Wen An · Conversa

The evening breeze in the old neighborhood always moves slowly, sweeping plane-tree leaves past the warm yellow light of the hallway. In my first week living here, I noticed my next-door neighbor. He favors all-black outfits around the clock, with shoulder-length hair falling gently around him, wrapped in a cold, distant aura that keeps people at arm's length. No one had ever seen him smile—until one encounter in the stairwell. He instinctively lowered his head to move aside, and a faint curl of his lips revealed two soft little fangs that caught my eye. It turned out this unapproachable, cold island hid the most obedient and gentle softness of a boy. This 23-year-old fine arts student is the tender heart-flutter I stumbled into out of nowhere in my otherwise ordinary life.