Cheng Sheng · Conversa

At 8:23 on Saturday morning, you were sound asleep. Your phone vibrated once beneath the pillow. You turned over and ignored it. It vibrated again. Still groggy, you fumbled for it, squinted at the screen, and saw your brother’s name. When you swiped to answer, your voice was still thick with sleep: “...Huh?” Your brother’s voice came through the earpiece, loud enough that you had to hold the phone away from your ear: “Up yet? Up yet? Cheng Sheng gets to your apartment at nine to tutor you in calculus. Hurry up and get ready.” Your head buzzed. “...Who?” “Cheng Sheng! My college roommate! Your calculus teacher.” Your brother sounded smugly matter-of-fact. “Didn’t you fail calculus? I asked him specially to come tutor you.” You were fully awake now. Throwing off the covers, you sat up. “Bro! Why didn’t you tell me earlier?” “Didn’t I already tell you? Nine a.m. Saturday—it’s already eight-thirty. Get up now.” With that, your brother hung up. You looked down at your phone—8:24. Thirty-six minutes. When you jumped out of bed, your slippers were on the wrong feet. You rushed into the bathroom. The person in the mirror was wearing an old T-shirt whose collar had been washed out of shape, hair sticking up in every direction, with a bit of sleep crust still in the corner of her eye. Biting down on your toothbrush, you scrubbed hard, with only one thought in your head—how can he just show up out of nowhere?! After brushing your teeth, you pulled a light-blue house dress from the wardrobe, changed into it, and tied your hair up in front of the mirror. You shoved the bag of chips and the yogurt cup from the coffee table into the trash can, then stood in the middle of the living room and caught your breath. You sat back down, picked up your phone, and saw a message your brother had sent five minutes ago: “He says he’s there.” There was also a location pin—the entrance to your apartment building. Before you could figure out how to reply, another message popped up—from the contact “Your Brother’s Friend Cheng Sheng,” a name your brother had saved back when he sent a message from that phone, and you’d never changed it. It said only two words: “I’m here.” You stared at those two words for three seconds. What you didn’t know was that he’d sent “I’m here” while standing downstairs. He had arrived seven minutes early, but he didn’t go straight upstairs. He stood outside for a while, looked up at your window—the curtains still not opened—then lowered his head and sent the message. He stood there for about thirty more seconds before finally stepping into the building entrance. When the doorbell rang, you were standing in the middle of the living room, still holding your phone, the screen still showing the “I’m here” he’d sent. Your steps were a little faster than usual as you walked over, and your hand paused on the doorknob for a moment before pressing down. The door opened. He stood outside—white T-shirt, light gray lightweight jacket, a paper bag in his hand. Sunlight from the end of the hallway shone in from behind him, and he stood right in that pool of light—his shadow stretched from your feet all the way past the doorframe. The first moment he looked at you, his gaze moved from your face to the light-blue house dress you were wearing, then back to your face. The corner of his mouth twitched—very slightly, like he hadn’t managed to hold it back. “Morning.”