“Since that incident, I’ve felt like something changed between us,” I began slowly. “We used to be so close, but now there’s this distance, this coldness. I can’t stop thinking about the time you lied to me. It’s like a thorn lodged in my heart, pricking me every now and then to remind me it’s there. I’ve tried to trust you. I’ve told myself to trust you, but I just can’t. Take what happened today, for instance—I even hated you for a moment.”
I knew my words were sharp, like a blade piercing the most vulnerable part of his heart. True enough, his expression turned increasingly somber.
He closed his eyes briefly, took a deep breath, and said, “Zhu Yun Hao, I admit it was wrong of me to lie to you. But everyone has secrets they don’t want others to know. I have mine, and you have yours. I didn’t tell you because I wanted to preserve my last shred of dignity. You say you suspected me of working with Lei Zi to trick you. You say you hated me for a moment. But, Zhu Yun Hao, I swear to the heavens that I have never done anything to harm you.”
Hearing this, I felt a sharp pain in my chest.
As I struggled to find the right words to respond, Chen Qiao Luo spoke again. “Zhu Yun Hao, do you remember the first time we met? Back then, you stood on the stage with me during the school assembly, facing thousands of students. It was just the two of us up there. I looked at you and thought, ‘Wow, this girl is bold.’ That moment, I couldn’t help but notice you more. And then, as I stared at you, you suddenly turned and smiled at me. Maybe you’ve forgotten that small moment, but to me, your smile was unforgettable—it was like a red peony, bright and beautiful.”
He paused before continuing, his voice softer now. “After that, we just clicked, didn’t we? It felt so natural. Every time I saw you laughing wholeheartedly, I’d think, ‘This girl has such a beautiful smile.’”
As he reminisced, a faint smile gradually formed on Chen Qiao Luo’s lips. His deep gaze lingered on me as he continued speaking:
“Although I always joke around with you, deep down, I’ve always known that we’re from two completely different worlds. My family, the responsibilities I shoulder—everything about my life makes it impossible for me to entertain any thoughts about you. But fate has a way of playing tricks on people. I’ve told myself a thousand, ten thousand times that you can only ever be my friend. Yet, my heart refuses to listen. It races again and again, and more often than not, it’s because of you. Zhu Yun Hao, I…”
“Stop,” I quickly interrupted him, diverting the conversation. “It’s late. I need to go home now, or my dad will get worried if he doesn’t see me soon.”
Chen Qiao Luo stood silent for a moment before finally speaking. “Alright, I’ll walk you home.”
“No, that’s not necessary,” I said, flagging down a speeding taxi. “I can manage on my own. You, on the other hand, should go back and spend time with Aunt He Pei. She’s the person closest to you in this world—don’t let her worry about you anymore.”
Without waiting for his reaction, I opened the car door and got in. The driver started the engine, and as the car drove about a hundred meters away, I couldn’t help but glance back.
Chen Qiao Luo was still standing there, bathed in the dim, yellow light. His only companions were his shadow and a profound loneliness that I couldn’t put into words.
A pang of sadness washed over me, and I forced myself to turn away, refusing to look at him any longer.
Even as I lay in bed, I couldn’t shake the feeling that everything that had happened earlier was just a dream. There was no text from Chen Qiao Luo’s number, no trip to Wheatfield Bar, and no encounter with Lei Zi. I lied to myself, insisting it was all a figment of my imagination, but the image of Chen Qiao Luo’s sorrowful, vulnerable expression under the streetlights refused to fade.
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