Winter, 2009.
The morning was the kind I still remember clearly—
cold enough to bite the skin,
bright enough to sting the eyes,
quiet enough that even footsteps felt loud in the thin air.
I was walking through the market street on my way to school,
hands tucked deep into the pockets of my coat,
my breath rising in soft clouds with every exhale.
Vendors were setting up their stalls,
steam lifted from boiling pots,
and the air smelled faintly of warm broth against cold iron.
I wasn't thinking of anything.
Just walking.
Just existing in the stillness the way I always did.
Then the stillness broke.
A shout cracked through the air—sharp, raw.
I turned my head slightly
and saw a small crowd forming at the far end of the street,
people standing on their toes, murmuring,
their attention pulled toward one point like magnets.
I didn't move toward them.
I simply kept walking,
and the closer I came,
the louder the noise grew—
voices overlapping,
a girl crying softly,
boys laughing,
a harsh, angry breath between clenched teeth.
And then I saw him.
Sen Jian.
Older now.
Taller.
Shoulders tense beneath his uniform jacket.
A cut on his lower lip from who-knows-which fight.
His hair messy from wind or sleep or both.
He stood facing three older boys,
his stance wide,
hands balled into fists he hadn't thrown yet but could at any second.
His girlfriend hovered behind him,
small, pale, frightened.
One of the boys said something—
I couldn't hear the words,
but I saw the look on Jian's face shift,
tighten,
ignite.
He shoved the guy back.
The guy shoved harder.
Someone's elbow knocked a bottle off a crate—
it hit the ground and shattered,
glass scattering across the cold pavement like tiny shards of frozen light.
People gasped.
A vendor shouted.
Someone cursed about "kids causing trouble again."
I kept walking.
Not toward him.
Not away from him.
Just forward,
my steps slow, steady,
the way they always were.
As I approached,
Jian didn't notice me yet—
he was too caught in the fire of the moment,
every muscle in his body pulled tight by something deeper than anger.
But then, as I passed the edge of the crowd,
his gaze flicked sideways.
For a second—
just a second—
time thinned between us.
His eyes landed on me,
and something inside him… shifted.
Not recognition.
Not surprise.
Something sharper.
Like being caught in a moment he didn't want anyone—
especially me—
to see.
And that was when his expression hardened further,
like my presence added an extra weight to whatever he was carrying.
I stepped onto the broken glass.
It cracked softly under my shoe.
That small sound
pulled his attention fully toward me.
His voice didn't simply call out—
it burst from him,
raw and unfiltered:
"What the fuck are you looking at?"
Everything in the street paused—
breaths, movements, whispers.
But inside me, nothing moved.
I raised my eyes to his.
Calm.
Cold from the morning.
Unshaken.
When I spoke,
my voice didn't rise,
didn't fall—
it stayed steady,
as if the chaos around us didn't exist.
"Nothing."
A moment stretched—
thin as a line of winter sunlight.
Then I added,
softly,
"…Same as always."
Not an insult.
Not pity.
Just truth.
His jaw tightened.
Not from anger at me—
from anger at being seen by me.
The oldest boy behind him laughed,
nudged his friend,
and said something careless:
"Tch—lover boy got distracted."
It was meant as a joke.
A stupid one.
But Jian flinched.
That tiny motion—
so quick anyone else would miss it—
I saw it.
Humiliation.
Shame.
Something deeper.
His ears flushed red.
His fists tightened more.
He turned back to the boys,
voice cracking with too many emotions tangled inside.
I walked past them
without looking back.
Not out of arrogance.
Just because there was nothing for me to stay for.
Nothing I could do.
Nothing I knew how to say.
Behind me,
his shouting grew louder,
more desperate,
like he was trying to drown out something the morning had exposed.
The cold wind slipped into my coat.
The sun hit my neck.
The street returned to its rhythm.
But for the rest of the day…
I kept thinking of that look in his eyes.
Not the anger.
The moment before it.
To be continued...