But now, it had nothing to do with me.

I set my phone to silent.

I thought the matter would come to an end here.

But when I went out at ten at night to take out the trash, I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure standing not far away.

He walked straight toward me, his eyes dim.

"Ginger, I finally found you."

Chapter 10

I was still holding the trash bag in my hand.

Seeing Luke standing under the street lamp, my footsteps faltered.

"What are you doing here?"

"I asked Shen Yan for your address."

"I'm not asking how you found me; I'm asking what you're here for."

He opened his mouth, then closed it again.

After a few seconds of silence:

"I want to see you."

These four words spoken from his mouth—if it had been a month ago, I probably would have stood there with my heart racing.

Now, I just wanted to throw the trash away and hurry upstairs home.

"You've seen me. Can you go now?"

He didn't move.

I threw the trash bag into the bin, clapped my hands, and turned to walk toward the building.

"Ginger."

I stopped, but didn't look back.

"Every time you asked me if we could go public, how did you feel?"

The light from the unit entrance fell on my toes.

I stood there for a while, then spoke: "Are you here to ask about this?"

"I just wanted to know."

"Want to know what?" I turned around and looked at him.

"Want to know how it felt to wait for you for three years? Or do you want to know how it felt to see you holding hands with Luna?"

"So what if you know? Are you planning to go back and write a reflection paper, or do you plan to use this to coax the next one?"

Luke's jaw tightened.

He didn't talk back.

The Luke of the past would have talked back, using that casual tone to ask if I was throwing another fit, and then turning to walk away.

But now, he just stood under the street lamp, his face pale, without refuting a single word.

The silence stretched long.

"Go back," I said. "Shanghai isn't Beijing; there isn't so much room for you to stand."

"Ginger..."

I froze.

I had once shaken Luke's arm hoping to hear him use this nickname, but every time, he just gave me a "don't annoy me."

So what was the point of saying these things now?

"Don't call me that name again."

The unit door closed behind me, and the voice-activated light came on.

The light and shadow cast over Luke, stretching his shadow even longer.

The elevator door opened; I walked in and pressed my floor.

The next morning, I pushed open the unit door.

There was a plastic bag on the steps containing a sandwich and a cup of hot soy milk.

The soy milk was still hot.

Under the bag was a note with a single sentence left on it.

[You have a bad stomach, eat something hot.]

But I only gave it a hurried glance and walked away.

On the bus, I leaned against the window.

My phone vibrated—it was still that unfamiliar number.

[If you don't eat the sandwich, I'll switch to something else tomorrow.]

I didn't reply and deleted the text message.

At noon, I went downstairs with colleagues for lunch. Walking out of the revolving door, I caught a glimpse of a figure by the flower bed.

My colleague followed my gaze and asked, "Who's that?"

I withdrew my gaze and replied indifferently: "Don't know."

In the afternoon, the team leader informed me that a partner from Beijing was coming to Shanghai next week for coordination and had designated me to be in charge.

After asking, I found out the other party was a subsidiary of the Lu Group.

I pondered; everything was too coincidental.

I looked at the email notification on the computer screen, my mouse hovering over the delete key for a few seconds. Then, I clicked close.

When I left work, the figure by the flower bed was already gone.

After returning home, I found another plastic bag on the steps.

This time it was a bowl of red bean porridge, still hot.

This time, I still walked past it and headed upstairs.

Just as I entered, my phone vibrated.

[Porridge is better for your stomach than sandwiches.]

I looked at the text and typed two words to send back.

[Stop sending them.]

He replied almost instantly.

[I can't.]

Chapter 11

After that day, I never received his messages again.

Luke went back to Beijing.

I didn't know when he left, and I didn't want to know.

Life seemed to return to the rhythm it had before he appeared.

On the afternoon of the third day, I ran into Shen Yan downstairs at the company.

He was leaning against his car, carrying a bag of fruit. Seeing me come out, he smiled: "Just passing by, thought I'd check on you."

I took the bag; the apples and oranges were heavy.

"You haven't looked well lately. Have you been working overtime late again?" he asked.

I replied calmly: "The project is busy."

He paused, as if hesitating over something.

"After Luke returned to Beijing, he came looking for me."

I didn't stop walking.

"He came to ask me how you were doing in Shanghai. I told him to come see for himself, and he said you wouldn't let him."

Shen Yan stopped to look at me.

"He said he sends you messages every day, but you haven't replied to a single one. He asked me, when you used to wait for his messages, was it this same feeling?"

I pushed the revolving door, getting ready to walk into the office lobby, but I stopped.

Shen Yan noticed, and after some deliberation, he gently asked: "Ginger, you and Luke were together, right?"

I stiffened for a few seconds, but quickly regained my calm. "That's all in the past."

Shen Yan knew his place and naturally didn't say anything further, simply echoing me gently: "That's right, one should look forward."

After arriving at the company, the team leader sought me out separately.

"The project with the Beijing partner starts next week. The person in charge from their side is arriving in Shanghai the day after tomorrow. I need you to go to the high-speed rail station to pick them up."

I nodded slightly. "Received."

...

The afternoon of the day after tomorrow, I stood at the exit of the high-speed rail station, holding a sign printed with the other company's logo.

The train arrived, and the crowd surged out.

I stood on tiptoes to look inside, and my phone vibrated.

[The third pillar on the left of the exit.]

I looked up toward the left.

Under the third pillar stood a person wearing a dark grey coat, carrying a briefcase.

However, it wasn't Luke, as I had imagined, but Vice President Chen of the subsidiary.

I walked over and put on a professional smile: "Hello, Vice President Chen. I'm Ginger."

He shook my hand, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment, as if trying to recognize something.

In the taxi, he sat in the front passenger seat. I saw him hesitate to speak several times in the rearview mirror.

When we were almost at the hotel, he finally spoke: "Before Luke resigned, he sat in my office for an afternoon. He said this project was related to your year-end performance review, and told me I must keep a personal eye on it."

He looked out the window, his tone very faint: "I've worked with him for five years; I've never seen him look like that."

I didn't reply.

The car stopped at the hotel entrance. I helped him check in and handed over the project materials.

"Meet in the conference room at nine tomorrow morning."

He took the materials, then suddenly pulled an envelope from the side pocket of his briefcase and handed it over.

"He asked me to bring this to you. He said you don't have to reply, don't have to look at it, and can tear it up if you want."

I took the envelope.

Back at the apartment, I tore the envelope open. Inside were a few photographs.

They were of the old spot on the third floor of the university library, the second seat by the window.

The first photo was of an empty seat.

The second photo was taken from the same angle, but there was a cup of coffee on the table.

The third was of Luke sitting in that seat, head down, with a book spread out in front of him.

On the back of the photo was a line of text.

[Every time you helped me save a seat back then, you always sat in this spot. Now it's my turn to save it; I'll save it every morning at eight until I'm too old to walk.]