Water Lily

6

The cafeteria was always packed to the brim on Mondays. Lin Yan held a bowl of plain green vegetable noodles, his steps automatically veering toward the corner as usual—until his gaze crashed head-on into the warm glow by the window. Su Wan sat across from Shen Ze, a plate of freshly peeled oranges in front of her. Shen Ze skewered a segment with a toothpick and held it to her lips; Su Wan smiled, tilting her head to dodge, but her fingertips brushed his hand lightly, the warmth in her eyes outshining the hot soup on the table.

Lin Yan’s feet rooted to the spot. The bowl in his hand jolted, spilling a few drops of soup onto his cuff, but he didn’t notice—not even when the wet fabric clung to his wrist. He instinctively ducked behind a nearby pillar, peeking out with just one eye, like a small beast terrified of being spotted. Shen Ze picked up another orange, his fingers peeling the skin nimbly, plucking off every strand of white pith with care before placing the perfect segments into Su Wan’s plate. Su Wan flipped through her phone, glancing up occasionally to pop an orange into her mouth. Whenever she spoke, Shen Ze would pause mid-action, his eyes fixed on her, a soft smile lingering on his brows.

Lin Yan stared down at the sparse greens in his bowl, then up at the plump orange segments on Su Wan’s plate, his Adam’s apple bobbing heavily. Pretending to hunt for a seat, he inched toward a table not far away, his ears pulled like magnets to their conversation—every word cutting through the cafeteria buzz.

"Shall I have the driver take us to the art exhibition next week?" Shen Ze’s voice carried the effortless calm of someone used to getting what he wanted.

"No, I want to take the subway alone," Su Wan’s voice was soft, almost coquettish—nothing like her usual polite, distant tone. "I want to wander around the cultural and creative stores nearby."

"Sure," Shen Ze nodded, his smile warm. He reached out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers brushing her skin gently.

Lin Yan poked at his noodles with his chopsticks, but his appetite had vanished entirely. He watched as Su Wan handed her phone to Shen Ze; the two leaned their heads together, laughing at something on the screen, Su Wan’s shoulder brushing his arm naturally, intimately. In that moment, he felt like a clown hiding backstage, sneaking glances at someone else’s happy play—afraid even to breathe, lest he disrupt the scene.

After forcing down a few bites, Lin Yan didn’t leave. He sat there, pretending to pack his bag, his gaze drifting to them again and again. It wasn’t until Shen Ze lifted Su Wan’s art bag, and she hooked her arm through his, that they walked side by side toward the exit. Shen Ze leaned down to say something to her; Su Wan nodded, her steps light as if treading on clouds.

Lin Yan watched their backs disappear before slowly gathering his things. Passing the trash can, he dumped the barely touched noodles inside, his chest tight with an indescribable heaviness. He trundled along the parasol-lined path toward the teaching building, stopping again when he reached the Fine Arts studio.

Su Wan stood at the door, holding a sketch, while Shen Ze pointed at the lines, explaining something. A leaf swirled down onto her hair; Shen Ze brushed it off, his fingers grazing her hair tips. Su Wan smiled and pushed him playfully, but didn’t really pull away. Lin Yan hid behind a tree, watching their shadows stretch long in the sunset, a faint, sharp ache twisting in his chest.

He thought back to last week in the library: when Shen Ze had adjusted her sketch and brushed her hand, Su Wan hadn’t pulled away like she did with others—she’d blushed. He remembered the hot milk tea Shen Ze bought her, always 30% sugar, less ice—her favorite. He remembered them walking in the snow, Shen Ze wrapping his scarf around her, leaving himself in just a thin shirt. These little details pricked at his heart like needles, a cruel reminder of how vast the gap between them really was.

When he went to return books to the library that afternoon, he ran into them again in the corridor. Su Wan held a stack of books; Shen Ze walked beside her, carrying her heavy album. Su Wan stared at the floor, murmuring something. Suddenly, Shen Ze stopped, pulled a small jewelry box from his pocket, and opened it to reveal a silver necklace—with a tiny parasol leaf pendant.

"I saw you painted so many parasol leaves," his voice was soft, but loud enough for Lin Yan, hiding behind a bookshelf, to hear. "I thought you’d like this."

Su Wan’s eyes lit up like stars. She took the necklace, her fingertips caressing the pendant, her smile brighter than the sun. "Thank you—I love it."

Shen Ze smiled and fastened the necklace around her neck, his fingers gentle as if handling a priceless treasure.

Lin Yan’s knuckles whitened as he clutched the books in his hand. Watching Su Wan gaze at the pendant, and Shen Ze’s tender look, he felt like an intruder in a world that didn’t belong to him. He stepped back quietly, turned, and fled toward the exit—his steps hurried, as if running from a ghost.

At the library door, he paused and glanced back. Su Wan and Shen Ze walked side by side toward the reading room, her hand looped through his arm, the sun casting a warm glow over them like a painting. He thought of the crumpled parasol leaf sketch in his pocket. Now, it felt like nothing but a silly, wishful token—unworthy of even a passing thought from Su Wan.

After his part-time job that evening, he passed the Fine Arts studio and saw Su Wan’s art bag left at the door. She must have forgotten it. He hesitated, then picked it up, planning to return it tomorrow. When he opened it, he saw the silver necklace inside, along with an open sketchbook. On the page was a drawing of two people walking hand in hand on the parasol-lined path, snow falling around them. In the corner, written in her elegant handwriting, was "Shen Ze."

Lin Yan closed the sketchbook gently and set the bag back down. He stood there, staring at the light streaming from the studio, his heart strangely calm. He knew now—he was just a nobody in Su Wan’s life, not even worth remembering. A clown peeking at someone else’s happiness, too cowardly to even approach.

Back in his rented room, he pulled the parasol leaf sketch and the faded sticky note from the bottom of his drawer, staring at them under the desk lamp. Then he picked up a lighter and lit them. The flame consumed the paper slowly, black ashes drifting down like a silent goodbye.

As the ashes scattered in the breeze, he felt a sudden sense of relief. Perhaps he’d never should have clung to those unrealistic hopes. Su Wan had her happiness, and he had his own path to follow. He picked up his postgraduate exam papers, the scratch of his pen echoing loudly in the quiet room. Outside, a few more parasol leaves fell—soft, final notes to accompany his silent farewell.