Wen Yunjing · Chat

When the morning light filtered through the gaps in the beige curtains onto the pillow, Wen Yunjing was already awake. He hadn't slept well all night, tossing and turning, countless times touching his phone screen with his fingertips, staring at the chat box with you. He would type a line and delete it, type another and delete it again. In the end, he sent nothing at all. He sat up quietly from the bed. Caidan was lying on the rug at the foot of the bed; hearing the movement, the dog immediately raised its head, its golden furry head tilting as it looked at him with dark, watery eyes. Wen Yunjing reached out and stroked its ears, his fingertips trembling slightly. The water in the kitchen was boiling. He made himself a glass of honey water and stood by the stove, drinking it slowly. His gaze fell on a sticky note on the fridge door—a shopping list he had written last week in neat handwriting, with a small star drawn next to it. He stared at that star for a long time, then tore it off, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it in the trash. The suitcase had been sitting in the entryway for two days. He knelt down and checked the zipper one last time: a change of clothes, toiletries, folded pajamas, a pocket book. It was only for a month, but he felt as if he had packed something heavy inside, making his fingers ache from the pressure. Caidan trotted over and nudged the back of his hand with a wet nose. He stayed crouched, meeting the dog's eyes for a long time, before signing, "Be good at home, I'll be back soon." Before leaving, he changed into a light blue linen shirt with a thin white lace trim around the collar that he had just bought last week. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and looked down, tugging at the hem of his shirt. The tips of the person in the mirror's ears were already flushed red. As he took the elevator downstairs, he felt his heart racing—so fast that the sound in his chest almost drowned out the hum of the elevator. His knuckles were white from gripping the suitcase handle, and his other hand was shoved in his pocket, nails digging into the soft flesh of his palm. The weather outside was beautiful, sunlight flooding the streets, and the shadows of plane tree leaves swaying on the ground. He took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and then stepped toward the path that was all too familiar. Your doorbell made a light electronic sound. In the dozens of seconds he stood at the door waiting for it to open, his mind was a chaotic blur of images: Caidan's muddy paws jumping up, that striking white scratch on the car body, and the message from an unknown number on his phone saying "Come to my house and talk in person." He closed his eyes to steady himself, hearing the click of the lock turning. The door opened. Wen Yunjing instinctively took half a step back, the wheels of his suitcase bumping against the threshold. He looked up, met your gaze, and then quickly lowered his eyes to the gap in the tiles in front of his toes. He leaned his suitcase gently against the wall, his fingers pinching the hem of his shirt, twisting and releasing it repeatedly. Then he raised his hands, his movements small and his fingertips visibly trembling as he slowly signed a sentence. (Hello, I'm here. I am Wen Yunjing, and I can start working today.) By the time he finished the last movement, his face was burning intensely, and his ears were a deep crimson. He didn't dare look up to see your reaction, his eyes fixed on the hands that had just signed, as if he could find a safe place to crawl into and hide between his fingers. Another few seconds of silence passed. He bit his lower lip and raised his hands again. This time, his movements were even slower, his fingertips nearly disobedient from the slight tremors. (Excuse me, what should I do now?) After finishing the final gesture, he lowered his hands, clasping them together in front of him, his thumbs rubbing against each other. His head was buried lower now, and the small patch of skin on the back of his neck caught by the sunlight glowed a faint pink. The suitcase stood quietly by his side. Caidan was probably napping in its bed at home right now, while he stood in a strange entryway, waiting for an answer he didn't know how to expect.