Perfect Girlfriends

Icy Beauty

In the sound of raindrops tapping against the glass, another half hour passed by quickly. I decided not to wait any longer. If I stayed any longer, it would no longer be about grace; it would be madness.

Of course, I could call the number she had given me this morning and ask her why she couldn’t make it on time, but as I thought about it, it seemed unnecessary. The bag wasn’t mine to lose, and I shouldn’t be the one anxious. Being too eager might even give off the wrong impression, as if I had some ulterior motive.

Her no-show didn’t bother me. I decided to spend the time just passing the dull moments away. Honestly, it wasn’t even a boring wait—at least I had some anticipation. I’ve always believed that with expectations, all waiting becomes worthwhile.

I picked up the red leather bag beside me, ready to leave, when a woman came walking down the stairs. Our gazes met effortlessly.

Because of my job, I often interacted with car models, women with perfect figures and faces, but there was something about her that caught my eye. I couldn’t help but look at her a few extra times.

It was late autumn, and she was wearing only a thin black coat. Despite the thin fabric, her elegance could not be concealed. She looked delicate and graceful, but her expression was cold and aloof, making it impossible to discern whether she was happy or sad. The dim light from the street lamps outside shone softly on her fair face, creating an ethereal glow, almost as if she didn’t belong to this world. If there was a standard for "heavenly beauty," she would be it.

"Can a fairy use a phone?" I thought to myself, but it was clearly a ridiculous idea. After all, there are no fairies in this world, and there are plenty of women who are even more beautiful than her. But her aura was unique. In this fast-paced, superficial world, I could confidently say that anyone who met her for the first time would feel exactly the way I did.

We kept staring at each other. Her eyes moved from my face to the red leather bag I was holding. Then, she looked at me again, this time with a questioning gaze.

I nodded affirmatively.

...

She ordered a mocha, while I stuck with my usual red tea. We sat by the window. The temperature difference between the inside and outside made the glass fog up, and all I could see outside was a blurry view of the streetlights casting their orange glow. The rain was still falling steadily.

Suddenly, the background music in the café changed to Chicago’s If You Leave Me Now. I hummed along to the chorus while she remained silent, not even mentioning the bag. The atmosphere between us was growing a little awkward.

Since she wasn’t in any hurry to take the bag, I had no problem sitting there with her. After a long day at work, having the chance to sit with such a beautiful woman over coffee felt like a gift from heaven—even if she seemed to treat me like I was invisible.

The music played again. If You Leave Me Now was on loop, but our conversation was still sparse. She didn’t seem to be one for words, and my usual dry humor had no room to work.

I handed her the small leather bag. “Check if everything is in there.”

"Thank you," she said, taking the bag but not opening it. Instead, she calmly took another sip of her coffee.

...

"I think I can live alone. I think I can pretend I never loved. In the cold of night, I let my tears warm me. I think I can get used to living alone, erasing your promises from my memory. Love is just a dream, and I overslept…"

After a moment, my phone rang again. The ringtone repeated, but she remained indifferent, staring out the window with a vague look in her eyes. When this expression appeared on her face, it was strangely captivating—a kind of beauty that stirred something in me. I couldn’t help but wonder, Does someone like her also suffer from love?

The answer was clear—of course, she does. If someone so perfect in love couldn’t help but play "Living Alone" as their ringtone, then they must have their own hidden heartbreak.

"Your phone is ringing," I said, raising my voice to get her attention.

Finally, she snapped out of her daze, but instead of reaching for the bag, she just looked at me.

I felt a bit uneasy. It was the first time she had focused on me like this since we met. I wrapped my scarf around my neck a few more times, leaving just my eyes exposed. It was a silly gesture, and I mumbled under my breath, "What are you staring at?"

My move finally brought a slight smile to her face. But it was brief, vanishing almost immediately, replaced by that same cold, distant look.

The phone finally stopped ringing. She continued to gaze at me. I pulled the phone from her bag, making a face even more confused than hers, and took a picture of myself with her phone. I handed it back to her and said, “Don’t give me that look… If you think I’m handsome, you can take a look at the photo in your phone later.”

She didn’t respond to my teasing. Instead, she took the phone from my hand without saying a word.

I looked at her again. The words "cold" and "aloof" seemed to be etched into her expression. After a long silence, I realized I needed to leave, but deep down, I didn’t want to. Spending even a second longer with a beauty like her felt like a gift, especially since this could very well be our final goodbye.

She didn’t rush me to leave, nor did she speak to me. Her silence made me uncomfortable. I suddenly despised myself—had I really become so desperate for company that I couldn’t even walk away from a beautiful woman?

Filled with frustration, I finally forced myself to say, "I’m leaving."

"Mm," she replied.

Her brief answer crushed me. Was I really so speechless to her? Did she really have nothing more to say?

I picked up my gloves from the table, preparing to leave. Before I did, I took one last glance at her. She was still sitting there, staring blankly out the window, watching the cars pass by.

...

I walked down the stairs and stood outside the café, ready to leave in a cab. But as I was about to step into the car, I couldn’t help but glance back through the café’s glass window. The fog on the glass distorted her figure, but I could still make her out.

I chuckled, then scolded myself. Why am I so concerned about a stranger, especially a beautiful one? If that’s really the reason, I might as well smash my head against a wall—losing my immunity to beauty is a terrifying thing.

As I continued chastising myself, I suddenly saw a small, clear patch on the glass. She had wiped away the fog. Our eyes met again, this time with no interruption.

I had already decided to leave, but now, I couldn’t. Was this fate, or just a coincidence? What surprised me even more was that she didn’t look away. She continued staring at me.

“It must be fate,” I thought. “Otherwise, how could I have found her bag in the first place?”

Suddenly, I felt better. I waved at her, signaling for her to come down.

At first, she seemed surprised by my sudden gesture, but then she raised a hand, signaling me to wait. I watched as she got up, grabbed her bag, and walked away from her seat.

In that instant, I felt a rush of joy, though I kept my outward composure. I was now waiting for her to come down the stairs from the café.