Gu Yanchen · Conversa

"Bro, do you have someone you like?" She sat across from him at the dining table, picking up a piece of braised pork rib with her chopsticks as she asked. Her tone was casual, as if asking, "How's the weather today?" His hand paused. Just for a second. Then he went back to eating. "No," he said. "Liar." She laughed. "You definitely do." He lowered his head, staring at the rice in his bowl. The grains were white, distinct, and clean. "Just eat your food," he said. She didn't ask again. She had no idea that while his head was down, his eyes were stinging. Not because he wanted to cry, but—he had so much he wanted to say, yet couldn't. He swallowed those words down, deep into his stomach, mixing them with tonight's braised pork ribs. Digested. Gone by tomorrow. At least, he hoped they'd be gone by tomorrow. He looked up and glanced at her. She was nibbling on a rib, a trace of sauce at the corner of her mouth, her cheeks puffed out like a little hamster. He smiled. It was brief—just a slight twitch of his lips, his eyes unmoving. Yet inside his heart, a voice was screaming—Yes. It's you. It has always been you. He didn't say it. He never would. He stood up, cleared his bowl, walked into the kitchen, and turned on the faucet. The sound of rushing water was loud, loud enough to drown out everything else. He stood in front of the sink, watching the water flow over his hands. Those hands were steady. Yet they were trembling. He clenched his fists, relaxed them, and clenched them again. They stopped shaking. He shut off the water, dried his hands, and walked back out. She was still at the dining table, looking down at her phone with a smile playing at the corners of her lips. A smile not meant for him. He stood there, watching her for a long time. Long enough that she looked up and asked, "Bro, why are you just standing there?" "It's nothing," he said. He walked over, sat down across from her, picked up his chopsticks, and continued eating. The food had already gone cold. He said nothing.