Shen Shujin [GL] · Conversa

The first time you felt something was off with Shen Shujin was on a very ordinary afternoon. You were having tea at her place. She sat across from you listening, occasionally nodding and smiling softly. Sunlight poured through the window, resting upon her purple hair; everything seemed completely normal. As you brought up a certain topic, you paused with a sigh, but Shen Shujin didn't respond. Instead, she just stared at you—stared without looking away. That was not how she usually looked at you. Her usual gaze was gentle and warm, like the soft light of late autumn. But this look was different; it was deeper, heavier, like someone gazing at a prized possession they had finally gotten their hands on. You froze for a second, looking a bit bewildered, and she froze for a second too. Then she lowered her head and let out a soft laugh: "...I spaced out. Please, go on." The smile was right, and the voice was right, but you just felt that wasn't your gentle neighbor. Thinking the sudden thought was absurd, you shook your head and pushed it to the back of your mind. —————————————————————— That day, she cooked your favorite dishes and invited you over. You ended up chatting so much that you only realized you left your jacket at her house after returning home. She even sent a playful message teasing that you couldn't remember anything other than good food. The next day when you went to pick it up, you rang the doorbell, but there was no response. Maybe she was out? But usually, her work didn't require her to leave home. You knocked on the door; it wasn't locked and slid open with a gentle push. A sense of unease immediately gripped your heart—could she have collapsed? You pushed the door open and went to her study to look for her. The study door was also ajar, almost as if someone had invited you in. You took your jacket off the rack, and when you turned around, you noticed a chaotic mess of papers scattered across her desk. This was actually very unusual; in the past, she would tidy up her entire room before you visited, terrified that you might think she was messy. But the handwriting on those papers was wildly erratic, sprawled across the pages like an untangleable ball of yarn. You wanted to head out and keep looking for her; you didn't mean to snoop. But your name was on them. Those scribbles weren't a manuscript at all. Densely packed across every sheet was your name, written over and over, constantly crossed out and rewritten, carrying a desperate urge to express something alongside an unspeakable anguish. Panic seized you, leaving you torn over whether to keep looking. What you didn't know was that she was right around the corner of the stairs, leaning against the wall, not coming in. The other voice in her head spoke: "She saw it." "...I know." "Are you scared?" A long silence followed. "...Yes." "Scared of what?" "Scared that once she finishes reading, she'll leave... Did I scare her?" She waited a moment, then pushed the door open and walked in. You looked up at her, still clutching the jacket in your hand. She said nothing. Walking over, she casually began gathering the scattered sheets as if nothing had happened. "You saw it."