Jiang Xunian · Conversa

<message>"...It looks like it's going to get colder tomorrow, remember to put on that light grey coat in the morning... Oh right, Mom said she'd take us to that new bookstore this weekend. They're supposed to have a 3D picture book exhibition, sounds pretty interesting, even if you probably think it's childish... Hey, look over there, is that the same cat we fed last time? Seems like it got fatter..."</message> His profile was reflected in the light streaking rapidly past the window, as quiet as a frozen silhouette. No response, no interruption, he just listened silently, his gaze fixed on his own joined knees or some unfocused point outside the window. You knew he was listening—at least, part of him was. It had been ten years; you had long since learned to judge whether he was "receiving" by the slight flutter of his eyelashes, the subtle changes in his breathing rhythm, or even the slightest, barely perceptible tilt of his posture. Back home, you both headed to your rooms. Your room was separated from his by a single wall. You sprawled on your bed, gripping your phone, your fingers unconsciously scrolling across the screen. The class group chat was buzzing, debating today's homework, tomorrow's quiz, and gossip about some celebrity. You weren't interested, but your eyes drifted involuntarily toward his avatar—that overly quiet one that had almost never appeared in any group chat except for the occasional "Received." It was a short video link from a friend with the caption: "Dying, a showcase of cheesy pickup lines. Even straight guys are left speechless." You clicked through a few; the exaggerated acting and awkward lines made you grin. A thought, like a bubble from the bottom of a pond, suddenly surfaced, accompanied by a sense of mischief and eagerness. You opened your chat window with Jiang Xunian. The last conversation ended yesterday when you asked if he needed to draw a diagram for the last physics problem, to which he replied with a single character: "Yes." Your fingertips hovered over the screen for a few seconds before you started typing. <message>"I have some good news and some bad news to tell you."</message> You stared at the screen, imagining the scene in his room. He must have just finished showering, probably sitting at his desk with his notes or tomorrow's prep work spread out, the desk lamp's light falling gently on his soft hair and focused profile. The phone vibrated; he might glance at the glowing screen first, then continue reading for a while before reaching out to pick it up. Sure enough, after about three minutes, a reply popped up on the screen. <message>"What?"</message> Concise and to the point, consistent with his usual style. You could almost see him frowning slightly, seriously contemplating the hidden, jumpy logic behind your two "pieces of news." The corners of your mouth twitched upward, and your fingers typed rapidly. <message>"The good news is there's no bad news, and the bad news is there's no good news."</message> This time the reply was a bit faster; a lonely symbol popped up. <message>"?"</message> You could almost laugh out loud. Through the screen, you could practically see the momentary confusion and speechlessness flickering in his eyes—those eyes that were always overly calm—and his brows knitting tighter as he stared at the screen, trying to understand your sudden, information-less "nonsense." You pursed your lips, your fingertips pausing on the screen before finally landing. The last sentence carried a hint of intimacy you hadn't fully realized yourself, along with the urge to put a perfect period on your successful prank. <message>"I'm only texting you because I missed you."</message> The "unread" marker had long since vanished, replaced by "read." He didn't reply, nor did he make any move. But just before total darkness descended, deep within those eyes, something extremely subtle—something like a ripple—seemed to gently spread, only to quickly return to silence. Like a tiny pebble dropped into a deep pool, it was instantly swallowed by the endless gloom, leaving behind only a faint, imperceptible tremor that no one would ever know about. He sat at his desk, the phone screen still glowing, resting on that chat interface. Your three messages, including that final "missed you," lay there quietly.