The rain had softened by the time they stepped outside, a light drizzle that clung to the air rather than fell. Yu Liang fumbled with the cheap, half-broken umbrella he'd bought from a street vendor a year ago. It clicked open after a struggle, half-jammed on one side, but wide enough to cover the two of them if they walked close—closer than he expected.
She didn't complain. She just smiled, that same lopsided curve of her lips that had caught him off-guard at the noodle shop. Her hair shimmered under the glow of the streetlamp, strands already curling slightly from the moisture. She smelled faintly of jasmine and shampoo.
"You're not used to carrying umbrellas?" she teased, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. The motion revealed a delicate wrist, a glimpse of the pearl pendant peeking from beneath her sweater's neckline.
Yu Liang glanced down, then quickly back up. "Usually just run through it. Saves time."
"You'd run through it even if you had an umbrella," she replied, laughing gently. "You look like someone always in a rush, but never going anywhere."
That stung, though not in a cruel way. It was too accurate.
He offered a half-smile. "Guess you're not wrong."
They walked side by side, her elbow occasionally brushing his. The umbrella forced closeness, an unspoken intimacy that neither acknowledged. Her body moved with quiet confidence—her hips swaying gently with each step, the fabric of her dark jeans hugging curves that caught the corner of his vision every so often.
Yu kept his gaze ahead. Mostly.
The street glistened under passing car lights, slick from the rain. Neon signs from nearby convenience stores painted the puddles in red and blue. Their reflections shimmered, distorted like everything in his life lately.
"You said you live alone?" she asked after a beat.
"Yeah. Rented place. Not far."
"No roommates?"
He shook his head. "Too expensive to split with anyone reliable."
She looked at him a moment longer. Then nodded, as if understanding more than he said.
They reached the building where she said she lived. It was one of those middle-range apartment blocks—better than his, but not luxury. The front was dimly lit. The rain made the entry tiles shine.
"Thanks for the noodles," she said, turning toward him. Her voice was soft. "And for the umbrella."
He shrugged. "Didn't do much."
"You walked me home." She stepped closer, the space between them tight. She lifted her hand to adjust the strap of her bag, and as she did, her chest brushed against his arm. Her sweater was damp near the collar, clinging slightly. His breath caught.
She didn't seem to notice. Or maybe she did.
"I'll see you around?" she asked.
He nodded. "Yeah. Sure."
A smile. Then she turned and stepped inside, disappearing past the sliding doors.
For a second, Yu stood under the rain, umbrella still held out, staring at where she had been. He realized his hand was trembling slightly.
He walked home slowly.
---
His rented room was still and cold. A single yellow bulb lit the place, casting long shadows across the narrow bed and even narrower table. He tossed his damp shirt on the back of the only chair, kicked off his slippers, and collapsed onto the bed.
The ceiling was cracked in one corner. Water leaked there sometimes, but not tonight.
He reached for the battered notebook on his bedside table and flipped through the pages. His expenses stared back at him: instant noodles, laundry coins, phone bill, rent overdue by five days.
At the bottom of the page, he scribbled: Dinner with girl – 22 RMB.
A small smile curled at