Water Lily

12

As morning light spilled into the living room, Lin Yan sat on the rattan chair on the balcony, revising his academic paper. A faint aroma of coffee wafted from the white porcelain cup beside him—brewed by Song Xiaoran that morning, still his favorite 30% sugar. A sticky note stuck to the cup read: "Pick Le Le up from school this afternoon. Don’t forget his favorite strawberries."

Laughter from Song Xiaoran and Grandma echoed through the living room. Le Le was lying on the carpet building blocks, clutching a parasol leaf-shaped wooden block in his small hand—one Lin Yan had specially asked a carpenter to make when they moved last year. A parasol tree had also been planted in their yard; now it was lush and leafy, shedding golden leaves all over the yard every autumn.

"Dad, look at the castle I built!" Le Le ran over holding the blocks, wood shavings on his little face. Lin Yan put down his pen, reached out to brush them off, his fingertips touching the child’s warm cheeks, his heart filled with a steady, gentle warmth. It was the fifth year of their marriage, and Le Le was three years old. Song Xiaoran worked as an art teacher at a nearby middle school, and occasionally brought her students to sketch in their yard. The parasol trees in her paintings always reminded Lin Yan of the boulevard at Mingde University many years ago.

"A Yan, Xiaoran, come eat breakfast quickly—the porridge will get cold," Grandma said, carrying pickles out of the kitchen. Her steps were still steady, but her hair was completely white, and the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes were deeper. Yet she smiled more than before. "Professor Zhou and his wife are coming today. I stewed the chicken soup they like."

Lin Yan nodded, taking Le Le’s hand and walking to the dining table. Song Xiaoran was serving porridge into his bowl, smiling: "Yesterday you said you need to submit the paper by the end of the month. I tidied up the study for you—all the materials are sorted by chapter." Her hair was tied in a simple ponytail, with a few strands framing her forehead. She wore a casual linen dress, exuding a gentle, homely charm rather than the vibrant energy of her youth.

After breakfast, Lin Yan went to the university to teach, while Song Xiaoran took Le Le to kindergarten. As the car passed Mingde University, Lin Yan instinctively glanced in the direction of the library. Students with schoolbags still walked along the parasol-lined path, just like he used to. He thought of the parasol leaf sketch sealed away on the top shelf of the bookcase. When they moved last year, he had specially found the notebook and told Le Le "a story from Daddy’s university days." He didn’t mention Su Wan’s name, only saying "this is a very precious memory from Daddy’s youth."

Song Xiaoran seemed to notice his gaze, saying softly: "There’s a parent-child activity at Le Le’s kindergarten next week, on the playground of Mingde University. Shall we take him to see your alma mater then?"

Lin Yan turned to look at her. Her eyes were filled with a gentle smile—no questioning, just responding to his thoughts. All these years, she had never asked about his occasional moments of distraction, but always pulled him back to the present in such ways. He interlocked his fingers with hers, feeling the familiar warmth: "Sure. We’ll take him to see the library where Daddy used to study."

In the afternoon, Lin Yan attended an academic conference, and it was already dark when it ended. As he walked out of the conference center, he saw Song Xiaoran standing by the roadside waiting for him, holding an insulated bag with warm steamed buns inside. "I was afraid you’d be hungry. Bought your favorite pork buns from that time-honored shop," she handed him the bag, naturally adjusting the collar of his suit jacket. "Professor Zhou called just now—he said the chicken soup is ready, and asked us to come for dinner tonight."

The two walked side by side toward the parking lot, their shadows overlapping into a long stretch under the streetlights. Lin Yan remembered when they first got married, he had always worried about not being able to give Song Xiaoran the best life. But she had smiled and said: "What I want isn’t a big house or a nice car. It’s eating breakfast together every day and waiting for you to come home at night." All these years, they had lived exactly like that—no vigorous romance, just a steady flow of companionship.

On the weekend, Professor Zhou and his wife came for dinner. Professor Zhou’s wife took Song Xiaoran’s hand, smiling: "I knew you two would have a happy life. Xiaoran is thoughtful, A Yan is steady, and now you have Le Le—it’s perfect." Professor Zhou chatted with Lin Yan about academic matters, occasionally mentioning the hardships Lin Yan had endured while preparing for the postgraduate exam, sighing: "Everything you have today, you’ve earned through your own efforts."

After dinner, everyone sat under the parasol tree in the yard drinking tea. Le Le chased butterflies with an insect net, Grandma sat on the rattan chair soaking up the sun, and Song Xiaoran peeled oranges for Lin Yan. Their fingertips touched occasionally, and they smiled at each other, no words needed. Looking at the scene in front of him, Lin Yan suddenly felt that the secret crush of his youth was just like the parasol leaves in the yard—falling every year, yet growing new shoots every year. The memories had never disappeared, but they were no longer a constraint; instead, they had become nourishment for the happiness of the present.

Once, while sorting through old things, Song Xiaoran accidentally found the notebook with the sketch. She walked over to Lin Yan holding it, asking softly: "Did a friend from your university give this to you? The painting is really beautiful."

Lin Yan froze for a moment, then nodded calmly: "It was a very outstanding girl. She’s a painter abroad now." He didn’t say more, and Song Xiaoran didn’t ask further. She just gently put the notebook back on the shelf, smiling: "Let’s leave this for Le Le in the future, so he’ll know Daddy also had very precious friends when he was young."

Looking at her profile, a surge of gratitude welled up in Lin Yan’s heart. Grateful for her understanding, her tolerance, and the years of companionship that had made him realize: true happiness isn’t vigorous love, but unwavering presence through the plain, ordinary years.

It was another late autumn, and the yard was covered with fallen parasol leaves. Lin Yan and Song Xiaoran, along with Le Le and Grandma, were sweeping the leaves in the yard. Le Le piled the leaves into small mounds, shouting happily: "Daddy, Mommy, come build a snowman!" Lin Yan picked up the broom, Song Xiaoran handed him the dustpan, and the sunlight fell on them, warm and peaceful.

Lin Yan looked up at the sky, where clouds drifted slowly by—just like the first snow at Mingde University many years ago. He knew that Su Wan from his youth would always remain in the memories under the parasol tree, while Song Xiaoran beside him was the person he would cherish and protect for the rest of his life.