Shattered Window

Lin Yuanzhou stared at the calendar on his phone, his heartbeat pounding against his eardrums. June 17th. OPT unemployment days used: fifty-nine. Thirty days left. Thirty days from now, if he couldn't find an employer to sponsor his H1B, he'd have to pack up and leave. Go back to China. Everything reset to zero. He sat on an sss cardboard box, surrounded by half-packed belongings. Clothes, books, that nearly-dead pothos plant—all piled in the corner of the living room. Outside the window was Seattle's typical overcast sky, gray and hazy, as if someone had wiped the sky with a dirty rag. "Yuanzhou." Qian Liang walked out of the bedroom, coffee in hand, expression somewhat unnatural. "I need to tell you something." Yuanzhou looked up. "Go ahead." "My girlfriend—she wants to move in." Qian Liang scratched his head. "Her lease is up, and you know, two people living together saves money. We're trying to save for a down payment." The implication was clear enough. Yuanzhou didn't respond. He and Qian Liang had grown up together—high school classmates, came abroad together. Qian Liang studied CS; he studied architecture. After graduation, Qian Liang landed a job at sss, stable income, smooth transition from OPT to H1B. Meanwhile, Yuanzhou worked at a small firm in downtown doing design work. Less than a year in, the company hit financial trouble and folded. No severance. Just two extra weeks' pay. "I get it." Yuanzhou stood up, brushed the dust off his pants. "I'll find a place as soon as I can." "I'm not kicking you out—" Qian Liang opened his mouth, then closed it. "Just giving you a heads-up. No rush. Take your time." "Yeah." Take his time? He'd already looked at nearly twenty places. Yuanzhou opened his phone and scrolled through the rental app chat history. Message after message—either left on read or rejected outright. "Hi, is this place still available?" "Yes. What do you do for work?" "Currently unemployed. Used to be an architect. I have bank statements." Left on read. Next. "Hi, I saw the room is still listed. Can I schedule a viewing?" "What's your visa status?" "OPT. Thirty days left." "Sorry, the landlord requires at least one year of legal residency status." Left on read. Next. "Hi—" "Don't rent to OPT." Direct rejection. Some landlords were even harsher. One, upon hearing he was on OPT, didn't even ask about rent—just said "too risky. Come back when you have a job." As if he had any control over whether companies were hiring. Yuanzhou tossed his phone onto the bed and lay back on the mattress. There was a dead bug inside the light fixture on the ceiling—no idea how long it had been there. He closed his eyes and started doing the math. Bank balance: $3,200. Rent: $1,400 a month, plus another $1,400 for deposit. Car payment: $220. Insurance: $90. Phone bill: $45. Food—if he lived as cheaply as possible, ten bucks a day, that's $300 a month. Add it all up, and he could survive at most another month and a half. And if his visa expired before then, he'd be sleeping on the street regardless. His phone buzzed. He picked it up. A link from Qian Liang. "Check this out. Rent's cheap, location's decent. The requirements are a little weird though." He clicked it. A rental post on a forum. The title was simple: **"Single room above a bookstore for rent, $750/month, requires ability to fix windows."** The poster's username was "Boat Lantern." Profile picture showed a maple tree. The content was even shorter: "Upstairs from Boat Lantern Bookstore. Ten-minute walk to light rail station. Shared kitchen and bathroom. $750/month includes utilities. Requirement: ability to fix windows. Serious inquiries only, DM me." Seven-fifty. Seattle. Capitol Hill. Seven-fifty. That price was suspiciously low. Even for a shared house, normal rent in that area was $1,100 to $1,500. Seven-fifty meant either a scam or a place with major problems. But Yuanzhou read the post twice more anyway. "Ability to fix windows." Not credit score. Not income verification. Not legal status. Fix windows. He sat up, hesitated for ten seconds, then opened a private message. "Hi, I saw your rental post. I can fix windows. Is the room still available?" He expected to wait. But the reply came instantly. "Yes. Tomorrow at 3 PM, come see the place. Address: 15th Ave E. No unit number. Look for the wooden sign." "Okay, I'll be there on time. My name is Lin Yuanzhou." "Okay." That was it. One word. Okay. Yuanzhou stared at it for a long moment. Something felt off. But he couldn't say what. Whatever. Given his situation, he couldn't afford to be picky. — The next afternoon, he arrived twenty minutes early. Fifteenth Street was nicer than he'd expected. Quiet, lots of trees, old houses with a worn-in charm. A coffee shop on the corner, a few people chatting outside. A small park across the street, kids swinging on the playground. When he found the bookstore, he stopped. A wooden sign, dark green lettering: **"Boat Lantern."** A few books displayed in the window—old ones, not carefully arranged. The paint on the door frame was peeling, revealing layers of old color underneath. The storefront was squeezed between two apartment buildings, so narrow it looked like a person who'd been crushed. He pushed the door open. A wind chime rang. The shop was dark inside—no lights on, just daylight filtering through the windows, falling across the bookshelves. The air smelled of old paper and a faint hint of damp wood. In the corner stood a potted plant that looked like a maple tree, its red leaves clashing with the rest of the shop's muted tones. "Hello?" Yuanzhou called out. No answer. He walked further in. Heard movement from the back. A woman stood up from behind a shelf, a stack of books in her arms. She wore a gray hoodie, her hair loose, covering half her face. Mid-twenties, maybe. Skin pale to the point of unhealthy, lips lacking color. "I'm here about the room," Yuanzhou said. She set the books down on the counter. "The window's on the left." Her voice was flat, no inflection. Yuanzhou blinked. "What?" "The window you're here to see." She finally looked up. "Upstairs, the room on the left." He got a proper look at her face. Her features were fine, pretty even. But on her left cheek, a scar ran from her eyebrow down to her cheekbone. Not very deep, but on her face, it stood out sharply. She wore no makeup, made no effort to hide it. She looked cold. Not arrogant-cold. Cold like a room in winter with the heat turned off. "Oh. Okay." Yuanzhou nodded. She led him upstairs. The staircase was narrow. She walked ahead of him, her pace unhurried. Yuanzhou noticed that when she stepped down with her left foot, there was a slight pause—like she couldn't put full weight on it. But he didn't ask. None of his business. The room was small, smaller than his current one. The window was an old wooden casement, the frame slightly warped. It didn't close properly. He could feel cold air seeping through the gap. "The frame is warped," she said. "Leaks when it rains. Can you fix it?" Yuanzhou walked over, pressed on the frame. "Yeah. I'll need some glazing putty and weatherstripping. Won't cost much." "Deduct it from the rent." "Okay." She stood in the doorway, not entering. "Rent is $750, first and last month's deposit. Utilities included. Don't enter my room." She pointed to the closed door at the end of the hall. "Ever." "Okay." "Rent in cash. Due on the first." "Okay." She waited a few seconds, as if confirming he had no other questions. "My name is Lin Yuanzhou," he said. "Shen Zhi." "Zhi as in gardenia?" "Yeah." Then she went downstairs. Yuanzhou stood in the room, listening to her footsteps fade, followed by the wind chime at the bookstore door. He looked back at the window. Outside, it had started to rain. Fine raindrops hit the glass, seeping through the gaps. On the windowsill, a dark water stain showed where it had been leaking for a long time. He pulled out his phone and texted Qian Liang: **"Found a place."** **"How much?"** **"Seven-fifty."** **"You sure it's not haunted?"** **"Even if it is, I can't afford to be picky."** That was the truth. Thirty days left. Bank balance $3,200. Rejected by every landlord in the city. Haunted or not, he didn't have a choice.