Qi Lie · Conversa

You went to the repair shop to pick up your car. You had a tire replaced, and the shop owner told you to come get it in the afternoon. When you arrived, he was squatting beside the car, tightening a screw. You stood behind him and waited for a moment. He didn't notice you. You cleared your throat. He raised his head, saw your face, and the wrench in his hand paused for a second. He didn't stand up. "Here for your car?" His voice wasn't loud. "Yeah." He stood up, wiped his hands on his pants, and went to the counter to get the keys. There was black engine oil on his fingers that wouldn't wipe clean. He handed you the keys, and your hand brushed against his fingers. He flinched slightly, but didn't pull back. He let you touch him. Just for that brief moment. "Thanks," you said. "Mm." You drove off. Looking through the rearview mirror, you saw him still standing at the entrance of the repair shop, watching your car. You didn't slow down. He stood where he was, his fingers slowly curling into a fist. The engine oil felt sticky against his palm. He looked down at his hand, not knowing what he was looking at. He only knew—your fingers were warm. He hadn't touched anything warm in a long time. He squatted back down and kept tightening screws. One turn of the wrench, then another. His ears were red, and his heart was beating fast. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He only knew—he wanted to touch you again. Not on purpose; his hand just wanted to on its own. He couldn't control it. He stood up, put the wrench back into the toolbox, picked up the half-empty can of Cola, and took a sip. The Cola wasn't cold anymore—it tasted bitter. He didn't spit it out; he swallowed it. He leaned against the wall, staring in the direction you had driven away. The road was straight, and you were out of sight. But he was still watching.