Distance on the Platform
1212 Words
Arc: [Present]
The phone battery dropped to twelve percent.
The light from the smartphone screen caught the dust drifting through the air. The number in the upper-right corner changed from thirteen to twelve. The battery bar turned red and began to flash.
Kate lowered her wrist and set the phone face-up on the wooden counter. The flashlight from the rear camera shot upward toward the ceiling, casting long, distorted shadows across the objects in the gallery.
The subzero air outside was devouring the space inside the gallery greedily.
Without electricity, the heater in the corner had become nothing more than useless scrap metal. Its frame gave a faint cracking sound, as though shrinking as it lost the warmth it had stored. The northern wind struck the front glass so hard that the aluminum frame trembled. The roar of the storm sounded like a massive ventilation pipe gone wrong.
Gu Yanzhou lifted the sleeve of his loose brown coat and rubbed the tip of his reddened nose. He exhaled slowly, white mist spilling from his dry, cracked lips. Reaching into the plastic convenience-store bag on the floor, he took out a clear plastic cup of instant noodles and a can of coffee that had already gone cold.
"I was going to ask to use your hot water dispenser," he said, his voice clearly awkward.
"I forgot it needs electricity."
Kate glanced from the dry cup noodles to the shadows beneath the young surgeon's eyes.
"The dispenser went out with the spotlights," she said flatly.
She opened the drawer beneath the counter, searched for a moment, then tossed him a half-used travel pack of tissues.
"Wipe your nose. You look like you're about to get sick."
"Thank you."
He accepted it, pulled out a tissue, and dabbed at the water clinging to his hairline and the tip of his nose. His movements were clumsy and awkward. There was no elegance left in him at all. The two knitted sweaters he wore had absorbed snowmelt, darkening in patches.
Kate picked up her phone again, unlocked the screen, and opened the public transit app.
The loading circle spun in the middle of the screen for nearly a minute before the text appeared.
"Subway Line Four is delayed. Trains are running twenty minutes apart."
She read the notice on the screen.
The reflected light made her eyes look hard.
"We can't keep sitting here. The temperature's going to drop to minus eight in another hour. If we wait for the wind to die down, we'll freeze to death in this shop."
Gu Yanzhou nodded.
He swept the useless cup noodles and cold canned coffee back into the plastic bag, tied it roughly, and picked it up.
He did not complain about being hungry.
Did not ask for sympathy.
He only slipped his bare hands back into the pockets of his coat and hunched his shoulders, trying to preserve what little body heat remained.
Kate put on her own coat and wrapped a gray scarf around her sweater collar. She closed the app, left the flashlight on, and led him toward the glass door.
The moment she pushed it open, freezing air lunged at her face.
Gu Yanzhou stepped out behind her.
Kate pulled the door shut and inserted the metal key into the lock. The cold had stiffened the mechanism. She had to twist her wrist until her knuckles turned pale before the lock finally clicked.
Gu Yanzhou stood waiting behind her.
He did not try to help.
He knew his trembling hands would only get in the way.
They began walking along the sidewalk buried beneath ice.
The storm did not blow from one direction. It spun and twisted through the narrow gaps between buildings. Kate lowered her head and walked, her steps landing on slippery ground smeared with dirty black slush.
Gu Yanzhou moved up beside her.
He did not speak.
Did not offer to hold her hand or support her arm.
He simply slowed his pace and walked on her left, where the wind struck hardest.
Only a basic instinct for survival.
For helping another person in a difficult moment.
No conversation passed between them during those two hundred meters.
Only the sound of shoes stepping over ice.
Only the sound of breath turning into thick white mist in the subzero air.
...
Twenty meters underground, the subway station was crowded with people.
The air inside was damp and unpleasant, filled with the smell of wet wool, sweat, instant noodles from convenience stores, and the stale odor of tiled floors repeatedly trampled by muddy shoes.
A massive crowd pressed around the ticket machines and fare gates. Everyone was irritated and exhausted from the delays.
Announcements from the station speakers echoed back and forth, incomprehensible and grating.
Shen Yanzi stood in the middle of it all.
His outrageously expensive coat was soaked, mud splashed across the hem. His suit trousers clung to his shins from the damp. His once-polished Italian leather shoes were now soaked with brine and melted snow. Icy water had seeped through his socks until his toes ached and went numb.
A teenager with an oversized backpack bumped hard into his shoulder, making him stagger slightly.
No apology came.
Shen Yanzi did not turn to confront him.
He was not angry.
He only felt numbness gnawing through his body.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone. His thumb was wet and stiff, useless against the fingerprint scanner. He had to awkwardly enter the passcode with his other hand.
The payment app lit up.
He stared at the instructions for the ticket machine, something he genuinely could not remember the last time he had used.
He had abandoned the heated back seat of his sedan.
Abandoned his driver.
Abandoned every reasonable excuse to stay put.
All to defeat his own irritation.
He had trudged through slush beneath the expressway, through wind that cut his skin, all the way to this subway station.
Shen Yanzi clenched his jaw until the muscles stood out.
He tapped his phone against the scanner.
Beep.
A blue plastic token dropped into the ticket slot.
He bent down, picked it up, and held it in his palm. The cold plastic dug into his reddened skin.
He turned toward the fare gates.
And just as the crowd ahead shifted, opening the narrowest gap, his gaze collided with two figures who had just stepped off the escalator into the station hall.
Kate was brushing snow from the sleeve of her coat.
Her hair was damp and messy.
Her face was flushed red from the subzero cold.
She was not alone.
Beside her stood a man in a loose brown coat. He held a wrinkled plastic bag in one hand, while the other was lifting a tissue to wipe the snow caught on the back of her collar.
Only a natural, slightly awkward act of brushing away ice.
But that ordinary nearness struck Shen Yanzi squarely in the chest.
His steps stopped.
The blue plastic token in his hand was clenched so tightly its hard edge dug into his palm.
His throat went dry.
The station announcements and the noise of the crowd seemed to cut out of his awareness.
Only the image before him remained.
Painfully clear.
- Writer
