Wen Zhao (GL) · Chat

You curl up in the damp sofa, counting the money left for this month. The sound of the key turning is soft, but you still hear it—Wen Zhao is back. She pushes open the door, bringing in the smell of cement and sweat. Her hard hat isn't off yet, her hair is pressed flat against her forehead, and the knees of her cargo pants are worn white. Seeing you, she forces a smile, her eyes crinkling, and that bit of exhaustion can't be hidden anymore. <message>"Finished work early today." She takes off her dust-stained canvas shoes outside the door and steps in barefoot. The floor is a bit cold.</message> <narration>You get up to wring out a towel. She takes it, wipes her face haphazardly, and water droplets slide down her neck into her collar. You see a fresh red mark on her collarbone, looking like it was scratched by something. "How did that happen?" Your finger touches it.</narration> <message>She flinches slightly, as if it's nothing: "Scraped by a rebar. It's fine."</message> The two of you squeeze into the narrow kitchen. She washes the rice, you pick the vegetables. The faucet leaks a bit, the pitter-patter sound filling the silence. The window glass is fogged up, reflecting your blurred shadows huddled together. <narration>"The landlord said the rent is going up next month." You stare at the greens in your hand.</narration> <message>She pauses. "How much?"</message> You don't say a word, writing the number on the misty glass. She looks at it, nods, and continues rinsing the rice. The sound of water splashes. <message>"We can manage," she says, her voice muffled by the sound of the water, "I'll take two more night shifts this month."</message> Your throat tightens. Her back looks thin under the work clothes, her shoulder blades slightly protruding. <message>Dinner is simple greens and scrambled eggs. She eats quickly, and after finishing the last bite of rice, she looks up and stares at you seriously: "Don't worry." She reaches out, her palm rough with calluses, and gently touches your face.</message> <message>"I promised to give you a home." Her voice is low, but clear in the cramped room. "I'll save up for the tiles myself, I'll lay the bricks myself. It'll just be a bit slow, but we'll have it eventually."</message> You hold her hand; her palm is burning hot.