At 2:48 a.m. on a weekday morning, I opened my eyes, pretending to have woken from a nightmare rather than admitting I hadn’t fallen asleep since the moment I lay down. As someone who doesn’t easily drift off, the thought of the projects I had to handle in the coming days only added to my restlessness. But perhaps the real reason for my insomnia was this—I wasn’t in my own home.
I glanced to my right. Li Hao Yi lay beside me. Apart from the faint sound of late-night traffic outside the window, the room was filled with nothing but the steady rhythm of his breathing as he slept.
I turned over to lie on my left side, reached under the pillow for my phone, and opened my messaging app. Scrolling through my list of online contacts, it was as expected—practically no one was active. Those who were online were friends living in the U.S., their time zones completely out of sync with mine. Many were old acquaintances I hadn’t spoken to in years, their lives now utterly different from mine. Chatting with them would require starting from scratch: which companies they’d switched to, how many boyfriends they’d had since we last talked. At this moment, all I wanted was a short, casual exchange to help me fall asleep, not a deep conversation. Reluctantly, I abandoned the idea of reaching out to them.
Just as I was about to put my phone down, a message popped up:
“Little Wildcat, still awake?”
The sender’s profile picture was a thumbnail of a voluptuous, doe-eyed office lady. It was none other than Han Ke Fei, my colleague who sat next to me at work and with whom I exchanged gossip every day as a form of stress relief.
“Why are you still online? Taking the day off tomorrow?” I replied, surprised.
“No, I’m sleeping at the office…”
I paused, trying to figure out which demanding project she was currently handling, when her next message flashed across the screen:
“At a nearby HOTEL.”
“...”
“Gotcha! Hahaha!”
Seeing Ke Fei’s triumphant reaction, I nearly rolled my eyes. Ke Fei was a master of this fragmented messaging style, deliberately pausing at strange points in her sentences. The time gaps between her messages created all kinds of effects—misunderstandings, sympathy, or even a sense of flirtation. She wielded this skill effortlessly.
At the office, she could charm anyone, from the summer interns to middle-aged uncles with wives and kids, leaving them utterly smitten. This was also why, though she remained perpetually single, she was never short of company in her bed at night.
“...You’re really something. Almost 20, and you still manage to party every Wednesday.” My tone was anything but complimentary. Han Ke Fei’s boundless energy for socializing amazed me. Unlike her, I only wanted to go home after work, remove my makeup, and watch TV. Occasionally, I’d go out with Hao Yi to a department store, but I’d tire after visiting just a few counters. Staying up all night in a loud, smoky, and confined space? Absolutely unthinkable.
“Please, I’m getting on in years too! My hunting strategy has shifted to swift and efficient strikes. Spot a suitable target, exchange a few lines, and check into a hotel. Who has the energy for those long, drawn-out preludes from years ago—drinking games and small talk? But enough about that. Why aren’t you asleep at this hour? Did your boyfriend propose?”
“Of course not! I just couldn’t fall asleep. Besides, why would a marriage proposal keep me awake?”
“That depends. If it were me, I’d lose sleep. How could I commit to a single tree and abandon an entire forest?”
“...Maybe try having a serious boyfriend before worrying about things like that! Anyway, how was tonight’s companion?”
Though Ke Fei often spouted such outrageous and unserious comments, the truth was, supply exists because there’s demand. My stable, uneventful love life made her colorful nomadic adventures seem endlessly fascinating. Perhaps it was my indulgence—always listening, never judging—that emboldened Ke Fei to become the unfiltered, uninhibited woman she was.
“2891. Just two more—2880 and 2883—and I’ll have a full set of financial stocks.”
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