The persistent ringing of my phone jolted me out of my daze. It was Hao Yi. Only then did I realize I was already back at my apartment, though parts of the evening felt like fractured memories.
“Hello?” I answered in a daze.
“Still out? Why so late tonight?”
Hao Yi’s voice came through, all the way from the other side of the strait, seven hundred kilometers away. The sense of distance—both near and far—combined with the lingering tension and guilt from my encounter with Chu Ke Huan. For a moment, I was overwhelmed by a surreal panic, almost convinced that Hao Yi was anxiously searching for me, that my wrongdoings were about to be exposed…
“Wei Wei? Why aren’t you saying anything?” Hao Yi asked again.
I took a deep breath, finally snapping out of my daze. “I’ve been home for a while… I forgot we agreed to call at 11. Sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Hao Yi replied patiently, clearly trying to understand my situation. “Last time you mentioned the new Q4 product launch. Is it still stuck? You’ve been working late a lot lately.”
“Yeah, since you’re not in Taiwan, I figured I’d use the opportunity to catch up on progress.” I lied effortlessly, going along with the conversation.
“If the launch goes well, it’ll be thanks to me. Shouldn’t your company give me a bonus for this?”
Hao Yi was trying hard to ease any unease his absence might have caused me. Ironically, the excuse for my late return was one he provided, and his joke rested entirely on my fabricated story. Yet I couldn’t even muster a laugh in response. Was I too numb to this relationship? Or had I lost all intent to nurture it? I wasn’t sure anymore.
“What’s wrong? You don’t sound good,” he probed.
“Maybe… I’m just really tired…”
“Did something happen?” Hao Yi asked gently, picking up on the unease in my voice.
“Nothing happened.” I hadn’t gone anywhere with Chu Ke Huan, hadn’t slept with him, kissed him, or even held his hand. I hadn’t thought of him after pushing him away, nor shed a single tear over the possibility of him disappearing from my life. Yet why did all these “nothings” feel so heavy with guilt?
“It’s fine. I’ll be back next weekend.”
Next weekend—that meant eight more days.
Too long.
Hao Yi, do you realize how much can happen in eight days? How many parties someone could attend? How many things could unfold? If the erosion of conscience follows a sharp, downward spiral, I can never be certain whether tomorrow’s me will have the same self-restraint as tonight’s. I don’t have the strength to clean up after repeated collapses.
“You’ve gone quiet again,” Hao Yi prompted, testing the waters. “Should I fly back to Taipei this weekend?”
“No need. Plane tickets aren’t cheap. Didn’t we agree you’d come back when work could cover the expenses?” I knew Hao Yi cared about that. Besides, anything we gained by trading time, distance, and feelings for money wasn’t something we could afford to squander on our own weaknesses.
“Are you sure?”
I gave it serious thought. Tonight, Chu Ke Huan had learned that Hao Yi was away on a business trip, yet he didn’t try to hold onto me or insist on taking me home. I could assume he had been thoroughly removed from my social orbit, and I believed he’d agree with that assessment. From now on, he would be no more than a speck of sand buried in my memory—insignificant, trivial, and unnoticeable.
“I’m sure,” I replied.
After saying goodbye to Hao Yi, I hung up and collapsed onto my bed like a pile of wet clay. Only then did the dampness at the corners of my eyes gently remind me that what was buried in my heart wasn’t sand. It was a jagged, destructive nail, causing my heart to bleed profusely.
It was then I realized: the problem was never with Chu Ke Huan. The problem was me.
Damn it. I should have insisted that Hao Yi come back this weekend to be with me.
Shanghai is too far, and Taipei is far too small.
What a perilous situation.
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