Water Lily

16

The late autumn rain, carrying a biting chill, beat against the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hotel room. Lin Yan sat on the sofa by the window, his fingertips clutching his phone, the screen frozen on his chat with Song Xiaoran—he’d just sent, "The project meeting is running late. I’ll stay at a hotel tonight. Don’t wait up." Song Xiaoran’s reply, "Stay warm," was followed by a warm smile emoji, like a thin needle pricking gently at his heart.

Only the bedside lamp was on in the room, casting warm yellow light over Su Wan. She’d just taken a shower, wearing the hotel bathrobe, her wet hair draped over her shoulders. Holding two glasses of red wine, she walked over to Lin Yan and handed him one: "Thank you for coming with me on this business trip. Shen Ze only said to send his assistant, but I... I only wanted you here."

The pretense for the trip was "site selection for the rural children’s art workshop." When Su Wan had asked Lin Yan, her eyes were red: "Only you understand what these children need. Shen Ze doesn’t care at all." Lin Yan knew he should refuse, knew he’d have to lie to Song Xiaoran and Shen Ze—but as he had countless times before, he couldn’t say "no" to Su Wan’s vulnerability.

What was even more absurd was the hotel room. Su Wan had said, "This is the only hotel with available rooms nearby, and only one twin room left." Looking into her expectant yet anxious eyes, Lin Yan couldn’t bring himself to suggest changing hotels. He’d only comforted himself: "It’s just one night. It’s nothing." But now, the delicate skin peeking out from the bathrobe collar, the faint scent of shower gel filling the air, and the unreadable emotions in Su Wan’s eyes—all made his breath hitch.

"Lin Yan, do you remember that Monet album we looked at in the library during university?" Su Wan sat on the sofa beside him, her knee gently touching his, her voice slightly slurred from the red wine. "You said back then that there was light in Monet’s paintings, but I never told you—I thought the light in your eyes was brighter than in any painting."

Lin Yan’s hand holding the wine glass paused, sending tiny ripples through the red liquid. He thought of the parasol-lined path in university, the sketches in the Art Building, the long-buried crush—all these years, he’d thought he’d forgotten them, but when Su Wan mentioned them, they surged back instantly.

"I haven’t been happy at all these years," Su Wan rested her head gently on his shoulder, her voice choking with tears. "Shen Ze never touches me. Our marriage is just an empty shell. Every day, facing the studio, facing those parasol leaves, all I think about is you—thinking of the way you helped me pick up my sketches back then, the way you secretly watched me paint, wondering if you... still like me."

Lin Yan’s body stiffened, but he didn’t push her away. Su Wan’s hair brushed against his neck, carrying the warm dampness of her shower. Her hand gently covered the back of his, her fingertips trembling: "Lin Yan, I know this is wrong, but I can’t help it... I want a little real warmth, even if it’s only for one night."

His heart thundered in his chest. Reason screamed, "You have Song Xiaoran, you have Le Le!" but emotion tugged, "This is the person you’ve liked for so many years. She’s so vulnerable now." Su Wan’s hand moved slowly upward, gently caressing his wrist—where the scar from a burn he’d gotten during his part-time job years ago still remained. She actually remembered.

"I know you feel guilty," Su Wan lifted her head, tears in her eyes yet a determined glow. "But dare you say you don’t feel anything for me at all? Dare you say you’ve never regretted not confessing to me back then?"

The words were like a key, unlocking the dust-sealed lock in Lin Yan’s heart. Looking at Su Wan’s reddened eyes, the longing in her gaze, remembering all these years of restraint, guilt, and struggle—all his reason crumbled in that moment. He set down his wine glass, reached out to hug Su Wan, resting his chin on top of her head, smelling the familiar scent of turpentine and the sound of his own ** (uncontrolled) heartbeat.

The rain outside didn’t stop all night. The lamp in the room remained dim and warm. The two were like dry sponges, greedily absorbing each other’s warmth. Su Wan’s kisses, stained with tears and years of obsession, fell on his forehead, cheeks, neck—each kiss as if confirming, "You’re mine." Lin Yan’s response was filled with guilt and repressed desire. He held her tightly, as if trying to make up for all the regrets of these years, as if clutching at his last lifeline.

As dawn approached, Lin Yan finally lay down, exhausted. Su Wan leaned against his chest, her fingers gently tracing the contours of his chest, her voice soft: "Lin Yan, I won’t force you to get a divorce. I just want you to accompany me occasionally—that’s enough."

Lin Yan didn’t speak, just stared at the ceiling. The rain outside had stopped, and morning light filtered through the gaps in the curtains, falling on the bed sheets like a harsh dividing line. He thought of the fried eggs Song Xiaoran would make for Le Le in the morning, of the parasol leaves Le Le drew, of the lie he’d told last night—these images cut at his heart like knives.

He knew that from this moment on, nothing could go back. He was no longer the Lin Yan who only "secretly crushed"—he’d completely crossed the line, becoming a man who betrayed his family. Su Wan’s breathing was light, leaning against him like a docile cat, but he felt an overwhelming heaviness—he’d gained the closeness he’d dreamed of, yet lost his inner peace.

When packing in the morning, Su Wan helped him fold his shirt, her fingertips gently smoothing out the wrinkles: "Next time we go on a business trip, can we come here again?"

Lin Yan looked at the expectation in her eyes, his heart feeling blocked. He nodded, but didn’t dare meet her gaze—he didn’t know how to face Song Xiaoran next time, didn’t know how to keep making up lies, let alone where this path would lead.

As the car pulled away from the hotel, Lin Yan glanced back. The window of that hotel room was tightly shut, like a secret that could never be closed. He took out his phone, wanting to send Song Xiaoran a message, but didn’t know what to say. In the end, after deleting and rewriting several times, he sent: "I’ll be back today. I want to eat the braised pork you make."

Song Xiaoran replied quickly: "Sure! I’ll go to the vegetable market to buy pork. Wait for me to come home."

Looking at the message, Lin Yan’s eyes suddenly reddened. He knew he was holding a scalding secret—on one side was Song Xiaoran’s gentleness and trust, on the other was Su Wan’s dependence and obsession. And he was already standing on the edge of a cliff. One more step forward, and it would be irreparable ruin.