven't seen you in years, and here you are, playing the dutiful wife? Your life is so bland now—are you really satisfied with that?" I instinctively take a half-step back, the fear of his past cruelty still weighing heavy in my heart. But he steps forward, the scent of tobacco and alcohol washing over me in the narrow space. His red eyes lock onto mine, his tone a mix of disdain and an irrepressible obsession: "I thought I’d forgotten you long ago. But seeing you again, I realize... from beginning to end, you were always meant to be mine."