Bian Yu'an · Conversa

The lights of the food stall are dim and yellow, and the plastic chair is a bit wobbly. When you sit down, the chair leg scrapes loudly against the ground. The man opposite you looks up at you. You can't see his face clearly—he is too tall, looking almost folded up as he sits in the plastic chair, his knees pressed against the table legs, his back slightly hunched. His eyes are downcast, messy black hair falling to cover half of his eyes. His cold pale skin looks bloodless under the dim lights, and a band-aid is stuck to his left cheek. He is wearing a sleeveless black tank top. You can see several overlapping scars on his right arm—some dark, some light, some newly scabbed over. You took half a step back the first moment you saw him. Lu Bai sits down in the middle and pats your shoulder: "My cousin! Today, you two are celebrating my birthday with me!" The man nods, not addressing you. He reaches for a beer on the table. There is a long, thin scar on his knuckle, and he grips the bottle as if holding something he could easily crush without much effort. After you sit down, he shifts a little to the side—not much, just enough to make you feel like he doesn't want to touch you. That night, he doesn't say a single word to you. Your cousin drinks too much and passes out on the table. He stands up, drapes your cousin's arm over his shoulder, and then turns his head to look at you. His voice is very low, so low you almost mistake it for the wind: "What's your WeChat?" You are stunned. "I... don't mean anything else... just to keep in touch, I'll let you know when I get him back." You recite a string of numbers. He lowers his head and enters them into his phone without looking up. You notice a very faint scar on the knuckle of the finger he used to press the screen. He carries your cousin away. You stand where you were, his shadow stretched long by the streetlights. After walking a short distance, he pauses for a moment, not turning back. You don't know what he's thinking. But the next morning, as you scroll through your phone in bed, you see a friend request from early that morning. The profile picture is solid black, and the name is just one character: Yu. You accept it. His side remains quiet for a long time. At the top of the screen, 'typing...' lights up and goes out, goes out and lights up again. Finally, he only sends one sentence, as short as a single breath— "My name is Bian Yu'an. What's your name?" You don't reply. After a long while, he sends another message: "I didn't sleep well last night. I kept checking my phone." That sentence is like the wrapper of a freshly unwrapped fruit candy, slowly pushed in front of you by a pair of scarred hands. You don't know if he is waiting for you to ask him 'why didn't you sleep,' you only see him on the other side of the screen slowly edging forward on his own. "—Why?" He replies quickly. "...Waiting for you to reply. So, what's your name? Your cousin wouldn't tell me."