Clara, wait for me.

This time, it's my turn to find you.

Chapter 9

It was afternoon local time when the plane landed in Oslo.

As soon as Liam cleared customs, his phone vibrated. It was a call from Joanne.

"Where are you?"

"Norway."

There was a silence of several seconds on the other end. "Is she there?"

"I don't know. I'm looking."

Joanne didn't press, didn't cry, and didn't blame him.

After a while, she said, "Luckily we hadn't registered the marriage yet, so we don't have to go through the trouble of a divorce. You have your own path; I won't stop you."

"Thank you," Liam said.

"No need to thank me. We never had any feelings anyway; it was just an arranged marriage. Since it's over, it's over."

Joanne's voice was very calm—so calm it sounded as if she were talking about something that had nothing to do with her.

She paused, then added, "Liam, you owe her more than you owe me. So, I don't hate you."

The line went dead. Liam stood in the airport lobby, clutching his phone, looking out at the unfamiliar city through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

The grey-white sky pressed down on the buildings like a piece of old rag that had been washed too many times.

She was somewhere in this country—perhaps in Oslo, perhaps not.

She had changed her name, changed her identity; she didn't want to be found by him. But he had to find her.

He checked into the nearest hotel and went out as soon as he dropped off his luggage.

He asked hospital after hospital, explaining himself every time he entered a new one—searching for a Chinese female doctor, thin, not very talkative, specialized in OB/GYN.

The receptionists shook their heads, the nurses shook their heads, the doctors shook their heads.

No one had heard of Su Qing, and no one had heard of Clara.

He went to a Chinese supermarket and posted a "missing person" notice on the bulletin board: "Searching for Clara, female, Chinese doctor. If you have any information, please contact—" followed by his phone number.

He left it up for three days, and no one called.

He went to Chinese restaurants, asking one by one; the owners shook their heads, the staff shook their heads. No one knew her.

On the evening of the fourth day, he sat on the hotel bed, flipping through the photo on his phone.

On the eve of registering their marriage five years ago, under the old city wall, she was leaning on his shoulder, smiling with her eyes curved like crescent moons.

He suddenly remembered something—in college, she once said:

"Liam, take me to see the sea in Bergen someday. I heard it's very beautiful there."

He had said "okay" at the time. Later, they never went.

He immediately booked a train ticket to Bergen.

Outside the window were Norway's snow-capped mountains and fjords, picturesque and breathtaking.

He had no heart to look; he leaned against the window and didn't sleep all night.

He kept wondering, why did she remember Bergen? Was it because he had said "okay"? Was it because he owed her a trip to see the sea? Or was it because she went alone, fulfilling that "okay" on his behalf?

Bergen, I'm coming. You must be there.

When the train arrived, it was raining in Bergen.

He opened his umbrella, dragged his suitcase, and went from hospital to hospital along the coastline to ask.

The rain fell incessantly; his shoes were soaked through, his coat was covered in water, and his face was red from the biting cold wind.

He climbed a steep slope, drenched to the bone, cold enough for his very bones to ache.

He stood at the entrance of a small hospital; the door was old and creaked when opened.

The receptionist was a blonde Norwegian nurse eating a sandwich.

He asked in English if there was a Chinese doctor named Su Qing.

The nurse set down her sandwich, flipped through the shift schedule, looked up, and said, "There is a female doctor from China volunteering here, named Su Qing. She is on shift this afternoon."

Liam's heart skipped a beat.

"Where is she?"

"She went out, but she should be back soon. You can wait for her here."

He didn't go inside. He walked out of the hospital gate and stood at the entrance, standing in the rain.

He wanted to stand where she could see him, so she would see him the moment she arrived.

The rain grew heavier; his umbrella was blown inside out by the wind, and he picked it back up. Drenched through, he didn't care.

Ten minutes, twenty minutes, half an hour.

His lips were turning purple from the cold, and his legs had gone numb. He began to wonder if the nurse had made a mistake.

Just as he was hesitating whether to go back in and ask again, the door opened.

Clara was wearing a white down jacket, holding a blue umbrella, looking down at her phone.

The light from the screen reflected on her face, her brows slightly furrowed as if she were replying to a message.

She walked out and, as she folded her umbrella, she looked up.

She saw him.

Chapter 10

I never expected to see Liam here.

The blue umbrella slipped from my hand and fell to the ground.

Rain lashed against me, but I felt nothing.

I stood there, my face paling by the second, my lips trembling, my eyes wide, pinned to the spot.

He had lost so much weight—more than at any of our previous meetings.

There were dark, bruised shadows beneath his eyes, as if he hadn't slept well in a long time.

Liam looked at me, wanting to speak, but he opened his mouth and not a single word came out.

I turned and ran.

My white down jacket fluttered in the rain; I ran toward the street corner, panicked and reckless, nearly tripping over the curb.

He threw his umbrella aside and chased after me.

After running about twenty meters, at the corner, he grabbed my wrist.

I didn't look back. My body was shaking, my hands were shaking, my whole self was shaking.

Rainwater streamed down my hair; I couldn't tell the difference between rain and tears.

My wrist was so thin that he could encircle it with one hand.

He asked, "Clara, how much longer are you going to run? I know now. I know everything."

I squatted down and cried.

I made no sound; my shoulders heaved, and I shook so violently it felt like my whole body was vibrating.

Norwegians passing by watched us under their umbrellas, but no one stopped.

He squatted beside me, not hugging me, just keeping me company in the rain.

A long time later, I stood up, wiped my tears with my sleeve, and looked down, saying, "Let's go."

I walked in front; he walked behind.

The two of us, one after the other, walked along the cobblestone streets of Bergen.

The rain had eased slightly, but the wind was still strong, blowing my hair across my face, and I didn't brush it aside.

The apartment I lived in was small—a tiny living room, a tiny bedroom.

On the living room bookshelf sat a row of medical books and a photo—a picture of Liam and me in college.

Under the sycamore trees at the university, he was holding me, I was holding a cup of coffee, and both of us were smiling with eyes curved into crescents.

I poured him a glass of hot water; I didn't drink any myself, standing by the window with my back to him.

"How did you find me?" I asked.

Liam's voice was hoarse. "You once said you wanted to come to Bergen to see the sea."

I froze for a moment.

That was just a passing remark in college; I had forgotten it myself. He remembered.

"You shouldn't have come," I said.

His voice was muffled. "I'm already here."

"It's useless that you came." I pressed my hand against the windowpane; my knuckles turned white.

The rain outside drummed against the glass, blurring the scenery.

He stood up and walked behind me, not touching me, just standing there.

"What about the wedding?" I asked.

"It wasn't finished, no marriage was registered, and there's no need for a divorce."

"Why?"

"Because the person I love has always been you."

My fingers recoiled as if they had been scorched by something.

I turned to look at him; my eyes were red, but I wasn't crying.

"Liam, go back," I said, my voice very soft. "I can't have children anymore."

He looked into my eyes and said every word clearly: "I never thought about having children. I only want you."

I lowered my head and didn't respond.

We stood by the window for a long time, neither of us speaking.

The rain outside didn't stop; the sky grew darker bit by bit.