“I need a favor,” she said, voice far too casual for something that would undoubtedly ruin my night.
I glanced up from my laptop. “No.”
“You haven’t even heard what it is.”
“I don’t need to. It’s always either embarrassing, expensive, or emotionally exhausting.”
She placed a bowl of noodles in front of me. Bribery. Classic.
“I already bought the movie tickets,” she said sweetly, as if the decision had been mutual. “And I told my friend we’d meet her there.”
“What friend?”
“Zhou Xiaoling. You haven’t met her.”
“I wonder why.”
She ignored that and shoved a pair of black jeans onto my lap. “You’re wearing these.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not going on a double date.”
“Technically, it’s not a date-date. We’re just there to stop Xiaoling from going back to her awful ex. Your presence makes us look like a happy couple. Psychological warfare.”
“That’s manipulative.”
“Welcome to love and war, Shen Xing.”
—
So there we were: standing in line outside the cinema, her chattering away with Zhou Xiaoling while I stood beside them like a statue.
The ex arrived on cue, late and oily-haired, looking exactly like a bad decision with arms.
“Who’s this?” he asked, glancing at me like I was furniture.
She wrapped her arm around mine. “My husband. Shen Xing. Government certified. Emotionally unavailable but very tall.”
I blinked. “That’s… not how I’d describe myself.”
“It’s okay,” she whispered, “just look mysterious and rich. You’re perfect at that.”
Her friend gave me an awkward nod. I nodded back. Socializing: achieved.
—
Inside the theater, she insisted on sitting between me and the aisle. That meant I was stuck between her and the romantic tragedy playing on screen. Every now and then, she’d nudge me and whisper:
“Do you think she should’ve gone with the pianist instead?”
“I think I’m here for popcorn and silence.”
When the heroine started crying, I heard a sniff. Then another.
I looked over. Her eyes were glassy. She was hugging a half-finished cup of soda like it was a security blanket.
“You okay?”
“No,” she whispered. “She gave up her dreams for a man who sells lamps. Lamps, Shen Xing!”
“…I work in finance.”
“I know. That’s why I’m crying harder.”
—
After the movie, we stepped out into the cool night air.
“Thanks,” she said suddenly, quietly. “For coming.”
“You owe me.”
“I’ll pay you in foot rubs.”
“I’ll accept cash.”
She smiled, then slipped her hand into mine—not dramatic, not for show. Just… soft and real.
“You didn’t have to hold my hand,” I murmured.
“I know. But I wanted to.”
For once, I didn’t pull away.
And for the first time, I realized something terrifying.
I didn’t mind it.
Not even a little.
To be continued…
