Before long, Qiu Minghua came downstairs, looking around as he walked. He soon spotted Lin Weixia leaning against the wall and scratched his head:

“Let me take you home.”

Lin Weixia shook her head, her eyes cool: “No need. I can get back on my own.”

Qiu Minghua opened his mouth and closed it again. Lin Weixia paid no mind to the light drizzle still falling outside and walked straight into the rain, flagged down a car on the roadside, and went home.

Back at the apartment, Menzi had said she’d come to spend the night, but she was still at the studio editing footage and hadn’t returned. Lin Weixia, exhausted all through, lay down on the sofa. The little dog jumped up, licked her palm, and then burrowed into her arms.

Lin Weixia picked up her phone, found the contact saved as “Ah-Sheng,” opened the chat window, and thought about saying something. In the end she found that anything she might type was too hollow and empty. She deleted the words she’d started typing.

Lin Weixia eventually got up and showered. She turned the hot water up very high; it poured down and left her skin red. After coming out, she went to her room, lit a lime-scented aromatherapy candle, lay down on the bed, and fell asleep.

In the dream, Lin Weixia felt herself burning all over. From her lips to every inch of her body — it was as if someone was pressing over her, bringing a shivering, electric numbness.

Then the scene cut, and she was back in that midsummer.

The day the typhoon passed through and dark clouds massed in the sky. The boy’s brow bore a visible scar, wind surging up behind him, his eyes wet as he asked in a hoarse voice:

“What’s real and what’s a lie?”

She said: half and half. Then he looked at her, voice slow and steady: “I will forget you.”

That image held in the very last frame of the dream. Lin Weixia jolted awake in a cold sweat, finding herself lying on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Lin Weixia threw on a coat and walked out of her room to find Menzi in the kitchen, making a series of banging sounds. She stood at the dining table and poured herself a glass of warm water. Her head throbbed; the whole body felt rough from the hangover.

“Morning,” Menzi said, stepping out.

“Morning.” The moment Lin Weixia spoke, she realized her voice was hoarse.

Menzi took one look at the devastation she had nearly left in the kitchen and sighed, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “I never thought the day would come when I’d be the one cooking hangover soup for you. Ha. I nearly blew up the kitchen just now.”

“I gave up. I ordered you delivery on my phone — it’s coming with breakfast.” Menzi said.

Lin Weixia tilted her head back, took a long gulp from her water glass, and her throat felt a little better. “Thanks.”

“Please — don’t mention it.” Menzi glanced at Lin Weixia’s pale face, noticing she kept drifting off. She asked: “What’s going on with you? Did someone force drinks on you last night? Your tolerance is already low, and someone was pressuring you on top of that — tell me who it was and I’ll sort them out.”

“Nobody forced drinks on me.” Lin Weixia came back to herself and smiled.

All the drinks last night, she had taken on her own.

“Then why are you—” Menzi’s tone was full of concern.

Silence answered her. The hand around the transparent glass tightened steadily. After a long pause, Lin Weixia spoke:

“I ran into him last night. And then the two of us kissed.”

Menzi’s mind went blank for a few seconds, then slowly came around. “Ban Sheng?! The one you were almost together with but never quite got there. He kissed you — did he walk you home afterward?”

Lin Weixia shook her head. A trace of a wry smile touched the corner of her lips. “You might think it’s pathetic. We’d both been drinking. I’d had a bit too much, I think. When he came close, my mind just — went blank for a second, and I couldn’t control myself — I kissed him first.”

“When we were together back then, I never gave him my full heart. I held back half. I hurt him later, and then he was sent abroad.”

“So that’s why you followed him all the way to America.” Menzi completed the thought.

Lin Weixia didn’t contradict her. She wasn’t sure why, but thinking of everything that had happened recently, a single tear slipped out. She felt it was too sentimental and wiped it away, but this time she finally admitted it:

“I just wanted to see him from afar. I wanted to know whether he was okay.”

But she hadn’t expected to find a Ban Sheng like this — dissolute, dark, deeply unhappy. He had not chosen to pursue the dream he had loved since he was young; instead, he spent his days in the world of bars and indulgence.

Lin Weixia didn’t go on. Menzi knew the situation anyway — they all went to the same university; everyone had heard about the bioengineering prodigy, but the prodigy’s personal life was a mess, frequently found in bars, and reportedly out half the night with a group of people racing mountain bikes up a place called Dazhui Mountain in the most reckless and dangerous ways.

“Weixia, I know what you’re thinking in your head. You’re wondering whether he’s like this because of you. I’m telling you — it’s very unlikely. Something else must have happened to him. Don’t go attributing everything to yourself.” Menzi gave her the analysis plainly and logically.

Menzi placed both hands on Lin Weixia’s shoulders and made her look directly at her, speaking with seriousness:

“The one thing you need to figure out right now is — do you still like him? That’s the key question. If you still have feelings for him, go after him and win him back.”

Menzi was that kind of person — always bold and passionate in love. Anything of the sort “I want it” or “I like them” — she would pursue it no matter what.

Menzi’s words were like a bucket of icy water thrown over Lin Weixia and snapping her fully awake. Actually, this was the voice inside her own heart.

Over these two years, after he left, Lin Weixia had never been able to make room in her heart for anyone else. She had thought that the world would keep turning for anyone without a particular someone in it — but these two years without Ban Sheng, Lin Weixia had thought of him often, and each time she did, a quiet ache settled through her.

Only after the separation did she understand how much Ban Sheng meant to her.

She had met all kinds of people. But only him — every time he came near, her heart moved again. He was like something that had put a spell on her; Lin Weixia found herself caught in endlessly cycling emotions because of him.

Sour and bitter, troubled and sweet, sad and everything in between — all because of him.

After the talk with Menzi, over the following two days of class, Lin Weixia found herself turning this over again and again in her mind.

In psychology class, the teacher opened the slideshow, ran a finger across the trackpad, and eight large characters appeared on the projector screen: the Zeigarnik Effect.

“Let’s look at what the textbook says — through various experiments, it has been shown that between completed tasks and unfinished ones, people tend to recall and dwell on the incomplete ones far more vividly… Now, some people have also applied this principle to romantic relationships.” The teacher stood at the front and lectured.

“For me, teacher, the only thing I can never forget is my first love!” A young man raised his hand and called out.

A ripple of laughter ran across the classroom. Lin Weixia rested her head on one hand and listened, and at the words “first love” she tapped the side of her head absently with the pen she was holding.

The phrase “first love” nudged Lin Weixia to pull her phone from her desk drawer, find that number she had looked at so many times, and type into the message window with her head bowed:

[Do you have time? I have something I want to say to you.]

Message sent, Lin Weixia slipped the phone back into her desk, her heart quietly hopeful, waiting for his reply.

But by the time psychology class ended, Lin Weixia’s phone screen had not lit up at all.

When the final bell rang, Lin Weixia filed out with her classmates in the stream of people heading to the cafeteria.

After collecting her food, Lin Weixia sat across from a classmate. Her classmate was telling her gossip from another department — and after a while, noticed that Lin Weixia kept looking distracted, her eyes drifting to her phone every few moments.

“Weixia — does your boyfriend live inside your phone or something?” her classmate teased.

“Ah, no.” Lin Weixia pulled her gaze away from her phone.

Her classmate scooped up a spoonful of mashed potato and smiled: “I’m curious what kind of guy could make someone as cool and composed as you look this lost.”

Lin Weixia tugged at the corner of her lips without answering, and put a piece of lotus root in her mouth to chew slowly.

After eating, Lin Weixia stood at the sink washing her hands when her coat pocket suddenly buzzed with a message notification. She turned off the tap — didn’t even stop to wipe her hands — and pulled out the phone. It was a message from Ban Sheng:

[4 o’clock, Block C Teaching Building.]

The heart that had been suspended finally settled.

That afternoon, Lin Weixia stayed in the library to review. When she checked the time and was about to head out, she discovered Ban Sheng had sent her a message an hour ago — her phone had been on silent and she hadn’t heard it.

[Asked to skip afternoon class — not going in.]

[If there’s something, you can call.]

A small wave of disappointment moved through her. She tucked the phone back into her pocket and returned to the library.

It was dark by the time Lin Weixia finished dinner and made her way home. She took the dog out for a walk, and almost got blown off her feet by the wind.

When her legs were tired, Lin Weixia tugged the leash and sat down on a bench in the nearby park. The little dog stood beside her, panting steadily — clearly worn out from dashing around.

She took out her phone, looked at the screen for a moment, and dialed the number. The line rang — beep, beep — and after a short while, it was picked up.

From the other end came background noise and commotion. She heard the sounds of a door opening and closing. Then quiet came over the line.

He must have moved somewhere else to take the call.

A soft hiss of static came through. Neither of them spoke first. She heard his breathing.

“It’s me,” Lin Weixia said.

The click of a lighter came from the other side; Ban Sheng’s voice came through, unhurried: “Mm. I know.”

Silence fell again. Whether it was the distance of the years, the unfamiliarity that had grown between them, or whether time had ground away the sharp edges of her character while making him go colder — she wasn’t sure. She only knew that being apart had changed things.

“I just wanted to say — Shengxia is doing really well. If you have time sometime, you should come and visit.” Lin Weixia’s hand moved without thinking, picking at the peeling paint on the bench.

The other end didn’t answer immediately. The sound of wind came through, and after a long pause, he spoke: “Sure.”

The little Shengxia seemed to understand what Lin Weixia was saying. It looked up at its owner with a pair of round, dewy, grape-dark eyes.

Lin Weixia reached out her hand. Shengxia obediently stepped forward and tilted its head up to be petted.

“There was something I didn’t finish saying the other night.” Lin Weixia stroked the soft fur on top of the little dog’s head, a faint dryness in her throat. “If you’re willing to trust me — I want to show you for real, through what I do. I won’t be the way I was before.”

“If you’re still willing.”

The girl’s gentle voice traveled through the unsteady static of the line. The young man held a cigarette burning close to his fingers, a long ash built up at its tip. His tall, silent figure leaned against the wall.

Lin Weixia had no way of knowing Ban Sheng’s expression or reaction on the other end of the line. She could only imagine. And the longer his silence stretched, the less certain she felt.

All of this might only be her own wishful thinking.

Her phone buzzed with a low-battery warning. Her heart moved from anticipation to uncertainty to quiet disappointment. Just as she had begun to think there would be no response — after what felt as long as a century — Ban Sheng’s low, unhurried voice came through the phone. He said:

“Okay.”