Perfect Girlfriends

Trapped in the Little Garden II

I walked behind Mo Han, our path lit only by the faint glow of our phones. The light flickered weakly on the wet stone path, and the wind howled through the branches with a cold, lonely sound. There was something unsettling about that night — quiet, heavy, and strange.

Boredom got the better of me. I said in a deliberately eerie tone,

“Ever heard of people trapped by ghosts? You know… walking in circles, never finding the way out?”

Mo Han stopped abruptly. Her shoulders trembled as she looked around, scanning the darkness to her left and right. I smirked inwardly, imagining she’d panic and throw herself into my arms.

But instead, she said in a low, trembling voice that still managed to sound cold,

“I think… we really are walking in circles.”

The moment she said that, a chill raced up my spine. The air suddenly felt thicker, the shadows deeper. A harsh, broken bird cry echoed from somewhere far away, and I almost did leap into her arms.

Somehow, I held myself together. My recently constructed “Superman” image survived — barely.

Mo Han said nothing more. She simply walked on, her steps steady, her face unreadable. She was probably irritated by my childish attempt at humor. I didn’t care. I was broke, homeless — a small-time nobody. If I couldn’t even afford to be stupid sometimes, what fun was left in life?

The exit was getting close, but my steps grew slower. Once we passed through that gate, we’d each go our own way. Mo Han kept walking, her pace unchanging, widening the space between us.

Sigh. Maybe I’ve developed some kind of beauty-dependence syndrome, I thought bitterly.

But that didn’t make sense. I was surrounded by pretty colleagues and clients every day — I’d never grown attached to any of them. So why her? Why this feeling that I didn’t want the night to end?

I caught up again, walking beside her. Even if I wished otherwise, I knew — all encounters in life end. Even lovers who spend a lifetime together must one day part by death. Why cling to something so fleeting? If life is just a long lesson in losing, perhaps the best we can do is savor the sadness of it.

Then, we turned a corner — and there it was. The faint, misty light of a streetlamp seeped through the iron bars ahead. The gate.

Closed.

Mo Han stopped in front of it, staring at the lock. For a moment, I didn’t know whether to curse or to thank fate.

It turned out that the little garden was fully enclosed. We must have entered before the staff locked it up, and when the lights went out earlier, that must have been when they left.

I examined the iron gate — tall, maybe four meters, but latticed. Easy enough for me to climb. Mo Han, though… she’d never make it.

“I’ll go first,” I said, and reached for the bars.

Halfway up, I glanced back. She stood there, her lips slightly parted as if to speak, then stayed silent. I grinned to myself — any second now, she’d ask me not to leave her alone.

But she didn’t. She simply turned away, ignoring me. Maybe she thought I was being selfish.

I climbed all the way up, looked down, and sighed. She hadn’t said a word. Stubborn woman.

So I climbed back down.

She still didn’t look at me.

“You poor little thing,” I said softly, trying to tease her out of her shell.

She frowned. “Why did you come back?”

I smiled. “What, you didn’t want me to?”

“Suit yourself,” she said, her voice as cool as before.

I didn’t answer. I scanned the surroundings again — no lower wall, no gap, no escape. Looks like we were spending the night here.

We went back to the small pavilion. Mo Han sat beside me again, but this time she didn’t lean close. She hugged her knees, shivering in her thin clothes.

“Give me your hands,” I said.

She hesitated, then held them out. I took off my gloves and slipped them over her fingers.

“There. That should help.”

The temperature kept dropping. My teeth began to chatter. If there’d been a heater there, I might’ve cried from happiness.

Then, unexpectedly, a warm body pressed against mine.

“Hold me,” Mo Han whispered. “It won’t feel so cold.”

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. She pulled my down jacket around us both, then wrapped her own coat over that. Beneath her thin sweater, her body trembled lightly against mine. Her scent — faint and clean — filled the air between us.

“Zhang Yixi,” she murmured, her voice level but cold. “Don’t move.”

Her tone was enough to anchor me. I forced myself to calm down, focusing on my breath, on the faint sound of rain outside the garden walls. Gradually, my heartbeat slowed.

Her breathing grew even. She’d fallen asleep.

My eyes had adjusted to the darkness. Her face rested on my shoulder — long lashes, pale skin, the faint curve of a smile that wasn’t quite there. She looked unreal, like a character drawn in pencil and dream.

Watching her, my drowsiness vanished. My heart thudded quietly against hers.

But then I thought — if she could sleep in my arms, she must trust me. How could I betray that?

So I closed my eyes, held her gently, and let sleep take me.

Morning came in a burst of light. I blinked and sat up.

The spot beside me was empty.

For a moment, I thought it had all been a dream — the locked gate, the darkness, the warmth of her body. Then I saw her black coat draped over me, still faintly scented. A single strand of her long black hair clung to my scarf.

It hadn’t been a dream. We had shared a night — brief, unreal, but true.

I folded her coat carefully and put on my own. The gate was open now. Sunlight spilled across the wet ground.

I stepped out, the wind brushing past my face.

I didn’t know if I’d ever see her again. But I knew one thing for sure — somewhere between the silence and the warmth, she had taken a small, unguarded piece of my heart with her.