Chapter 8

The train was still moving forward—southbound.

Luke stood in the connection between carriages, his phone screen dimming and brightening, brightening and dimming.

He clutched the phone tightly, his knuckles pressed against the metal frame until they turned white.

Luna walked over, placing her hand on his arm.

He stepped aside half a step, the movement very light—so light it was almost imperceptible.

But Luna's hand fell through the air. She looked up at him, the curve of her lips freezing for a moment before she pulled her hand back, her tone becoming very flat.

"Luke, the next station is the hotel we booked. Are you still going?"

Luke didn't answer.

He stared out the window, the tracks stretching into the night.

To the south was the trial marriage trip with Luna.

To the north was her train.

It had long since gone far away, in the opposite direction.

Returning to his seat, Luna didn't lean over again.

Luke tapped into the chat with Ginger, then backed out, placing the phone face down on his knees.

He opened his photo album.

The last photo of Ginger was taken on New Year's Eve last year. She had booked a restaurant and waited for him, but he was two hours late.

In the photo, she was smiling at the lens, the food on the table untouched.

He hadn't saved it at the time; she had taken his phone and saved it herself.

She had said, "Keep it, just in case you miss me in the future."

Luna leaned over, handing her phone to him.

"Luke, look at the wedding venues I've selected."

She flipped through the album, swiping one by one.

"This one is on a lawn; this one is by the sea. Which one do you like?"

Luke withdrew his gaze from the window and glanced at her screen.

In the photo were white arches and flowers covering the ground.

He remembered when Ginger helped him write love letters in university, once drawing a very small gardenia flower at the end of the letter.

He had said the drawing was ugly, but she hadn't looked upset at all, just silently erasing the flower.

Luke's gaze moved away from the phone screen and sank deep.

"Whatever," he said.

Luna remained immersed in the joy of the trip, completely unaware of Luke's emotions.

She contentedly took back her phone and set one of the pictures as her wallpaper.

The train entered a tunnel, and the light in the carriage flickered.

The faces of the two of them were reflected on the window glass.

Luna was smiling, while half of Luke's expression was swallowed by shadow.

When the train rushed out of the tunnel and it lit up outside again, Luke spoke.

"Luna."

Luna looked up.

"I'm sorry."

Luna blinked. "What are you sorry for?"

Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she stuffed a snack into his hand.

"Are you apologizing for not paying much attention to me just now? It's fine, I know you're busy."

"By the way, tomorrow when we get to the hotel, let's go eat seafood first; I've checked out several places..."

She kept talking, her voice light and cheerful.

Luke looked down at the snack bag in his hand.

On the packaging, a small line of text was printed: Thank you for riding this train, we wish you a pleasant journey.

He didn't open it.

The train arrived at the station.

There were very few people at the station late at night. Luna dragged her suitcase in front, walking at a steady pace but not looking back.

Luke followed behind, subconsciously pulling out his phone to tap into WeChat.

Shen Yan had posted a new update, tagged at the Shanghai station.

The photo was of a bowl of beef noodles, steaming hot, with two pairs of chopsticks laid on the table.

The caption had only one sentence.

[Waiting for her to arrive, eating a hot bowl first.]

Someone commented below, asking who was sitting next to him.

Shen Yan replied with one word: [Her.]

Luke stared at that word, his thumb rubbing back and forth on the screen.

He realized he couldn't even say what she loved to eat.

The hotel front desk handed over two room cards.

Luke took them and went straight into the elevator.

Until he entered the room, he didn't say a single word to Luna.

Luke sat on the edge of the bed and opened the ticketing app.

His finger hovered over the word "Shanghai," staying there for a long time.

Then he locked the screen, and the screen went black, reflecting his own face.

The phone vibrated.

His mother sent a voice message.

Luke tapped it open; his mother's voice sounded hesitant.

"Luke, do you still want those old letters in your bookcase? I was looking at them, and they are all ones you wrote to other people that weren't sent, but how come the handwriting doesn't look like yours?"

He was about to close the chat box when his mother's next voice message popped up.

"But there's one tucked inside that's different. The signature is yours, and the recipient is written as... Ginger?"

Luke stood up abruptly.

Chapter 9

Luke held his phone until his knuckles turned white, listening to the last syllable of the voice message.

Another voice message from his mother popped up.

"I opened this letter to look at it; there's only one sentence on it, and the rest is blacked out. Luke, what on earth did you write back then?"

He didn't reply.

Because he hadn't written that letter at all.

Outside the window, ocean waves crashed against the reefs, shattering into white foam.

What Luke didn't tell Ginger was that after she left that day, he had picked up the letter.

The paper ball was stained with coffee, and he had spent a long time wiping it with his sleeve.

Then he smoothed it out, folded it, and placed it together with the love letters Ginger had written for him.

At the time, he just assumed it was one of the many love letters Ginger had written for him.

He had never imagined it might be hers.

Back then, Luke thought that the next time Ginger wrote one, he definitely wouldn't throw it away.

But there was no "next time" after that.

He had been spoiled since he was a child.

His mother spoiled him, his father spoiled him, and Ginger accommodated him.

Luke assumed Ginger would always indulge him, assuming it was only natural that she wouldn't leave.

He had said the cruelest things on the day of the breakup because he didn't believe Ginger would truly walk away.

Later, as Luna pursued him closely and his family pressured him to marry, Luke thought, "It doesn't have to be Ginger; anyone is the same."

He even thought that as long as Ginger knew he was with someone else, she would come back.

But she didn't.

This time, she was truly gone.

Only in this moment did Luke realize what ridiculous things he had done over these years.

He lay there thinking and thinking, until he was kept awake by insomnia until the sky began to turn light.

Luke opened his ticketing app and booked the earliest flight to Shanghai.

In the taxi to the airport, he sent Luna a message.

[I'm sorry, I was the one who delayed you. The subsequent parts of our trial marriage trip are cancelled.]

Luke remembered what Ginger had said.

—Luke, you never look back.

Yes, she wasn't wrong.

So much so that now that he had turned back, there was no one left behind him.

...

Shanghai.

On the fourth day of my new job, I worked overtime until nine in the evening.

Shen Yan was waiting for me downstairs, holding a rice ball and hot milk he had bought from a convenience store.

I was still scrolling through work messages on my phone when I came out, nearly bumping into the revolving door. He reached out to stop me.

"You don't need to push yourself this hard," he said.

I smiled and replied, "I'm new here; I can't let people look down on me."

We sat on a bench downstairs for ten minutes, during which I finished the rice ball and drank half the milk.

A text message from an unfamiliar number popped up on the screen.

[Ginger, this is Luke. I'm in Shanghai. Let's meet.]

I stared at that line of text for a long time.

Shen Yan turned his head and asked, "What's wrong?"

I turned my phone face down. "Nothing, just spam."

Back at my apartment, I came out after a shower and sat on the edge of the bed to dry my hair.

The phone screen lit up again—it was the same number.

[Just one meeting, ten minutes is fine. I have something to tell you.]

I stared at those three lines, my fingers hovering over the screen.

If this had been a month ago, my heart might have raced, I would have struggled over my wording, and I would have tried on several outfits in front of the mirror.