Water Lily

15

Only a floor lamp was on in the late autumn art studio. Warm yellow light cast Su Wan’s shadow onto the canvas as she mixed paints for a parasol leaf oil painting. Dipping her brush in light brown pigment, she blended it gently across the canvas. Lin Yan sat on a rattan chair in the corner, holding a well-worn art album, but his gaze didn’t linger on the pages—instead, it followed Su Wan’s brush tip. This was their agreed "secret time": every Wednesday evening, Lin Yan would use the excuse of "project team overtime" to spend two hours in the studio. No work talk, no family matters—just trivial chatter, like two children stealing time.

"Look here," Su Wan turned around, waving him over. "Last time you said you liked Monet’s use of light and shadow. I tried adding some warm tones—does it look more like autumn at Mingde University now?" Her fingertip tapped the canvas, just centimeters from Lin Yan’s hand. Her breath carried a faint turpentine scent, unique to the art studio.

Lin Yan leaned closer, able to see tiny flecks of paint on her eyelashes, his heart skipping an unexpected beat. He nodded softly: "Yes, warmer than last time." His fingertip unconsciously brushed the edge of the canvas, accidentally touching Su Wan’s finger. Both froze for a moment, but unlike before, they didn’t pull away quickly. They just stayed like that quietly, the floor lamp’s light merging their shadows into a blurred patch on the wall.

Such closeness had grown increasingly frequent. Sometimes Su Wan’s fingertip would linger an extra second on his hand when passing a brush; sometimes Lin Yan’s arm would inadvertently brush her shoulder while helping her move an easel. Once, when Su Wan suffered from low blood sugar after painting late, Lin Yan pulled a mint candy from his pocket, peeled the wrapper, and held it to her lips. As she opened her mouth, her lips gently brushed his fingertip. Their eyes met, and both read the unspoken meaning in each other’s gaze.

They developed their own "code." When Su Wan needed him, she’d send a photo of a parasol leaf sketch; Lin Yan would reply "last-minute project team meeting" to inform his family of his late return. In the studio drawer, there were lime-flavored mints—Su Wan’s favorite—that Lin Yan had specially bought. Beside Su Wan’s easel lay Lin Yan’s usual fountain pen, convenient for him to occasionally revise her exhibition layout plans. These subtle, exclusive details wound around their lives like vines, undetected by anyone else.

Once, Lin Yan accompanied Song Xiaoran grocery shopping. Passing the art supplies section, Song Xiaoran picked up a box of lime-flavored mints: "You’ve been saying you’re tired from overtime lately. These are refreshing—let’s buy a box." Lin Yan’s heart contracted sharply; he quickly waved his hand: "No, thanks. I don’t really like sweet things." Watching Song Xiaoran put the mints back on the shelf, guilt surged within him—he didn’t dislike them. It was just that this flavor had become a secret between him and Su Wan, one he dared not let anyone else touch.

When returning home from the studio late at night, Lin Yan would linger at the convenience store downstairs for ten minutes, replacing the turpentine scent on his clothes with tobacco. He never smoked, but he’d buy a pack of cigarettes and keep it in his pocket, occasionally lighting one only to put it out immediately—just to make his scent "look like he’d been smoking with clients during overtime." When he opened the door, Song Xiaoran would always bring him a cup of hot milk: "Tired? Drink this and rest." Her eyes were full of concern, never a hint of doubt. That trust cut at Lin Yan’s heart like a blunt knife.

Su Wan was holding a small art exhibition at her studio. Lin Yan used project resources to secure her free venue and promotion channels. The day before the opening, the two were arranging exhibits. Su Wan stood on a ladder hanging an oil painting; Lin Yan held the ladder below, glancing up to see her ankles peeking out from her skirt—slim, just as they were in university. "Be careful," he said softly, his hand unconsciously moving up, almost touching her calf.

Su Wan looked down at him, smiling: "With you here, I’m not afraid."

The words fell on Lin Yan’s heart like a feather. He knew he shouldn’t be moved, but he couldn’t help it—after all these years, he finally felt like he wasn’t just stealing time, but truly owning a fleeting moment that belonged to him. After arranging the venue, Su Wan handed him a custom parasol leaf necklace—similar to the one Shen Ze had given her years ago, but more minimalist: "Thank you, Lin Yan. I designed this myself—there’s only one."

Lin Yan took the necklace, his fingertips touching the cold metal, his heart warm yet aching. He tucked it into his suit’s inner pocket, pressing it close to his chest—where his secrets lay, where his unspoken crush was hidden from the world.

On the exhibition opening day, Song Xiaoran came with Le Le to show support. Seeing Su Wan, she smiled: "Ms. Su’s paintings are beautiful. Le Le said he wants to learn to paint from you." Su Wan squatted down, patting Le Le’s head: "Sure. When Le Le gets a little older, I’ll teach you to paint parasol leaves." Lin Yan stood beside them, watching their easy conversation, his heart torn in two—half filled with the warmth of family, the other with the secret thrill of his crush. He carefully maintained the balance, fearing either side might collapse at any moment.

Shen Ze also attended the exhibition. He walked over to Su Wan, his tone flat: "Not bad—more thoughtful than your last exhibition." Su Wan nodded, saying nothing more. Watching their distant interaction, Lin Yan thought of the necklace in his pocket, a faint, secret pride rising within him—only he knew Su Wan’s true tenderness, her true vulnerability, were reserved only for him.

After the exhibition, Lin Yan made an excuse to "take Ms. Su back to the studio to pick up things" and left alone with her. The car fell silent. Suddenly, Su Wan took his hand: "Lin Yan, I think I’m... becoming more and more dependent on you."

Lin Yan’s hand paused, then he squeezed hers back, feeling her warmth—familiar yet strange. "Me too," he said softly, his voice carrying a tenderness he didn’t notice himself.

Dropping Su Wan off at her studio building, they didn’t separate immediately. They just sat in the car, watching the night outside. Lin Yan knew he should go home—to the house with Song Xiaoran and Le Le—but he couldn’t bear to leave—unable to let go of this secret intimacy, this rediscovered crush.

It wasn’t until Song Xiaoran sent a message: "Le Le’s waiting for you to tell him a story. When will you be back?" that he snapped back to reality, letting go of Su Wan’s hand: "I should go."

Su Wan nodded, a hint of disappointment in her eyes: "See you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow," Lin Yan said, then got out of the car quickly, walking home without looking back. He didn’t dare turn around, fearing he’d give in and stay, fearing he’d lose control completely.

When he got home, Le Le was already asleep. Song Xiaoran sat by the bed, smiling as she saw him: "Exhausted? Go wash up and rest." Lin Yan walked over, hugging her from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder. Guilt and desire tangled within him, almost suffocating.

"Xiaoran," he said softly, "can we stay like this forever?"

Song Xiaoran turned around, touching his face: "Of course. We’ll watch Le Le grow up together." Her smile was gentle, failing to see the struggle and secrets hidden deep in Lin Yan’s eyes.

Lin Yan knew he was walking a dangerous path, with a bottomless abyss on either side. Yet he couldn’t help but move toward that light—belonging only to him and Su Wan—even if the path had no end, even if it would ultimately destroy everything. And none of this did Song Xiaoran know, nor Shen Ze, nor Le Le—no one in the world knew.