My wishful thoughts

The things people carry

Chapter eleven

That night, Simu lay awake longer than usual.

The room was dark except for the faint glow of the streetlamp outside her window. Shadows stretched across the ceiling, shifting gently whenever the curtains moved with the breeze.

She rolled onto her side and glanced at the calendar hanging beside her desk.

Tomorrow.

A new month.

A smile appeared before she could stop it.

It felt silly.

It was only a new month.

Nothing magical would happen overnight.

The fabric shop would still be there.

The bills would still exist.

her anut meilu would still complain about everything with a mean but amusing face.

Xiaoyu would still send voice messages that sounded like emergency broadcasts.

Life would continue exactly as it always had.

Yet somehow—

she was looking forward to it.

Months ago, she had dreaded tomorrow.

Tomorrow had always looked exactly like yesterday.

Now it felt different.

Now tomorrow felt like a place she wanted to visit.

The thought warmed her chest.

Eventually, sleep found her.

The next morning, Simu woke up smiling.

By the time she entered the kitchen, her aunt immediately pointed a chopstick at her.

"Something's wrong."

Simu sat down.

"What?"

"You look happy."

"Is that too noticeable "

"Suspicious."

He Lifen calmly sipped her soy milk.

"She's been smiling since she woke up."

"Exactly!" her aunt slapped the table dramatically. "Normal people don't wake up smiling."

"but I do." simu pouted

"No. You wake up looking confused."her anut chipped in " don't give me that puppy face"

He Lifen nodded.

"That's true."

Simu nearly choked on her breakfast.

"It is a new month," she defended herself.

For a moment, silence filled the table.

Then her aunt grabbed her heart.

"ai ya ."

"auntie" simu called out settled

"Our child has started finding happiness in calendars."

He Lifen laughed.

Zhang Meilu pointed accusingly.

"When I was her age, I wanted diamonds."

"You still want diamonds."

"Growth is a personal journey."

"You haven't grown."

"I've become more expensive."

He Lifen laughed while she argue happily with her sister .

The kitchen filled with warm, familiar noise.

For a moment, Simu wished she could freeze the scene forever.

After breakfast, He Lifen and Zhang Meilu headed downstairs to open the shop.

Today was Simu's turn to clean the house.

The apartment felt unusually quiet without them.

Sunlight spilled through the windows.

The air smelled faintly of detergent and yesterday's tea.

She swept every corner.

Folded blankets.

Wiped shelves.

Organized drawers.

While cleaning the living room, she discovered one of Zhang Meilu's forgotten teacups hiding beneath a magazine.

There was still tea inside.

Simu stared at it.

"How many days have you been here?"

The tea offered no explanation.

By the time she finished, sweat clung to the back of her neck.

But looking around the spotless apartment made her feel strangely satisfied.

Home.

Their home.

Small.

Ordinary.

A little old.

But warm.

Around noon, she headed downstairs.

The moment she entered the fabric shop, she sensed something was off.

The weather outside was beautiful.

The sky was bright.

The market was crowded.

People walked up and down Wuma Street carrying shopping bags.

Vendors called out to customers.

Everything looked lively.

Yet inside the shop—

business was slow.

Painfully slow.

One customer entered.

Looked around.

Left.

Another asked for prices.

Then disappeared.

An hour passed.

Then another.

The clock ticked.

The fabrics remained exactly where they were.

By mid-afternoon, Zhang Meilu was sprawled dramatically across her chair.

"If this continues," she announced, "I'm accepting husband applications."

Simu looked up amusingly.

"For what?"

"For financial support."

"You don't even have a boyfriend."

"Details."

He Lifen didn't lift her head.

"Nobody wants to marry you."

"That's because they haven't seen my talents."

"What talents?"

Zhang Meilu sat upright.

"I can fold fabric."

"That's your job."

"I can calculate discounts."

"Also your job."

"I can emotionally manipulate stubborn customers."

Simu burst out laughing, this two sisters won't stop teasing each other all the time

Zhang Meilu pointed proudly.

"See? Complete package."

Even He Lifen couldn't help but smile

her sister and her daughter has been the only fair gift, life has left for her .

The laughter helped.

For a while.

Then the shop became quiet again.

Around three o'clock, Simu went to the back room to organize inventory.

When she returned, she stopped.

He Lifen was sitting alone at the counter.

An account book lay open before her.

She slowly turned a page.

Studied the numbers.

Turned another.

The shop remained silent.

Then—

very softly—

she sighed.

Just once.

A small sound.

Barely noticeable.

Yet it struck Simu harder than any complaint could have.

Because her mother almost never complained.

Never blamed anyone.

Never spoke about her worries.

She simply carried them.

Quietly.

Every day.

A few minutes later, He Meilu wandered over.

She glanced at the account book.

Then at He Lifen.

"Well."

"What?"

"At least we sold enough to keep the lights on."

Her tone was cheerful.

Almost joking.

Almost.

Something tightened inside Simu's chest.

For the rest of the afternoon, she couldn't stop thinking about it.

The account book.

The sigh.

The forced smile.

She wished she could help.

Not become rich.

Not become famous.

Not magically solve everything.

Just help.

Even a little.

That evening, after closing the shop, they headed upstairs.

Dinner was simple.

The conversation was ordinary.

Life moved on.

Yet the feeling remained.

Later that night, after showering, Simu curled up beneath her blanket.

Her body felt tired.

Her mind felt even more tired.

A notification appeared.

Li Xun had posted.

She opened it.

It was a short behind-the-scenes video from a filming set.

The sunlight looked harsh.

Staff hurried through the background.

Equipment surrounded him from every direction.

Li Xun smiled for the camera.

But the smile didn't quite reach his eyes.

There were faint shadows beneath them.

His movements seemed slower than usual.

At one point, an assistant handed him a bottle of water between takes.

He thanked them.

Drank quickly.

Then immediately returned to work.

Simu watched the video twice.

Then a third time.

And suddenly she thought—

Everyone is tired.

Her mother was tired.

He Meilu was tired.

The vendors downstairs were tired.

The delivery drivers rushing through traffic were tired.

The people struggling to keep their shops open were tired.

And him.

He was tired too.

For the first time that night, she wasn't looking at a celebrity.

She was looking at a person.

Someone carrying things nobody could see.

Without thinking too much, she opened the comments.

Then typed:

You worked hard today.

The world felt a little heavy today, so I hope it was kind to you.

Please take care of yourself and rest well.

She read the words once.

Then smiled softly.

And posted them.

A few minutes later, exhaustion finally caught up to her.

The cleaning.

The empty shop.

The account book.

The worry.

Everything.

She set her phone aside.

Turned off the light.

And fell asleep.

Completely unaware.

Hours later, filming had finally ended.

Li Xun sat alone inside his trailer.

The silence felt wonderful after an entire day of noise.

Absentmindedly, he opened his latest post.

Thousands of comments appeared.

He scrolled.

Stopped.

Scrolled again.

Then paused.

Because he had just realized something.

He wasn't reading comments.

He was looking for one.

His eyes found a familiar username.

Again.

There she was.

You worked hard today.

The world felt a little heavy today, so I hope it was kind to you.

Please take care of yourself and rest well.

Li Xun read the comment twice.

The corner of his mouth lifted slightly.

Not because it praised him.

Not because it was dramatic.

Because somehow—

it felt sincere.

The world felt a little heavy today.

For some reason, that sentence stayed with him.

Without thinking much, he clicked her profile.

The page loaded.

An ordinary account.

Food photos.

Street views.

Random moments with friends.

A blurry picture of a cat.

A sunset.

A family dinner.

Nothing special.

Yet he kept scrolling.

Just a little.

Long enough to wonder what kind of person lived behind those words.

Then he stopped.

Locked his phone.

And stood up.

Outside, people were already calling for him.

Tomorrow's schedule was waiting.

But as he stepped out of the trailer, one thing remained.

A small thing.

A strange thing.

He remembered her username.

Back in Wenzhou, Simu slept peacefully beneath her blanket.

Completely unaware.

Completely exhausted.

Completely oblivious.

And somewhere between two separate lives—

a quiet thread tightened once more.

Neither of them noticed.

Yet somehow—

it stayed.