Perfect Girlfriends

My Perfect Girlfriends

At the age of 25, I’ve experienced a few relationships, more or less, and I am no exception. Looking back on these varied experiences of love, I still laugh and cry at the absurdity of it all.

The breakup with Girlfriend No. 1 was awkward. That day, we were deeply affectionate, passionately intimate, amidst the irregular sounds of moans and the creaking of the bed. Suddenly, in the heat of the moment, she screamed hysterically, "I want a house..."

The next day, she proposed a breakup, and that was the end of it... This was a woman obsessed with owning a house. In the end, I’m not sure who was being ridiculed, but the breakup happened. As for whose sorrow it was, I won’t say anymore.

Thanks to the groundwork laid by Girlfriend No. 1, the breakup with Girlfriend No. 2 was at least a calm affair. She said to me without any emotion, "Zhang Yixi, I really want to spend my life with you, but we can’t live forever in a rented apartment, can we? So, let’s break up."

I numbly replied, "Oh," and turned to leave. This was a woman who once made my heart race, so I didn’t want to cry and make her feel guilty for breaking up. I pretended to be carefree, with that single "oh" being my final gift to her.

The breakup with Girlfriend No. 3 was more absurd. She said to me, "Xixi, let’s take a break. When you have a house and a car, come back and marry me, okay? I promise I’ll wait for you patiently!"

Houses, houses, houses! Yes, I don’t own a house, so I couldn’t offer Girlfriend No. 1, No. 2, or No. 3 a stable life. Because of that, they weren’t willing to offer me love either. But I don’t blame them. On the contrary, I’m grateful to them. It was because of them that I, once stubborn, finally learned the difference between fantasy and reality.

After many nights of inner struggle, I still stubbornly longed for a love that had nothing to do with material things.

But it wasn’t until much later that I realized how "silly" and "naive" I was. The wait, filled with loneliness, yielded nothing more. Since then, I no longer expected pure, crystal-clear love.

I work as a marketing specialist at a car dealership in Nantong. My salary isn’t high, but it’s enough for me to live alone. However, after losing my hope in love, I also lost the drive to pursue anything. Whenever I had a little extra money, I’d go to a bar and enjoy the bright life. This became a bad habit, turning me into a true "monthly spender."

My friends lamented my downfall, but I ignored them. Over time, they gave up on me, unanimously deciding that I needed saving. But who would save me? When would they appear? I didn’t know, and maybe they never would. All I could do was sink deeper into hesitation, enjoying the pain.

That morning, the rain was falling in drizzles. I didn’t have the patience to wait for the bus, so I took a taxi to work. As soon as I sat down, I felt something poking at me. I stood up slightly and saw a red leather women’s handbag on the seat.

My life isn’t luxurious, but I believe in the principle of "a gentleman does not take what doesn’t belong to him." I had no intention of keeping the bag, but curiosity led me to open it.

Inside were various women’s items, and at the very bottom was a white iPhone 5. I picked it up and saw that it was turned off—probably out of battery. I opened the zippered compartment and found nothing, not even an ID card. In other words, I knew nothing about the owner of the bag.

I really wanted to return the bag to its rightful owner. Maybe it belonged to a beautiful woman. "Beautiful woman" is such a lovely word, and just hearing it makes ninety percent of men eager to chase after it.

Even if she wasn’t beautiful, I wouldn’t mind. As a reason, I could just say I was promoting the traditional virtue of honesty.

When I got to the office, I borrowed a charger from a colleague, plugged in the phone, and waited for the owner to call.

The work of a marketing specialist is usually quite relaxed. We have our own advertising partners, and if the headquarters has any events or advertising tasks, I just pass along the instructions to them. My job is simple, so most of the time, I can leisurely drink tea, browse the internet, and check the news.

I occasionally glanced at the white iPhone 5. It remained quietly beside my tea cup all morning. Yet, the curiosity about its owner only grew. This phone wasn’t cheap, and I truly didn’t believe someone would just casually lose it.

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

After a long silence, the phone finally rang with the chorus of Lin Fan's song "Living Alone".

I didn’t pick up the phone immediately. Actually, I was deeply moved by this song. There were nights when I sat on the rooftop, smoking, and listening to it in the quiet of the night, and it caused a slight heartache...

I answered the phone. The voice on the other end was slightly surprised: "Hello, did you find my handbag?"

"Let’s set a time to meet. I’ll return it to you," I said straightforwardly.

"Mm," she paused, then added, "You choose the place."

"How about 8 PM at XX Cafe in the city center?"

I was feeling a little down, an indescribable sadness. Perhaps it was because "Living Alone" brought back memories. At 25, living alone, the pain behind it is something anyone who has gone through it would understand.

Yes, I am 25, an age when I should be starting a family, but up until now, all I have are cigarettes, alcohol, and a few relationships marked by scars.

In the emptiness, I finished work. The sky was dark, and the rain had relentlessly fallen all day. The puddles on the road shimmered under the streetlights, resembling the surface of the sea in sunlight, glistening in the light. I gladly immersed myself in my daydreams, imagining the puddles as the sea blown by the wind. It may seem trivial, but on a solitary day, even such absurd daydreams are enough to bring me joy.

At 7:30 PM, I arrived at XX Cafe in the city center. I ordered a cup of red tea and waited for the woman to arrive. I’m not a fan of being late. My first girlfriend once said this was one of my few virtues. Whether it’s a virtue or not, I’ve kept up with it. Maybe I arrived early because I was eager for this meeting. Her voice on the phone was delicate, and I imagined it corresponding to an angelic face.

I sipped my tea, browsing the news on my phone. At 8 PM, I looked up. People were eating as usual, but the person I had imagined didn’t appear.

That’s fine. I continued to wait. Nowadays, being late has become a woman’s privilege. If a man cannot tolerate this privilege, he will be labeled as lacking manners.

At this moment, I remained calm. My calmness came from my frequent self-assurance that I was a man of good manners.

At 8:30 PM, I looked up again. The cafe was quieter, and fewer people remained, as not many were willing to linger outside in this weather. I put my phone back in my pocket and began tapping my fingers rhythmically on the table. Even now, I maintained my composure. I could feel my brow remain smooth.

At 9 PM, the cafe was almost deserted. I picked up the phone again and saw that it was even quieter than before. At this point, the woman hadn’t even called to explain why she was late or if she was canceling the meeting.