Normal
1162 Words
Sunday. 7:43 AM. Apartment.
He woke up at 7:43. Didn’t mean to.
The light was different. Not hospital white. Gold through their curtains. Dust in the air. Alive.
Ruan Zhi was still asleep. Face in his shirt. One hand fisted in the fabric. Like she’d fall if she let go.
He didn’t move.
At 8:01 AM, she stirred. “You’re awake.”
“Yeah.”
“Stop counting,” she mumbled. “I can feel it. In your chest.”
“I can’t.”
She cracked an eye open. “Try. For me.”
He tried. Got to three. Stopped. “Better?”
“No.” She sighed. “Come here.”
He shifted. Careful. Pulled her closer. Her head fit under his chin. The tape on her ribs brushed his skin.
“Does it hurt?” he asked.
“Only when I breathe. Or laugh. Or exist.” She yawned. “So, always. But less. Three today. Maybe two.”
“Good.”
They lay there until 9:14 AM. No words. Just breathing. His hand on her back. Light. Not pressing. Just there.
At 9:15 AM, his phone buzzed. Lin Wei.
He ignored it.
9:16 AM. Buzz.
9:17 AM. Buzz.
Ruan Zhi groaned. “Answer it. Or he’ll come over. And I’m in your shirt. He’ll talk.”
Gu Yanhuai reached for it. “What.”
“Stall’s yours,” Lin Wei said. “Hers. Paperwork’s done. Mrs. Chen cried. Called you a fool. Said she always knew.”
“Good.”
“Also, board’s imploding. Press found the hospital photos. You asleep in the chair. Her hand in yours. They’re calling it ‘The 40B Love Story.’ Stock’s up 9%.”
Gu Yanhuai looked at Ruan Zhi. She was listening.
“Don’t care,” he said.
“Figured.” Lin Wei paused. “Dr. Zhang called. Six-week follow-up. She wants you both there. Says you look worse than the patient.”
“I’ll go.”
He hung up.
“40B Love Story,” Ruan Zhi said. “Has a ring to it.”
“Stupid ring.”
“It’s our stupid ring.” She traced his collarbone. “You bought the stall.”
“For you.”
“I know.” She was quiet. “2014. You sat there. Every day. I watched from the window. You never ordered. Just drank water. Waited.”
“I was waiting for you to come back.”
“I did.” She looked up. “Took me ten years. But I did.”
He kissed her forehead. “Took me ten years to ask you to stay.”
“Took you ten years to figure out family stays.”
“Yeah.”
10:32 AM. Mrs. Chen burst in. Again. Keys. Bag.
“Inspection,” she said. “And I brought the sign.”
She pulled out a wooden board. Carved. _Chen’s Dumplings - Ruan & Gu_.
Ruan Zhi sat up. Too fast. “Aunt Chen—”
“Shh.” Mrs. Chen set it on the table. “You two are fools. Took you ten years to figure out soup gets cold. But you figured it out. So now you own it. Together.”
Gu Yanhuai stood. Hugged her. Mrs. Chen went stiff. Then hugged back. Hard.
“Don’t die,” she said into his shirt. “She’ll kill me.”
“I won’t.”
Mrs. Chen pulled back. Wiped her eyes. “She needs to eat. Real food. Not your garbage. I’ll teach you. You.” She pointed at Gu Yanhuai. “Tomorrow. Six AM. You learn. She rests.”
“Yes, Aunt Chen.”
She left at 11:03 AM. Left pork. Left cabbage. Left instructions written in angry black marker on a notepad: _Don’t burn it. Don’t under-salt it. Don’t wake her up early. She needs sleep._
Ruan Zhi was crying. Quiet. “I can’t… run it. Not yet.”
“You will,” Mrs. Chen had said before she left. “When you’re ready. I’ll keep it warm. You just get better. That’s your job now.”
12:47 PM. Lin Wei texted. No call. He was learning.
_Press wants a statement. About the proposal. Yes or no?_
Gu Yanhuai showed Ruan Zhi.
She read it. “There was no proposal. You just… stated a fact. ‘She’s my wife.’”
“Was I wrong?”
“No.” She gave the phone back. “Tell them yes. Tell them I said yes. Tell them to leave us alone for six weeks. Or I’ll come back and take Yun Ding myself.”
He typed: _She said yes. Six weeks. No contact. Or she’ll take your company. And she can._
Lin Wei: _Published. Stock up 12% now. People love her._
“People love you,” Gu Yanhuai said.
“People love the story,” she said. “We’re the story. 40B Love Story. Mad CEO. Girl with the 6mm. It’s dramatic.”
“It’s us.”
“Yeah.” She smiled. “Stupid us.”
At 2:00 PM, Ruan Zhi walked to the kitchen. Ten steps.
She made tea. Slow. Gu Yanhuai watched from the doorway. Didn’t help. She’d smack him.
She set two cups down. “Sit. Drink. Like normal people.”
He sat. The tea was weak. Perfect.
“Normal,” he said.
“Normal,” she agreed.
3:30 PM. She napped. He read. _The Little Prince_ again. Out loud this time. Quiet.
_“It is only with the heart that one can see rightly; what is essential is invisible to the eye.”_
She was asleep. But her fingers tightened on his shirt when he read that line.
He kept reading.
At 5:47 PM, she woke. Tired. Back in bed.
He lay next to her. Not touching the incision. Just his arm under her shoulders.
“Gu Yanhuai,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“Tomorrow. I want to go outside. Five minutes. Balcony.”
“Okay.”
“I want to see the sky. Not the ceiling. Not the machines.”
“You will.”
She was quiet. Then: “I’m scared. Not of dying. I did that. I’m scared of… this. Of normal. What if I don’t know how?”
He thought about Yun Ding. About ten years of numbers. About 7:43 AM.
“We learn,” he said. “Together. One breath at a time. Like you did. Five steps. Then ten. Then the balcony. Then the world.”
She turned her face into his neck. “Promise?”
“Promise. Family stays. Even for normal. Especially for normal.”
8:22 PM. Dinner. He made congee. Mrs. Chen’s instructions taped to the fridge.
He burned the first batch. Threw it out. Made a second.
It was edible.
Ruan Zhi ate two spoonfuls. “Better than hospital.”
“High praise.”
“The highest.”
At 11:59 PM, she was asleep.
He wasn’t counting. He was listening.
In. Out.
He counted each one anyway.
- Writer
