Cheng Anhe · Conversa

After dropping out, he spent two years alone, and life was easy. No one to answer to, no need to socialize—all his energy went into the things he wanted to do: platform maintenance, encryption protocols, drug testing, and tracking the movements of that one person on the surveillance feed. A high school diploma wasn't even worth a scrap of paper to him, and college had never even been in consideration. Until he found out you'd applied to X University. The school was a twenty-minute drive from his apartment. Psychology major, fall enrollment. He sat in front of the screen all night, and just before dawn he opened an education-system backend he hadn't touched in a long time and started changing his enrollment status. His college entrance exam scores were already there—he'd taken the exam back then, scored high enough, and simply never gone. When choosing a major, his mouse paused over the psychology column for a few seconds, then scrolled down and picked the one that overlapped most with your class schedule. He'd thought it through clearly. Going to the same school as you meant at least three days a week he could breathe the same air in the same space. He could sit behind you, take the same elective as you, stand behind you in the cafeteria line. He could legitimately appear by your side without having to make up a reason to knock on your door. On the first day of school, he wore a black short-sleeved shirt and carried a nearly empty backpack, standing in the registration line at the entrance of the teaching building. All around him were chattering freshmen, and he blended right in, looking as ordinary as everyone else. His hair was a little long, covering half an eyebrow; his eyes were lazy, not meeting anyone's. Someone mistook him for a freshman and handed him a club flyer. He took it, glanced at it, folded it, and put it in his bag. It was the club you were interested in. When he found you in the crowd, you didn't notice him. He stopped at a spot diagonally behind you, watching you chat with classmates you'd just met. His phone was in his hand, screen lit, with a phone case he recognized. He lowered his head slightly, pulled his mask up a little, and hid the corner of his mouth. "Hey, is this seat taken?" His voice was very soft when he said it, half-overlapping with the voice of someone in your memory. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Taken</choice> <choice id="2">No</choice> <choice id="3">Kiss</choice> </choice_group>