Water Lily

2

The autumn rain had been falling continuously for three days. The parasol leaves of Mingde University, soaked through, clung to the slate-gray stone paths, emitting soft "squeak" sounds when stepped on. Lin Yan hugged the review materials he’d just picked up from the print shop and pulled his collar tighter — this faded thin jacket could no longer keep out the October chill.

As soon as he reached the library entrance, he spotted that familiar cream-colored figure. Su Wan stood under the eaves, holding a black umbrella and bowing slightly to thank the doorman. The uncle handed her a dried paper bag containing the album she’d left behind yesterday. She nodded gently as she took it, the curve of her lips as warm as before, but her eyes lacked warmth, as if veiled by a thin layer of mist.

"Thank you," she said, turning to leave, only to bump into Lin Yan standing on the steps below.

Lin Yan’s heart skipped a beat. He instinctively stepped back half a step, and several of the materials in his arms slipped down with a rustle. He hurried to pick them up, but his fingertips first touched a warm surface — Su Wan had bent down to hold the top book, Microeconomics.

"Be careful," her voice was still like warm water, but it lacked the ease from the library last time, replaced by a polite distance. Before Lin Yan could thank her, she’d straightened up, opened her umbrella, and its edge perfectly shielded her head, leaving no extra space.

"T-thank you," Lin Yan gripped the edges of the materials so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He looked at the shadow under Su Wan’s umbrella, which was clearly separated from his by half a meter — she hadn’t tilted the umbrella even a centimeter toward him, despite having helped him.

"You’re welcome," Su Wan nodded, not pausing her steps. The black umbrella acted like a moving barrier, soon disappearing into the rain curtain. Lin Yan stood there, watching her back until the cream color was blocked by the corner of the teaching building, then slowly loosened his clenched hand, his palm soaked in cold sweat.

He remembered the scene in the cafeteria yesterday. He’d been holding a bowl of the cheapest green vegetable noodles, looking for a corner seat. Just as he sat down, he saw Su Wan walk in with two girls from the Fine Arts Department. The two girls chattered and laughed around her, but Su Wan only responded occasionally, holding her phone and sliding her fingertips gently across the screen, her eyes fixed on the rain curtain outside the window, clearly distracted.

One girl tried to pick a spare rib from her bowl and give it to Su Wan, but she smiled and waved it off: "No, thanks. I don’t really like sweet flavors." Her tone was natural, yet carried an undeniable sense of distance — Lin Yan noticed she hadn’t even touched the girl’s chopsticks. Later, when the girl complained about the lack of paint in the studio, Su Wan said, "I’ll ask my family to send a few boxes over." As she spoke, her expression was no different from when she might say "The weather is nice today" — no showing off, no closeness, just a matter-of-fact politeness.

Lin Yan stirred the noodles in his bowl, suddenly losing his appetite. He looked at the nearly untouched steak set in front of Su Wan, remembering the bills he’d calculated last night — he was still 300 yuan short for Grandma’s medicine, and this month’s rent was due soon. He glanced down at his slightly oil-stained cuffs, then up at the watch on Su Wan’s wrist, glinting under the lights, and suddenly felt a tightness in his throat.

So it wasn’t that she was special to him; she was like this with everyone. Gentle, polite, yet separated by a layer of transparent glass, letting no one into her world. Lin Yan smiled bitterly. He’d once had his heart racing because of that sticky note and her smile, but now he realized it had all been his wishful thinking. The note had probably been tucked in her book casually, and that "thank you" had just been a courtesy, like how she spoke to the doorman or the students in the cafeteria.

In the days that followed, Lin Yan deliberately avoided the window seat on the third floor of the library. He chose the most secluded seat on the second floor, where he could see the parasol-lined path below but wouldn’t easily run into Su Wan. It wasn’t until Friday afternoon, when he went to the restaurant where he worked to change clothes, that he heard the waiters at the front desk whispering: "There’s a super beautiful girl dining here today. I think she’s the young lady of the Su family — her dress looks really expensive."

Lin Yan’s heart sank abruptly, and the apron in his hand almost fell to the ground. He took a deep breath, tied on the apron, and when he walked out of the kitchen holding a tray, he instinctively glanced toward the window seat — sure enough, Su Wan was sitting there, across from a man in a suit, presumably a family member.

She was facing him sideways, and the sunlight fell on her hair tips, as beautiful as before. The man handed her a glass of juice, and she said something as she took it, a faint smile on her lips, but her eyes were still distant, lacking the ease one would have with family. Lin Yan walked past quietly, his steps as light as possible, fearing he might disturb her.

"Could you please bring an extra set of tableware?" Su Wan suddenly turned her head, her eyes meeting Lin Yan’s. Her gaze paused for a moment, as if she recognized him, but she only nodded politely, showing no extra expression.

"Certainly, please wait a moment," Lin Yan’s voice was slightly hoarse. He turned and hurried back to the kitchen. Leaning against the cold tile wall, his heart raced, but there was no joy of excitement, only a clear sense of powerlessness — he was serving dishes in the restaurant, while she dined elegantly by the window; their worlds were completely divided.

When he brought the tableware over, Su Wan was looking down, listening to the man speak, her fingers gently brushing the edge of her cup. Lin Yan placed the tableware on the table, said "Enjoy your meal," and turned to leave without glancing at her again. He knew that looking again would only add to his disappointment.

On Sunday evening, after sending Grandma’s medicine, Lin Yan walked back to his rented room. Passing the flower shop at the school gate, he stopped again. The roses in the window were still as delicate and beautiful, the numbers on the price tags glaringly bright. He remembered the way Su Wan’s fingers had brushed the Water Lilies album in the library, and suddenly felt that such a wonderful girl was like the roses in the window — to be admired from afar, with even getting close being a luxury.

Just as he was about to turn and leave, he saw Su Wan walk out of the dessert shop next to the flower shop. She was holding a small cake box, with no one accompanying her. Probably noticing his gaze, she looked up, paused for a moment, then nodded slightly in greeting.

Lin Yan quickly nodded back, instinctively stepping back to make way for her. Su Wan didn’t stop; she hugged the cake box and walked slowly along the sidewalk. The streetlights stretched her shadow long. Lin Yan stood there, watching her shadow grow smaller until it disappeared around the corner.

He looked down at the discounted bread he’d just bought from the supermarket, clutched in his hand, then up at the direction Su Wan had gone, and sighed softly. He took out his phone, opened the contacts, and clicked on the unmarked number — the one he’d copied from the sticky note, but had never had the courage to dial.

His fingers hesitated on the screen for a long time, but he finally turned off the phone. The rain started falling again, fine drizzle touching his face, a little cold. Lin Yan tucked the bread into his arms and hurried back to his rented room. He knew that someone like him would never have a place in Su Wan’s world, and in his own world, he could only hide this affection deep in his heart, daring not to have the slightest fantasy.

Back in his room, he took the sticky note off the wall, folded it into a small square, and put it at the bottom of his wallet. Then he turned on the desk lamp, picked up Microeconomics, and began reading earnestly. The rain outside grew heavier, tapping against the glass with a "tick-tock" sound. Lin Yan looked at the formulas in the book, but his heart was unusually calm — perhaps this was for the best, admiring from afar, not disturbing, not coveting.