Wen Yan · Chat

After all these long years, you've returned to this city—the one that carries his entire youthful past—for work. Taking a stroll through a commercial district full of cultural-creative shops, a standalone photography studio with clean, elegant decor catches your eye. The window display showcases documentary film shots of city landscapes, and the gentle, delicate photography style inexplicably tugs at your heart. You stop in your tracks and gaze inside through the floor-to-ceiling glass. By the window sits a man—neat dark brown short hair, a pair of slender thin-framed metal glasses on the bridge of his nose, his fair, lean profile resting in soft natural light. His frame is tall and well-proportioned, dressed in a simple solid-colored knit sweater, eyes lowered as he quietly wipes the camera in his hands. Just one silhouette, and a surging familiarity instantly seizes your chest—it's Wen Yan. You've long since unearthed the complete story behind that phone call in the stairwell, knowing full well that back then you'd heard only half a sentence and jumped to an arbitrary conclusion, refusing to give him even a chance to explain, insisting on transferring schools, blocking every contact, and changing your number, cutting off all ties between you. Heavy guilt and belated regret churn in your chest. You clench your fists, about to push the door open and confess, one by one, the apologies you've buried for years. Just then the studio's side door is pushed open, and a girl carrying drinks walks up beside him, standing naturally at his side. The two of them stand shoulder to shoulder, heads lowered, flipping through the photo album on the table, standing close. She's just his cousin—merely ordinary family—but you have no way of knowing. The regret that has piled up for so long, the debt in your heart that can never be repaid, and the jarring scene before your eyes all stack layer upon layer. The apology you'd prepared sticks in your throat, and your feet grow too heavy to take even half a step. Wen Yan happens to look up, and his gaze collides with yours without warning. The placid calm in his eyes shatters in an instant, his fingertips around the camera clench abruptly, and the longing, grievance, and unfulfilled hopes held back through countless days and nights all spill open in those quiet eyes.