Morning Departures and Cafeteria Romance

Another morning dawned.

Once again, I woke for reasons unknown, then rose to brush my teeth and wash my face. A faint sound of a neighbor’s door opening reached my ears, indicating I had woken quite early today, just in time for his commute.

I didn’t know the neighbor’s name, but I was aware he had a son. Or at least, I assumed it was his son, judging by their ages.

We had never exchanged words; our interactions were limited to occasional sightings on the path outside our homes, a silent acknowledgment of each other’s presence in the building.

Yet, this simple awareness seemed to foster a subtle sense of belonging.

It was as though the mere existence of another, confirmed by a fleeting glance, served as proof of our lives here, allowing us to find peace in our small corners of the world.

Descending the stairs, I found my sister in the midst of ‘packing.’ In truth, she was merely searching for her phone charger.

“Are you leaving?” I inquired.

“Yes, I have class this afternoon, so I need to head back,” Yi Shi replied, her head buried near an outlet in the living room as she rummaged.

I had no intention of helping her locate the charger; I simply didn’t want to hear her thank me.

Turning, I entered the kitchen, intending to prepare some breakfast. However, upon opening the refrigerator, I discovered my reserved bread was gone.

Perhaps Father had devoured it all when he returned hungry last night, or maybe my sister had. Either way, it hardly mattered.

“Going to school so early?” she asked, rising and turning to face me as I picked up my bag, ready to leave. “I’m already on my way out, and you won’t say anything to your sister?”

I gazed at her face, its familiar contours offering a sense of calm.

Her expression, as always, was light and cheerful.

“Well…” I paused, carefully choosing my words. “Be careful when you drive. Don’t play with your phone.”

I wouldn’t utter farewells or ‘take care.’ She would return next week anyway, and even if not, there would be countless other opportunities in the days to come.

As family, we would always gather at home eventually, even if we didn’t communicate much. That was enough, enough to soothe the agonizing cries of pain that echoed within our souls.

My words were spoken; there was no reason to linger.

Adding anything more would feel out of place. It was time to leave.

“A-Chang,” my sister called out, using my childhood nickname. “You have a sensitive stomach, so don’t eat breakfast while walking, okay?”

Something flowed into me, mending the tattered, painful void within.

I knew this wound would never truly heal; I only sought relief, a reprieve from the soul-rending agony.

“Okay.”

I didn’t answer her directly. A simple reply, then I pushed the door open and left.

No doubt, when I opened this door again later today, it would be the usual empty space.

Should I yearn for it? Should I yearn for a life where someone awaited me every time I opened the door? Such a desire felt impossibly distant.

Then should I endure it? Endure this profound silence, endure the myriad of ‘what ifs’ that greeted me each time I pushed the door open?

I had no answers.

****

Everyone, I imagine, understood the dynamics of a school cafeteria.

Early arrivals could enjoy pleasant window seats, far from the crowds, or at the very least, savor a hot meal. Those who arrived a little later, delayed by teachers or distant classrooms, were relegated to patiently queuing in long lines at the serving windows.

They would then eat their meals on chairs still warm from previous occupants, at tables littered with scraps.

Consequently, students always rushed into the cafeteria, vying for a spot.

Yet, there was an exception today: a man plagued by romantic woes, who, trusting a friend’s ‘brilliant idea,’ had deliberately arrived late for lunch.

There were only two things to do while waiting in line.

One was to bury your head in your phone; five or six minutes was often enough time to clear some stamina in a mobile game. The other, naturally, was to chat with acquaintances or friends standing nearby.

“Class Monitor, what… what do you usually do at home?” Gao Qinghong asked.

He clearly stood a head taller than the girl in front of him in line, who appeared quite petite by comparison.

“Hm? Mostly just homework, reading, and watching TV dramas with my mom,” Tang Xiaoxiao replied.

True to her name, she always spoke with a smile, two dimples gracing her cheeks.

“That’s it?”

“That’s it, what else would I do?” she countered, not turning to look at Gao Qinghong.

The Class Monitor had glanced back once before, only to see his chest. It was too awkward to crane her neck up, and turning fully would make her lose her place in line, so she simply opted not to look again.

“I’m more curious about how you guys usually spend your time,” she continued. “It feels like you’re always running around outside.”

“Playing basketball with friends definitely means always being outside,” Gao Qinghong said, his tanned skin offering convincing proof.

“After playing for hours, I’m so exhausted after a shower that I immediately fall asleep. That’s how a day goes by.”

“What about homework, then?”

“Uh… well…” Gao Qinghong stammered, at a loss for words.

He wanted to crack a witty joke in front of the girl he liked, but he couldn’t think of a humorous way to gloss over the topic.

“You and Huang Zhouyu should be careful, you know. The study committee member reports your homework status to Brother Hai every week.”

“Alright, alright.”

He was undoubtedly regretting his answer, as the conversation had instantly stalled.

He should have said something that would prompt Tang Xiaoxiao to playfully tease him, like the boasts he usually made to friends, such as, ‘I’m an athlete, some subjects are exempt from exams.’ Yet, he feared annoying her and held his tongue.

Now, he needed to introduce a new topic.

Gao Qinghong certainly had female friends, and he’d even had several ‘develop-feelings-after-dating’ relationships with girls both inside and outside of school. Among his friends and at social gatherings, he was eloquent, witty, and humorous.

However, standing before Tang Xiaoxiao, his heart’s relentless pounding deprived his brain of oxygen, sending his rationality offline.

“Brother Yi,” Huang Zhouyu leaned over and whispered to me. “Do you think Qinghong can successfully seize this opportunity?”

“What would count as successfully seizing it?” I asked, as we watched the two queuing from our corner spot.

“Let me think… like, asking her out?”

Before becoming a couple, it was perfectly normal for friends to hang out. However, Gao Qinghong and Tang Xiaoxiao’s current relationship was merely that of classmates who could exchange a few words.

To use a game’s affection level, they were at ‘nodding acquaintance.’ It probably wouldn’t be that smooth. Yet, on second thought, if he could successfully ask her out and, in doing so, become friends, it would still be a significant step forward for him.

“It’s possible,” I said. “The Class Monitor isn’t *that* busy every day, is she?”

“It’s not about being busy or not,” he said, shaking his head solemnly. “Sometimes, whether a girl is willing to go out purely depends on who’s extending the invitation.”

As he spoke, he suddenly clutched his chest, as if struck by a pang of anguish, stemming from some painful memory.

“It’s quite something to make yourself suffer by talking about it,” I remarked.

Huang Zhouyu didn’t usually seem to interact much with girls. He was handsome and should have been popular, yet he too suffered romantic setbacks, and it appeared to be more than once or twice.

“So, what do you think?” I asked him. “Will my advice to him work?”

“Your advice is certainly fine. Knowing the Class Monitor is always late because she handles class affairs, you suggested that Old Gao specifically wait for her.

“Then, striking up a conversation while queuing would be natural and not abrupt. It’s a very good strategy.”

After praising me, he looked at Gao Qinghong, his face full of pity.

“It’s Gao Qinghong who’s the problem,” he said, spreading his hands. “It’s hopeless. He’s fine chasing other girls, but chasing the Class Monitor? No chance.”

“You already have the answer, so why ask me?”

“Well, I wanted to hear what you thought.”

I didn’t know how Huang Zhouyu could discern whether two people were compatible or destined to be together.

I possessed no such ability. More accurately, I had never even contemplated romance, nor analyzed its nature.

From a purely superficial perspective, couples were simply two individuals who had gained a more direct means of intimacy. That was the extent of my understanding.

My gaze returned to the two in line; it seemed they had found a new topic of conversation.

“Class Monitor, don’t you usually go out?”

“Occasionally, I’ll go out for a meal and chat with friends,” she said. “Why do you ask?”

“Um… by ‘friends,’ do you mean Xuanfang and Yuling?” Gao Qinghong grew tense. He didn’t want the Class Monitor to be eating out with other boys. “Do you ever go out with guys?”

Though he’d asked, given his status, he was merely a classmate. Even if he knew, what then?

“No, just with Xuanfang and Yuling,” she replied after a moment’s thought. “Occasionally, with a few other girls from different classes.”

“Ah, I see.” He relaxed, then a newfound confidence and courage seemed to surge within him. “Then this weekend…”

“I generally don’t go out when boys invite me,” she said, still addressing his previous question. “After all, girls have their own affections and rivalries. You never know who you might upset, so it’s better not to get too close to boys.”

Gao Qinghong’s fleeting courage came and went just as quickly.

His entire emotional state was being manipulated by Tang Xiaoxiao’s words, swinging from sudden despair to sudden joy, then back to despair. From a distance, he looked rather comical.

“He’s out of material,” Huang Zhouyu declared, unable to watch any longer. “Gao Qinghong is completely done for. There’s nothing more to see. We should go eat something ourselves.”

“You’ve already figured it all out?”

“What else is there?”

Without a moment’s lament for Gao Qinghong’s failure, Huang Zhouyu was already pondering what to eat for lunch.

“I’m going to the second floor for curry chicken,” he concluded. “It has meat and vegetables, can be mixed with rice, and only costs as much as one meat dish. Now I understand why characters in Japanese anime love curry rice so much.”

‘I hope your reasons for liking it are the same.’

“What about you, Brother Yi? Want to get curry chicken too?”

“As for me,” I began, turning my head to observe.

The long queue at the serving window seemed only to grow. The two who had been waiting for so long were making painfully slow progress, trapped within the crowd.

It looked like it would be a long time before they got their food, but Gao Qinghong had already lost his fighting spirit. Disheartened, he no longer tried to speak with the Class Monitor.

“I’ll go check out the second floor as well.”