Water Lily

14

The café nestled deep in an old alley, its wooden curtain blocking the hustle and bustle outside. Only the low hum of the coffee machine flowed through the space. Lin Yan sat in the farthest corner, the "project materials" spread out before him actually being the art exhibition proposal Su Wan had just printed. His fingertips glided over the words "Rural Children’s Art Workshop" on the page, while Su Wan’s soft voice explained the details beside him. Yet his gaze kept drifting to her hand holding the pen—nails neatly trimmed, no nail polish, just as they were in university.

"Can you reserve an entry on the digital platform you mentioned?" Su Wan looked up, her eyes filled with anticipation. The latte in front of her was only a third finished, the foam already losing its shape. "Shen Ze... doesn’t support my public welfare projects, thinking they’re unprofitable."

Lin Yan’s hand holding the pen paused. He circled the "Public Welfare Section" on the proposal: "Sure. I’ll ask the technical team to add a special page. The cost will come from the project fund—no need to report to Mr. Shen." He deliberately avoided the subtle tension brought by the name "Shen Ze," failing to notice the flicker of complexity in Su Wan’s eyes when she heard "no need to report."

The rain drizzled outside, leaving winding water trails on the glass. Lin Yan glanced at his phone—Song Xiaoran had sent a message ten minutes earlier: "Le Le says he misses Daddy. Come home early for dumplings tonight." He quickly replied, "The project meeting will end late," then scrolled up and deleted his morning conversation with Su Wan—it was a photo she’d sent of old London, captioned "Suddenly remembering the rain at Mingde University."

Such meetings had become a regular occurrence. Sometimes they’d pretend to "coordinate project matters" and chat over work in cafés; sometimes Su Wan would say "no one’s at the studio" and invite him to see her new paintings. More often, there were late-night WeChat chats—from art exhibitions to the parasol-lined path in university, from Shen Ze’s coldness to Song Xiaoran’s gentleness. Their topics grew more personal, and the boundaries increasingly blurred.

Once, Lin Yan accompanied Song Xiaoran to buy clothes at the mall. Passing Su Wan’s art gallery, he instinctively slowed down. Through the glass door, he saw Su Wan standing in front of a parasol leaf oil painting, talking on the phone with a furrowed brow. Song Xiaoran pulled his hand: "Shall we go in and take a look? You said Ms. Su’s paintings have a unique style last time."

Lin Yan’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly shook his head: "No, we have project matters to attend to. Let’s buy Le Le’s coat first." He pulled Song Xiaoran away in a hurry, cold sweat soaking his back—he’d clearly caught Su Wan’s gaze as she looked over, but both had tacitly pretended not to see each other.

When he got home late at night, Lin Yan quietly slipped into the study. His phone lit up—it was a message from Su Wan: "Saw you today. Didn’t want to disturb you with your family." He sat at the desk, his fingers hesitating on the screen for a long time before replying: "Let’s not meet at the mall next time. Too many people." He then muted his phone and tucked it into the bottom of the drawer—where the parasol leaf sketch Su Wan had given him years ago was hidden, now joined by several new sketches she’d drawn, all depicting scenes from Mingde University.

Song Xiaoran occasionally asked about the progress of the "project coordination." Lin Yan always gave vague answers: "Still working with Mr. Shen’s team. Ms. Su has helped with a lot of coordination." He didn’t dare look Song Xiaoran in the eyes, fearing she’d see through his fluster in her trust. Song Xiaoran would always smile and say "You’ve worked hard," then hand him a warm glass of milk, never asking further. That trust pricked at his heart like a needle.

Once, water leaked into Su Wan’s studio. She called Lin Yan in the middle of the night, her voice choked with tears: "The paintings are all wet. I told Shen Ze, but he only sent his assistant to check." Lin Yan held the phone, standing in the shadow of the balcony, listening to her sobs, his heart twisting with pain. He wanted to rush over immediately, but saw Song Xiaoran roll over in the bedroom, murmuring "Le Le, cover the quilt."

"I’ll go help you clean up early tomorrow morning. First cover the paintings with waterproof cloth," Lin Yan’s voice was barely a whisper. "Don’t tell anyone I was there."

After hanging up, he leaned against the balcony railing, staring at the streetlights below, his heart filled with confusion. He knew he was crossing the line, betraying Song Xiaoran’s trust. Yet every time he saw Su Wan’s vulnerability, heard her say "no one understands me," that long-buried youthful crush would surge up, making him unable to refuse.

Early the next morning, Lin Yan made an excuse to "pick up materials from the project team," leaving an hour earlier to go to Su Wan’s studio. The two squatted on the floor, carefully wiping water stains from the frames. Su Wan’s fingertips accidentally brushed his hand—both froze for a moment, then pulled away quickly. An awkward yet subtle tension filled the air.

"Thank you, Lin Yan," Su Wan said softly. "You’re the only one willing to help me like this."

Lin Yan said nothing, just quickened his movements. He didn’t dare respond to those words, fearing he’d lose control and say something even more inappropriate. After cleaning up the paintings, he left in a hurry, not even drinking the coffee Su Wan had poured—he’d seen the message from Song Xiaoran on his phone: "Breakfast is on the table. Heat it up before eating."

When he got home, Song Xiaoran was helping Le Le put on his coat. Seeing him return, she smiled: "Perfect timing. Le Le said he wants to pick up fallen leaves in the park. Come with us?" Le Le ran over, hugging his leg: "Daddy, I want to draw lots and lots of parasol leaves for your project!"

Lin Yan lifted Le Le into his arms, guilt surging like a tide. Looking at Song Xiaoran’s gentle smile and Le Le’s eager eyes, then thinking of the emptiness in Su Wan’s studio, he suddenly felt like a despicable thief—stealing the warmth of his family while coveting the illusion of his youth.

Yet that night, when Su Wan sent a photo of the restored parasol leaf oil painting with the caption "Thank you for saving it," he still couldn’t help but reply "Glad you like it," then deleted the chat record once again.

This tug-of-war went on day after day. Lin Yan lived in two worlds—husband, father, and project director by day; Su Wan’s secret listener and supporter by night. He knew it was wrong, but couldn’t stop—like knowing full well it was a cliff ahead, he couldn’t help but walk toward that familiar light, even if it meant falling to pieces.

In a late-night chat once, Su Wan asked him: "If we hadn’t missed each other back then, would everything have been different?"

Lin Yan stared at the message on the screen, silent for a long time. Finally, he replied: "Yes."