Hidden Under the Rain

The phone screen lit up while I was feeding my daughter. I scooped up a small spoonful of pumpkin puree, blew on it to cool it down, and carefully brought it to her mouth. The little one opened her mouth, revealing two tiny baby teeth, waiting like a baby bird. The spoon stopped mid-air because the coffee table vibrated. It wasn't a call. It was a WeChat message. The name in the chat made me freeze. Gu Shen. I hadn't received a message from that name in almost five years. He hadn't deleted me, and I hadn't deleted him. We just lay there quietly in each other's contact lists, like a saved file that would never be opened again, taking up space but no longer meaning anything. The message was just a few words. "Shen Zhi. I need to see you." It wasn't a question. It was a statement. And it was in that same tone that brooked no refusal, just like five years ago. I stared at those words for a long time, until my daughter started fussing impatiently. I snapped out of it, handed her the spoon, and watched her gulp down the pumpkin puree, her cheeks puffing out like a little hamster's. Then I picked up my phone and typed two words. "No." Send. I put the phone face down on the coffee table and focused on feeding my daughter. When the bowl of puree was empty and her little face was smeared with orange paste, I carefully wiped her clean with a wet wipe, picked her up, and carried her to look at the flowers on the windowsill. A rose had bloomed today, with layers of pink petals. My daughter reached out with her chubby little hand, babbling words I couldn't understand. The phone vibrated again. I hesitated for a few seconds, then picked it up. "I know you hate me. But I'm leaving tomorrow. I won't be coming back. One last time. Please."