I caught a girl in nothing but a bath towel inside the apartment of the boy I was in love with.
She had just stepped out of the shower—her hair was still dripping, her cheeks flushed faintly pink.
The bedroom door was still open behind her, the room beyond dim and charged with something that needed no name.
It was difficult not to imagine what had happened in there.
A faint, distinct scent lingered in the air—one that made my stomach churn.
Xiao Huai. The boy I had loved for ten years. Today, he'd been with someone else.
Ten years of secret longing—and in this one moment, I finally gave up.
***
Xiao Huai had been in a car accident. He'd fractured his right leg—the doctors said he'd be off his feet for at least a month.
During that time he couldn't manage on his own and needed looking after.
Prompted by my mother's relentless nagging, I arrived at the hospital carrying a thermos of congee.
Xiao Huai's family was well-off—naturally, he had a private VIP room.
I couldn't help marveling at that.
He was reading when I came in, glanced up when he heard me, and his eyes met mine.
Not two days ago I had sworn up and down that I was done chasing him—and here I was again, in front of him. I stood in the doorway, a little awkward.
I'd made declarations like that more than once over the years. So many times, in fact, that Xiao Huai had gotten completely immune to what I called my "resolution"—from cold irritation at first, then indifference, and that most recent time, I even caught a flash of contemptuous amusement at the bottom of his eyes.
Though if I'm honest, "more than once" is really only three times.
Each time I backed down, I gave him more certainty that he'd never really lose me.
But what he didn't know was that each time, I had been genuinely devastated. The disappointment was real. The desire to quit was real.
This time, though, something felt different. I realized with a strange clarity that my feelings for him had already begun to fade.
I hadn't wanted to come at all.
But my mother had said: "You have a flexible schedule—you can look in on Xiao Huai. After all these years as neighbors, he's practically your older brother. Two young people out there on their own should watch out for each other."
My refusal was still forming in my mouth when Xiao Huai's mother came on the line, warm and gentle, asking with heartfelt gratitude whether I could please keep an eye on her son.
I said, "But Xiao Huai has a girlfriend."
"A girlfriend? Since when?" Genuine surprise on the other end.
A few minutes later my mother called again. "Your aunt checked with him, and Xiao Huai says he doesn't have a girlfriend. You must have gotten the wrong idea."
"..." He just doesn't want to tell you yet.
I opened the thermos, and the rich, savory scent of seafood congee immediately filled the room.
I handed him the bowl. He glanced at me and took it without a word.
One sip and he knew. "This is from a restaurant?"
I nodded, found a chair, sat down. "I was in a rush. Didn't have time to make it."
Xiao Huai pressed his lips together slightly.
"Just eat a little for now," I said. "I'll make the real thing for you next time."
Xiao Huai refused takeout as a general rule—he found restaurant kitchens unsanitary and couldn't stand how heavy-handed they were with seasoning.
Seafood congee from scratch is complicated: four or five different ingredients, and you have to clean and devein the shrimp. In the past I would have started an hour or two early just for him.
Not long after, Chen Qi arrived.
It was the peak of summer and the heat had flushed her cheeks a soft pink; she was breathless and smiling when she came through the door. "Xiao Huai, I brought you congee—made it myself."
I noticed the short denim skirt hugging her hips.
It caught my eye because the first time Xiao Huai met Chen Qi, he had complimented her with a look of genuine appreciation—"That skirt really suits you."
By contrast, when I'd worn a skirt in a similar situation, every other guy looked at my legs—but Xiao Huai just frowned at me and said, "Why are you dressed so strangely?"
Because of that one comment, I had barely touched a skirt since.
I'd spent a long time after that trying to figure out what kind of girl Xiao Huai would ever call "suited." I concluded: Chen Qi was thin, with good proportions, and straight black hair—she could make any skirt look elegant.
So I dieted obsessively, starved myself hollow, and managed to get under ninety-five pounds. Jiajia had scolded me with anguished exasperation: "Your skin is fairer than hers, your waist is smaller, your figure is better —but if the guy doesn't see you that way, he just doesn't. Don't you understand that?"
I understood. I just couldn't stop.
The skirt Chen Qi was wearing now looked exactly like the one Xiao Huai had once called strange on me. Short, tracing the curve of her figure perfectly.
When Xiao Huai saw it, his expression didn't change at all.
Of course. It was never about the skirt. It was always about who was wearing it.
"Thanks, but I just finished eating." Xiao Huai set down his bowl.
"Oh." Chen Qi looked a little disappointed.
I took the container from her. "That's fine—it can be reheated tonight."
Which meant I wouldn't have to cook later. I opened the lid, sniffed with quiet satisfaction.
Xiao Huai looked at me.
They chatted. I sat to one side, head down, scrolling my phone.
Xiao Huai was noticeably more attentive with Chen Qi—he even passed her a blanket to put over her legs.
I was leaning on the desk, and without meaning to, I fell asleep.
***
Xiao Huai didn't like me. I had always known that.
We met too early. The image of me—buzz-cut, running around in tank tops all summer, sun-baked to a deep tan—was burned into his brain. Through middle school I was still a tomboy, and as far as he was concerned, I was always just that scrawny little kid from next door, gender optional.
Even after I finally grew my hair out in high school, even after developing a figure that other people complimented—his impression of me never shifted.
The most recent blow came when I accidentally overheard him mentioning me to Chen Qi, his tone light and amused: "Yao Jin? Please. Even a rabbit knows better than to graze near its own burrow."
And even after that, all I could bring myself to do was stand in his doorway with breakfast, compose my face, and walk in as if nothing had happened.
I was terrified of saying anything outright. Afraid that if I did, I'd lose even the last thin thread connecting us.
Pathetic enough to make even me laugh.
A few days earlier, I'd walked into Xiao Huai's apartment to find a girl in nothing but a bath towel.
She had just come out of the bathroom, black hair dripping, pale shoulders bare. Without makeup she looked cleaner, almost guileless.
We stared at each other. Shock crossed her face, then a short startled sound—and she ducked behind Xiao Huai.
The bedroom door was still open. The room beyond was dim and charged.
That same distinct, stomach-turning scent hung in the air.
Xiao Huai. Ten years. Someone else.
She looked flustered on the surface—but we both understood. The one who had been made a fool of was me.
I held together what composure I had and calmly held out my phone. "Your mom couldn't reach you and was worried. She called me."
He glanced at me without much expression, took the phone, stepped away. "Hey. Mom. I'm here."
He didn't care what I was thinking.
I dropped my gaze, kept it down, so I wouldn't have to look at her face.
This girl—for an entire month she'd been coming and going from his apartment every day. Every morning she arrived; some evenings she didn't leave until six or seven. When she passed me in the hallway, she always smiled and said hello.
He had never let other girls come and go from his place before. I was the one exception. And now even that was gone.
Maybe jealousy was warping my perception, but I always felt like that smile of hers carried a faint, private satisfaction. Something being brandished.
I'd thought I should at least be grateful she hadn't spent the night.
Shows what I knew.
When Xiao Huai finished his call, he handed my phone back. "I didn't notice it had switched itself off."
"Right." I made sure my face stayed neutral. "I'll head back."
He looked at me for a moment, his expression hard to read. "Okay."
I turned to leave—and Chen Qi called me back.
Slightly uncomfortable, she said: "I had too much to drink last night and my clothes smell terrible—I'd rather not put them back on. Could I borrow something from you?"
She smiled. "I think we're about the same size."
I paused. Turned back. Managed a smile. "Sure."
I went back to my apartment and sat in the dark for a long time. I don't want to remember how that day passed. All I know is that when a person is truly powerless, they often have no urge to cry. I knew what it meant for a girl to be showering in a single man's apartment. I didn't want to think about what had happened, or how. But the images forced themselves in anyway—and by the time I came back to myself, the center of my palm was bruised purple where I'd pressed my own nails in.
Looking at the layered crescents, I felt a grief so heavy it didn't move.
After that, I decided I was letting go.
I even started making plans to leave the city.
And then, not two days later, Xiao Huai got into a car accident.
...
When I woke, it was already evening. I lifted my head groggily and rubbed my sore arm. "Where'd Chen Qi go?"
Xiao Huai seemed to be in a bad mood. Brief. "Gone."
I was still wondering if they'd had a fight when he closed his laptop, pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, and said: "Pass me the bedpan under the bed."
I froze for a second. "Oh—okay."
He pushed back the covers, revealing the blue-and-white striped hospital pants underneath.
I looked away. "Do you want me to step out?"
He gave me a look that wasn't quite a smile. "Up to you."