She pushed her against the door

The illness came on fast and fierce,
ebbing and flowing,
only starting to subside after seven or eight in the evening.

Xu Fengruo was utterly worn out,
unsure if she’d fainted or slept,
lying in a haze all day.
When night fell,
she remembered to eat,
ordered a pile of takeout on her phone,
and rushed to the bathroom.

Worse than the illness
was the grimy feeling on her body.
She forced herself to fill half the tub,
soaking until she felt clean.

When she emerged,
all the takeout had arrived,
stacked at the door.

—Click.

The door opened.
Xu Fengruo, in an oversized T-shirt and knee-length shorts,
had a white towel draped over her wet hair,
one hand rubbing it carelessly.
She didn’t treat herself like a patient,
moving with casual ease.

But before stepping out,
she leaned against the doorframe.

Her legs were still weak,
barely holding her up,
needing support after just a moment.

She hadn’t rested a second
when she noticed someone standing nearby.

They’d been waiting there,
holding her pile of takeout bags,
for who knows how long.

The other spoke first,
softly:
“I was worried…”

But before the words finished,
Xu Fengruo moved to flee,
instinctively grabbing the door handle,
her legs stepping back.

Her recklessness backfired.
Her weak legs couldn’t hold her,
and instead of closing the door,
she nearly fell backward.
Luckily, Liu Tingsong was quick,
rushing forward to catch her.

The rustling takeout bags echoed loudly
in the empty hallway.
The pulse under Liu Tingsong’s grip throbbed fiercely.

Last night, Xu Fengruo had pinned her in the alley.
Now, the roles reversed—
Liu Tingsong pressed her against the doorframe.

Unlike before,
there was no palm’s-width gap between them.
They were truly pressed together,
every space squeezed out.

The sudden closeness stunned them both,
leaving them frozen.

The one pinning didn’t move,
the one pinned had no strength to resist.
Her mind was blank,
ears ringing.

Even fully alert,
she wouldn’t know how to face this,
let alone after a day of feverish haze.

Her sluggish brain clicked,
and the first thought was absurd:
Would Liu Tingsong find her bony?

The hallway’s motion-sensor light dimmed,
darkness sweeping in,
stripping away sight.
Heartbeats grew clearer,
intertwining,
unsure who caught up to whom,
gradually syncing.

“Let go,”
Xu Fengruo spoke first,
her voice hoarse—
from illness or the hot bath,
she couldn’t tell.

The other didn’t move,
as if she hadn’t heard.

Since Xu Fengruo was half a head taller,
Liu Tingsong’s breath landed on her collarbone,
tickling with each exhale.

Her thin back pressed against the doorframe,
bones aching,
but she refused to lean forward,
pressing back harder.

Her hands at her sides
clenched and unclenched,
over and over.

Xu Fengruo repeated:
“Let go.”

She turned her head,
trying to create distance,
but caught a faint scent—
not the floral note from before,
but a bitter medicinal smell,
picked up somewhere along the way.

Xu Fengruo frowned,
her churning emotions breaking free.
Almost gritting her teeth, she asked:
“What do you want, Liu Tingsong?”

“How long are you going to pin me here?”

“If someone sees us again,
how will you suppress the trending topic this time?”

“My studio acted on their own before,”
Liu Tingsong finally said.

Xu Fengruo scoffed,
retorting:
“What game are you playing now?
Back in the country to rekindle things with an old flame?”

Their voices were low,
deliberately hushed,
so the motion-sensor light stayed off.
But their emotions couldn’t be hidden,
the resistance and sarcasm in Xu Fengruo’s words
ringing clear to Liu Tingsong.

Liu Tingsong paused,
saying:
“I was just worried about you.”

Xu Fengruo shot back:
“What’s that got to do with you?”

“What? You didn’t tell me when we broke up,
and now you don’t need to tell me to get back together?
You think you can decide it all on your own?”

“What do you take me for, Liu Tingsong?”

Her voice was icy:
“That call was a mistake.
Whether I live or die has nothing to do with you.
Don’t come back here.”

The person in her arms seemed to tremble,
her heartbeat skipping a beat,
breaking their earlier harmony.

She struggled to say:
“Last night was an accident…”

“I know. Your note already explained,”
Xu Fengruo cut her off.

“No need for another apology.
You didn’t disrupt the show.
The bar’s there—
come and go as you please,
it’s none of my business.”

Xu Fengruo paused,
her voice colder:
“But I hope you never come back.
I don’t want to see you anywhere.”

The scene was jarring.
Their posture was intimate,
like lovers in the heat of passion,
lingering reluctantly at the door,
unwilling to part even in the dark.
Yet their words were frigid,
each sentence a stab at the other.

Liu Tingsong opened her mouth,
but didn’t know what to say.
Her forearm brushed Xu Fengruo’s fingertips,
only for Xu Fengruo to pull away.

“Your hands are cold.
Put on some clothes,”
Liu Tingsong said softly.

“If you weren’t pinning me here,
I’d already be inside,”
Xu Fengruo replied, unyielding.

Hearing this,
Liu Tingsong finally stopped pressing.
She stood straight,
stepping back twice.
The light flicked on.

Both were exposed to the brightness again.

Xu Fengruo squinted,
stung by the sudden light.
The person opposite instinctively raised a hand to shield her,
but stopped mid-motion,
lowering it stiffly,
rustling the takeout bags.

Xu Fengruo adjusted quickly,
snatching the bags from her hand,
repeating:
“Don’t come back.
You’re not welcome here.”

With that,
she turned to shut the door.
One foot inside,
she quickly stepped back.

—Slam!

The door shut hard,
dividing the space in two.

Liu Tingsong stood outside,
lost in thought,
unable to hear anything inside.
Her shadow stretched on the floor,
fading into a blur.

After a long while,
she lowered her head,
her gaze falling on her collar.

Xu Fengruo’s hair, still wet,
had dripped onto her clothes,
soaking a large patch.

The person inside didn’t notice,
and wouldn’t care if she did.
Determined to cut ties with Liu Tingsong,
if not for her illness and reluctance to reorder takeout,
she’d probably have thrown the bags out too.

A chair scraped harshly across the floor.

Xu Fengruo rummaged through the bags,
her mind flashing to earlier—
Liu Tingsong’s fingers,
red from carrying the bags for so long.

The memory lasted a moment,
then was forcibly suppressed.

She pulled out some medicine packets,
glancing at the instructions,
too lazy to get water,
swallowing them dry.

She opened another bag.

The porridge in the round container had gone cold,
oil congealing on top,
killing any appetite.

It inexplicably reminded her of the bowl from earlier today.

Liu Tingsong knew how to make porridge.

Xu Fengruo had once been curious,
convinced she had some secret recipe.
She’d pestered Liu Tingsong for ages,
but she wouldn’t spill,
insisting Xu Fengruo wake up early
to watch and learn in the kitchen.

Xu Fengruo tried a few times,
but never made it.
She didn’t know what time Liu Tingsong got up,
always finishing before she woke,
cooling the porridge in a small bowl
so Xu Fengruo could eat it at the perfect temperature.

After a few failed attempts,
Xu Fengruo gave up.

She figured:
Why bother?
Liu Tingsong would handle it,
and she could just eat.
No need to chase recipes.

But one time, by chance,
the night before her first performance,
Xu Fengruo couldn’t sleep,
tossing and turning until dawn.
She heard rummaging outside.

“Are you making porridge?”

Her sudden voice startled Liu Tingsong.

Turning,
she saw the culprit scratching her messy hair,
standing groggily at the door.

“Why so early?”
Xu Fengruo mumbled,
too restless to sleep,
too foggy to be awake,
her head spinning.

She shuffled over,
leaning bonelessly against the fridge,
still intent on stealing the recipe
despite her daze.

Liu Tingsong shook her head,
smiling,
finally sharing her secret.

It wasn’t hard,
just more time-consuming than most would bother with.

She’d get up early,
soak the rice in cold water for half an hour,
using round, plump pearl rice
and a clay pot.

Boil the water in the pot,
add the rice,
stir clockwise over high heat.
Once it boiled,
switch to low heat,
alternating between high and low.
The rice’s fragrance would emerge,
turning thick and creamy.
The grains absorbed the water,
becoming full and soft.
Add a drizzle of oil
or a couple of ginger slices,
then toss in prepared ingredients,
stirring until scalding hot.

Xu Fengruo watched,
then offered to help.

It was her first time,
too inexperienced to dodge the steaming vapor.
Her forearm reddened from the heat,
her mind no longer on any competition,
just stirring with her left hand,
then switching to her right,
muttering under her breath,
her messy hair swaying like a fuzzy dog-tail grass.

Liu Tingsong didn’t help,
leaning against the marble counter,
watching her with a smile.

Morning light slipped through the lattice window,
falling in soft patches on them both.

The memory shattered,
returning to the dim reality.
The kitchen’s small light
made the porridge in the paper bowl look greasier.

Xu Fengruo’s eyelids drooped,
her lashes casting faint gray shadows,
trembling slightly.

Perhaps thanks to Liu Tingsong’s recipe,
the next day’s performance was a success.
Despite being her first time on stage,
she showed no fear or mistakes,
performing beyond expectations,
igniting the entire venue.

That stage gave Burning Meteor their first spotlight,
earning decent reviews
and even a couple of fans.

Xu Fengruo took a deep breath,
burying the memory completely.

She scooped the cold porridge with a plastic spoon,
swallowing it expressionlessly,
just as she had the medicine.

The clock’s hands turned.
The porridge in the paper bowl was half gone.

The phone rang again.
Xu Fengruo answered casually.
This time, a stern middle-aged woman’s voice came through,
saying:
“There’s a music variety show tomorrow afternoon.
Do you remember?
I mentioned it before.”

Without waiting for a reply,
she continued:
“I’ve notified the rest of the band.
They’ll come to your place early.”

“Prepare in advance.
Don’t be too lax.
Be welcoming,
greet the guests proactively.”

She nagged like Xu Fengruo was a child,
then tossed in a carrot:
“Don’t you want to promote the band?
This is a great exposure opportunity.
Perform well.”

Xu Fengruo hummed,
acknowledging.

The woman rambled on,
veering to other topics.
The half bowl of porridge on the table
remained untouched,
left alone,
completely congealed.