“You really trust him,” Chu Ke Huan remarked. What should have sounded like praise felt more like mockery at this moment.
“I don’t want to hear any sarcastic comments,” I said dully, my head spinning. “Can you just keep me company for a bit?”
“What else happened in Shanghai besides him working overtime?” he asked.
As my conversations with Chu Ke Huan increased, I began to understand something. It wasn’t so much that he was unusually perceptive and could always tell what I was thinking. Rather, it was because I kept sending out subtle signals for help, and he simply didn’t want to disappoint me. The same held true now.
“I don’t want to talk about that,” I replied, sending another message. “Chu Ke Huan, why do you want to sleep with me?”
“Then why did you kiss me the other day?” he shot back.
“You said your marriage was a choice, so why did you still decide to marry her?”
“Then why did you come to Shanghai to see him? Isn’t that your choice too?”
And so, we continued avoiding each other’s questions, throwing new ones back instead. Finally, it dawned on me: neither of us was asking because we genuinely wanted answers.
We just wanted to express how much we cared, though that concern couldn’t be openly articulated.
“It doesn’t matter anymore why I came to Shanghai.” I took another large sip of wine, letting the alcohol spread through my body. Then, emboldened by the haze, I picked up my phone, snapped a photo of myself, and held my breath as I sent it to him. “Tell me, do I look good?”
“Have you been drinking?” he replied, once again with a question.
“When you see me like this, do you still want me?” I ignored his query, instead pursuing the answer I wanted.
“I’ve always wanted you. And this photo only makes me want you more. You shouldn’t be in Shanghai today.” The word “shouldn’t” was dripping with desire.
I couldn’t help but wonder—why was it that through the same medium of text messages, I could sense nothing from Hao Yi’s earlier messages, yet Chu Ke Huan’s were so charged with emotion?
“That night, I shouldn’t have let you leave either,” Chu Ke Huan added, like a predator driven by desire.
“If you’re going to spout obscene language, don’t bother,” I interrupted him coldly, draining the rest of my glass in one go. Some things are best left unspoken, especially in Hao Yi’s dormitory. “But thank you. Goodnight.”
I cut him off mercilessly, setting a clear boundary. Some lines, once crossed, cannot be uncrossed.
“Thank you, Chu Ke Huan.”
“Goodnight. See you in Taipei,” he said.
In those three short words, I sensed a quiet anticipation, and I smiled sincerely for the first time that evening.
I turned off roaming, severing my connection with Chu Ke Huan. The wine lingered in my system as I leaned against the headboard, slowing my pace to sip the rest of the glass. The tumultuous emotions that had stirred within me finally settled, though I knew deep down that my inner self would never truly find peace again.
This trip to Shanghai had ultimately been in vain. Still, tomorrow I’d return to Taipei. There, someone awaited me—someone who desired me.
Even with an ocean separating us, everything suddenly felt meaningful again.
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