The Boy in My Dreams Got Married (Starlight Waits for No One)
The Love Left Unspoken
Junior Schoolgirl's Chapter
1
"Zhuo Ting, you're not leaving yet?"
My coworker picked up his jacket from his office chair, slipping it on while talking to me, still seated at my desk.
I adjusted my glasses and looked up from my computer screen with a smile.
"I'll go in a bit. No need to wait for me. You head home first."
He remarked that I was a total workaholic, then gathered his things and left.
With the sound of the elevator opening and closing, this entire floor of the office building was suddenly empty—only me left.
I saved the document and copied it to a USB drive, then kneaded my neck, massaging my shoulders a few times before finally standing up.
I carefully folded the blanket that had been draped over my legs and placed it on my chair, then put on my coat, wrapped my scarf tight, grabbed my keys and phone, turned off the lights, and walked out of the office.
It was November. Bitter wind swept dry, yellow leaves along the streets.
The air carried the message of winter. I shoved my hands deep into my coat pockets, half-jogging to stay warm.
It gets colder every year, I thought, making my way into the subway station. The night-shift crowd shuffled along, all trudging in the same direction, bone-tired.
I squeezed onto the train, struggling to free one hand from the press of bodies to grip the cold metal pole.
The late-night subway was always the same—no one wanted to talk, passengers either yawning or staring down at their phones.
The mechanical voice announced stop after stop. People boarded and alighted in waves. I finally got a seat, rubbing my aching lower back, and at last had a chance to pull out my phone.
On the lock screen, WeChat showed messages from two contacts.
I opened them one by one, patiently.
The first was from my coworker on the same project.
"Sis Ting, I'll send you my part tomorrow. Just missing the wrap-up section."
Perhaps it was from gripping that freezing pole—my right hand felt stiff as I typed.
I exhaled, blew on my fingers, and slowly typed back:
"Received."
The second was from an old high school friend.
"Ting, Lucas got married! Do you remember Lucas? That super-smart guy from our high school, pretty handsome too. I remember you really liked him in high school. Let me tell you, he..."
My thumb froze. The rest of the wall of text blurred into nothing.
My eyes locked on those five words.
"Lucas got married."
I'd imagined this moment countless times—wondered what I'd feel if this day ever came. I always thought I'd accept it calmly.
I acted as if nothing had happened. I opened the photos of the wedding ceremony my friend had sent, tapping to zoom in.
Lucas in a black suit stood on stage, tilting his head toward the woman holding his arm, his eyes full of tenderness and love.
The woman in her wedding dress smiled radiantly back at him, luminous and beautiful.
A perfect match.
He really did marry her.
The girl he'd loved since high school.
I turned off my phone. I couldn't look anymore. Maybe it was the mask I wore, but I felt like I couldn't breathe. An ineffable, complicated emotion surged through me.
I looked up—and found my vision swimming. Everything around me had gone hazy, shimmering and refracting.
The light rings blurred and doubled, overlapping into streaks.
That train carried passengers home, stop after stop, hurtling toward the terminal. The car grew emptier and emptier until only a handful remained. The train raced forward so fast that the whole car swayed and rattled.
I sat in that row of seats, staring blankly at the advertising signs that flicked past.
And somehow, I was sitting in my middle school classroom again.
I could hear the final bell ringing.
2
A familiar voice rang out: "Zhuo Ting, stop sleeping! School's out. I need to lock up."
I rubbed my eyes, yawned, and finally dragged my head up from the desk.
Still groggy, I grumbled about the rain today, reluctantly pulling out my umbrella and bag from my desk.
Unzipped my bag, tossed a few books in, zipped it back up, tried to lift it—and found it absurdly heavy.
Unzipped it again and dumped everything out.
Slinging the empty bag over my shoulder, I shuffled out of the classroom and down the hallway.
The teaching building was nearly empty. The security guards, eager to clock out, had already turned off the corridor lights.
Standing under the eaves, watching the rain fall, I opened my umbrella and stepped through the school gates.
The downside of leaving so late was that all the food vendors who usually crowded the entrance had already packed up. My plan to grab a snack to tide me over was dashed.
Occasionally, one or two students in the same uniform as mine jogged past, muttering, "Gonna miss the bus home."
Only I strolled along at a dawdling pace, wishing each step could stretch into two.
Home? What home? A home without a father or mother.
I kicked at pebbles along the road, yanked at random flowers blooming by the wayside—until I heard faint meowing.
I followed the sound deeper into the bushes.
And saw this.
A boy wearing the same school uniform pants as me, upper body in just a plain white T-shirt, turned slightly away, head lowered. I couldn't see his face.
From the crook of his arm poked a tiny kitten's head, the kitten wrapped in a school uniform jacket.
The kitten was adorable, though it didn't look well. I held my umbrella aloft and realized—he wasn't holding one.
The rain wasn't heavy, but it wasn't light either. Staying out like this, he'd get sick.
I hesitated for a long while before finally moving my feet, step by step, and then breaking into a jog.
I was standing right next to him now, but still had to gather every ounce of courage before I could raise my umbrella over his head.
Before I could even lift it that high—
The person holding the kitten must have heard my footsteps. He carefully tucked the kitten closer and looked up in the direction of the sound.
The tips of his black hair were already damp from the rain, a few messy strands tucked behind his ears. His ear cartilage was pale from the wet chill. No glasses.
A pair of bright, clear eyes met mine. Thick eyebrows, striking bone structure that gave his whole face a sculpted quality. Lips pressed faintly together.
He looked up suddenly, blinking a little—like he couldn't quite see who was there through the rain. And then he found me, the girl standing there with an umbrella. Our eyes met.
My breath caught. My heart skipped, then lurched out of rhythm.
The umbrella I'd been raising froze, stiff, hovering in midair between us. The round canopy carved out a rain-free island in the downpour, giving us one small pocket of stillness amid the drumming rain.
Raindrops hit my head and jolted me awake. I took a step closer and raised the umbrella over him.
I heard my own voice speaking before I could think: "It's raining—you need an umbrella. It's not good for the kitten to get wet."
I was stumbling over my words, incoherent. The moment they left my mouth I cringed, furious at myself for not even being able to speak properly.
I stood there awkwardly holding the umbrella, my free hand unconsciously tugging at the fuzz on my coat, not knowing where to put it.
To my relief, the boy seemed to notice my discomfort. He smiled and gave me a nod.
In the concentric ripples blooming across puddles, the pattering rain landed—some on lotus leaves in the lakeside park, some on his shoulder, some on that small umbrella's fabric.
I think, in that moment, most of it landed in my heart, gathering into a winding little river that coursed through my mountains and fields.
Through the rain, I heard him speak.
"Could I trouble you to hold the umbrella over the kitten for me? I'm taking her to the animal rescue station at the end of the street."
I didn't need to be asked twice. I quickly lifted the umbrella higher, enough to cover him completely.
He smiled again and waved his free hand. "No need to cover me. Just cover you and her."
I did as he said, pulling the umbrella back slightly, tilting it toward my side.
And so we walked side by side through the rain, quick-stepping. He seemed anxious, moving fast—I was half-walking, half-jogging to keep up. A distance that shouldn't have felt short seemed, somehow, to vanish in an instant.
After leaving the kitten at the rescue station, he thanked me. I was about to say it was nothing, but he just dipped his head at me and then hurried off, disappearing around the corner wrapped in his school jacket.
I stood there holding my umbrella, mouth opening and closing, watching his back grow smaller and smaller.
I didn't even know his name.
I looked up, and the rain came down harder. It seemed to be building.
Rainy days... maybe they weren't so hated after all.
3
When I got home, Grandma was sitting on the woven mat, lazily waving a palm-leaf fan. Seeing me come in, she squinted, slipped on her shoes, shuffled over, grabbed a towel from the rack, and started rubbing my hair.
"Here—dry yourself. I'll heat up your dinner."
She pressed the towel into my hands and shuffled back toward the stove, her steps a little unsteady.