(1)
I felt like I had woken up several times. Sometimes the room was pitch black, but other times I could sense sunlight being blocked by the curtains. My mind felt groggy, as if I couldn't think clearly. Occasionally, with the help of a faint light, I would strain to recognize the poster on the wall. But before I could be sure that I was indeed in my bedroom, I would drift back to sleep. Sometimes I seemed to hear voices nearby, familiar ones, but whenever I became conscious enough to open my eyes, there seemed to be no one around.
I don't know how many times these disjointed scenes repeated and intertwined before I finally woke up feeling properly rested. Strangely, it felt like I had slept for a very long time. I threw off the blanket, got out of bed, and walked barefoot to the window, parting the curtains just a crack. The sun was shining brightly outside, and the rain must have stopped a while ago. Glancing back at the wall clock, I saw the sliver of light illuminating its face: 12:35.
12:35 p.m.?
Why was I still home? Why hadn't Mom woken me for school?
Noticing a sound outside the door, I realized she might still be home.
Is she off work today too?
"Mom?" I called out.
As the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder, I walked over and opened the bedroom door.
"Chenhui?" My brain, which had just woken up a few minutes ago, clearly couldn't process all this. "Why are you at my place?"
Chenhui, dressed in his school uniform, had just arrived at my door.
"You're finally awake. How are you feeling?" Chenhui said, pushing me back into the bedroom.
"Pretty good, actually," I replied, but as soon as I spoke, I realized my throat was very dry, so I cleared my voice again. "Aren't we going to school?"
Chenhui laughed, "You've been running a fever since yesterday. What school?"
"Huh? Where is my mom then?" I immediately regretted asking the question. It was me who had a fever, not her. Of course, she was at work – where else would she be?
"Auntie is at work," Chenhui said, settling into my desk chair as I sat back on the bed, "After I brought you back yesterday, I asked her for the key, thinking I'd come over and check on you when I have time today."
So, he would have to rush back to school before the lunch break was over.
"Alright," I crossed my legs, finding that sitting this way on the bed was more comfortable, "so it was you who brought me home that day. How did we get back?"
Maybe I'd watched too many romance dramas. When I asked this question, all I could think of were scenes of Chenhui carrying me on his back, running through the rain. If I kept thinking about it, I might even start hearing some tragic romantic soundtrack playing in my head.
"We took a taxi," he answered.
Fine. That made more sense, actually.
He continued, "After we got back, your mom gave you fever medicine first, then insisted I stay for dinner."
"You didn't tell her what happened, right?" I asked worriedly. If Chenhui had already told my mom about what happened in class that day, I would've rather she fed me rat poison instead.
Chenhui shook his head.
This was probably the last thing I wanted to bring up. If the whole ordeal had already given me a fever, why couldn't it just burn away that memory along with it?
"I don't even know how I'm supposed to face everyone at school. It's so embarrassing," I said, not even daring to look at him. "I can't even explain it properly myself, and now it's just… out there for everyone to see."
"You don't have to worry about that. I've got your back. Who's gonna mess with you?" Chenhui came over and sat next to me, slinging an arm over my shoulders. "Yun feels awful about the whole thing. I've heard her tell Lili a couple of times these past two days, 'Just kill me now.'"
Hearing this, I couldn't help but laugh. "She better not repeat that too many times in front of Lili. I'm afraid Lili might actually go through with it."
Chenhui laughed too.
Then came a brief, unexpected silence.
"Listen," he lowered his arm and turned to face me, "no matter whether you've figured some things out yourself, or what your final decision is after thinking them through, I…"
He was being so vague that I couldn't help but interrupt, "You mean my sexual orientation?"
"As long as you understand what I mean," he said, though I thought I saw his cheeks flush slightly – or maybe it was just the light. Then he continued, "I just want you to know that I'll always be here for you."
I'll always be here for you.
I'd heard that line in romantic movies before. I'd listened to it in pop songs. I might have even overheard someone say it to another person. I used to think it was such a cliché. But when Chenhui said it to me, my heart definitely skipped a beat.
I smiled and asked him, "What if one day, I mean just what if, I really find out that I prefer boys. Will you still be here for me?"
I didn't know how to make the question more explicit. Or perhaps I didn't know if it should be made more explicit. I just felt that if he could truly be there for me like he said, that wouldn't be such a bad thing, would it?
Chenhui smiled and said, "Of course I will." His tone was gentle yet firm.
That was what summer should be like, I supposed. There were sweltering afternoons, there were those relentless cicada cries, there was ice cream that melted before you could even take a bite, and there was rain that left you feverish if you got caught in it. But since so many people still loved summer, they must've all found their own reasons for it.
And for me, he was the one.
Then Chenhui suddenly realized that I might already be hungry. It was only then that I remembered, in my hazy impressions, my mom had helped me up a few times to take medicine and drink porridge. That seemed to be about it.
He opened our refrigerator and surveyed the ingredients inside, muttering to himself about what he could make for me. Back in those days, we didn't have food delivery apps like we do now. While it might seem inconvenient compared to today's standards, wasn't this very inconvenience the reason I got to eat something personally prepared by him?
In the end, with limited ingredients and time, he decided to just make me noodles.
Watching him deftly tie on an apron, turn on the stove, and bring the water to a boil – none of these were particularly difficult steps, yet there was something inexplicably practiced about his movements. Especially when it came to poaching eggs in the almost boiling water, one hand almost reflexively cracked the egg on the edge of the pot and dropped it in.
Mom often told me that when poaching eggs, it was crucial to pay attention to the water temperature, or the eggs would easily break apart. However, although it seemed like Chenhui wasn't focusing on this, I watched as the eggs in the water gradually took shape, with no signs of failure at all.
"Looks like you're pretty good at cooking, huh?" I must have been really hungry, and even looking at the plain poached eggs made my mouth water.
"Hmm?" Chenhui glanced at me, then turned back to stir the noodles in another pot with chopsticks. "It's not that complicated, is it? And this is about all I can do. When I was little, my mom was often away for work, so learning these basic survival skills was a must." He then made a sad face at me.
"All I can make is instant noodles," I admitted, suddenly struck with the urge to improve my cooking skills. Maybe someday I could make something for him too.
"That's only natural. Your mom cooks so well. Of course, you wouldn't need to worry about that," Chenhui said with a smile.
Oh, right, my mom. Here I was thinking about cooking for him before even considering cooking for my own mother. Thinking of this, I suddenly felt a bit guilty.
(2)
"Oh," It suddenly occurred to me while I was eating noodles, so I asked Chenhui, who was sitting across from me at the table, "I think I heard you say, 'I won't let it happen again' that day. But I don't quite remember what happened after that. Did you really say that?" I was sure I had heard it clearly, but for some reason, I chose to act indifferent and asked casually, pretending not to care much.
"Yeah, I did." After answering, he checked his wristwatch, stood up, and walked away.
"So what exactly did you mean? What won't you let happen again?" I immediately stood up and chased after him to ask, still clutching the bowl of noodles in my hands.
Chenhui adjusted his clothes in the mirror in the living room and put on his shoes, getting ready to leave for school.
"I meant I won't let you forget your umbrella again. You'll hear about this from me. Every. Single. Day." He chuckled at his own words, probably thinking he was being clever.
"I did bring it! I just couldn't be bothered to use it!" I facepalmed. "Just go already. You're so annoying."
With that, I opened the door and pushed him out.
Chenhui laughed as he bounded down the stairs, calling back, "I'll come see you after class!"
"Just get going already! Stop with the nonsense," I replied, which actually meant, "Alright, it's a deal."
(3)
In the afternoon, I was at home with nothing much to do. Before he left, Chenhui had mentioned to me that there had been a math exam at school the day before, and the class that morning mainly focused on reviewing the test paper. Looking at the exam paper filled with his notes, I felt a feverish sensation creeping over me again, so I quickly put the paper away, comforting myself that I'd deal with it when I was in better condition.
As I was putting the paper into my school bag, I suddenly noticed the three DVDs.
Well, since I went through so much trouble to bring them home, I might as well watch one. So, with a mix of feelings, I put the DVD of The Love of Siam into the player.
I had to admit, it was an incredibly moving film. Sitting alone in front of the TV, I sobbed uncontrollably as the story unfolded. Even after the plot had concluded and the end credits were nearly finished rolling, I still hadn't recovered from the emotional turmoil.
If I could get so immersed in a boys' love movie, doesn't that mean something?
I silently asked myself.
But after drying my tears, my rationality seemed to return a bit. What the hell could this prove? Didn't it just show that the movie was well-made? I cried at lots of movies.
It was then that I suddenly realized that Yun had come up with such a silly idea to help me test my orientation. And even sillier was the fact that I had obediently followed through with it.
A day before, when Lili and Yun took turns sharing their thoughts on the matter, I was really bewildered. At the time, my own confusion and worry made it hard to think clearly. But that day, when I saw Chenhui again, I became aware that instead of obsessively searching for an answer to that question, shouldn't I care more about what I truly felt? What did I love? What did I hate? What brought me joy, and what made me sad? My own body had always known these emotions – they'd always been there, whispering to me.
Just like the moment when I was sitting in my living room: I wanted to see Chenhui's smiling face more often, to listen to him talk about things he found interesting more often, to eat the food he cooked more often. Even just sitting around doing nothing together, wasting an entire afternoon, seemed more precious than wrestling with the search for some definitive answer.
Wasn't that the truth?
I wasn't a philosopher; I was just a student who hadn't even graduated from high school.
Those were the things that really mattered to me.
(4)
That evening, Chenhui arrived as promised, and thoughtfully brought back all my homework for every subject.
"But you can choose not to do it. You're sick, after all," he said with a smirk.
"Then you brought these just to… make me sicker, is that it?"
As we bantered back and forth, Mom came home. Seeing that I had finally returned to normal, she was very happy. She also tried hard to persuade Chenhui to stay for dinner, saying she wanted to thank him for taking care of me. However, Chenhui politely declined. After putting down the things he had brought for me, he left, and I went downstairs to see him off.
The sunset that evening was stunning. Whether it was because of the rain or because I was feeling better, the air seemed especially fresh, so I instinctively drew in a deep breath.
Stopping at the gate of my residential compound, Chenhui said, "How about I take you out for dinner in the next couple of days when our class schedule lightens up? Auntie must've been taking care of you and probably didn't sleep well yesterday. Let her get some proper rest."
"Sure," I replied almost without hesitation. "Where should we go?"
"Let me think about it." He looked back at me, the fading sunlight mirrored in his eyes.