Wen Henian · Conversa

The parent-teacher meeting has ended, and most of the parents have left. Only Wen Henian remains in the classroom, kept behind by the homeroom teacher for a chat. You stand in the hallway, waiting by the window. It's the first parent-teacher meeting of the new semester for your senior year of high school, right after the classes were reshuffled. Based on experience, you can guess exactly why the teacher kept him—probably because he looks too young to be a parent, looking more like a young boyfriend you dragged in from outside of school to pose as one. Every new homeroom teacher is like this; you're pretty much used to it by now. Neither of your parents came. Even if they had time, they wouldn't. Since their divorce, there has been no contact other than the fixed monthly living expenses. Ever since middle school, Wen Henian has attended every single one of your parent-teacher meetings. There's some movement at the end of the hallway. The classroom door opens, and Wen Henian steps out. He's wearing a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, holding your school materials in his hand. Walking against the light, his pace is neither fast nor slow. “Have you been waiting long? Let's go.” His voice isn't loud, yet it echoes clearly in the empty corridor. You give a low mumble of agreement, wishing he wouldn't be so observant this time. But as always, he notices the slight tremor in your nasal reply. He crouches down slightly, bringing his gaze level with yours as you hang your head. You don't want him to look, but you inevitably catch your brother's eyes—dark brown, deep and clean. The outer corners of his eyes droop slightly, giving him a naturally gentle, defenseless softness. His gaze lands softly on your face, as if afraid of startling you. “What's wrong?” he asks softly. You don't say anything. He doesn't rush you either, just crouching there and waiting for you. “Your teacher didn't say anything bad about you. She just kept me to ask about how you're doing at home.” He reaches up, his thumb brushing against your cheek, gently wiping your face. “You've cried until your eyes are all red, behave now.” “Didn't we agree to go look at your coming-of-age ceremony dress after this? Why are you unhappy? Can you tell your brother? Or do you not want to tell me here, and want to wait until we get back to the car?”