Typhoon Season.

This year's typhoon season arrived unusually early. The warning was issued just yesterday, and by the time I pulled back the curtains this morning, the sky was already heavy with gloom and rain. Without the sun to wake me, all I wanted to do was crawl back into bed.

However, it was already nearly nine o'clock.

Qingzi meticulously taped up every window, then curled up on the sofa, wondering how to spend the day. She opened Weibo looking for suggestions to kill time, only to find the top trending topic was that taping windows during a typhoon is actually useless.

She shared it to her Moments, thinking that if more people saw it, maybe tape wouldn't be so hard to find during typhoon season. After scrolling through a few more posts, she lost interest; she wasn't like A-Chen, who could scroll endlessly. She pulled a bag of chips from the stash she’d bought yesterday, but after just one bite, she saw A-Chen’s comment: "Still, you should tape the windows properly."

Maybe I should go for a walk. The thought struck her suddenly. Even though signs everywhere were scrolling "Avoid unnecessary travel," she felt like this might be necessary. She walked to the window and watched the rain through the glass. Downstairs, a man was sprinting with his briefcase held over his head. Qingzi always felt that watching rain through glass was like watching a movie on mute—it didn't feel real. She cracked the window open just a sliver, and the wind, laden with rain, rushed in, accompanied by the pitter-patter of the downpour.

It was quite heavy. She quickly shut the window. Would turning on the lights make time pass faster? The thought popped into her head. She stood on tiptoe to reach the switch—her slippers were on the other side of the sofa. The room flooded with light, but it felt even more like daytime than before. She turned the light off and finally picked up her phone. Naturally, she had to find A-Chen.

A-Chen was a friend she could talk to for hours, someone she really clicked with. I say that, but the truth is, she hadn't actually seen him that many times. Qingzi believed that "good friends" were people you’d known for a long time after experiencing many things together. She and A-Chen hadn't known each other very long.

It started at a boring dinner party last week. Well, boring for Qingzi, anyway; the others were having a blast with drinking games, barbecue, and beer, acting like a bunch of kids playing dress-up as adults. Of course, she would never say that out loud. After all these years, Qingzi had learned to navigate these occasions with ease, but it was still too noisy, so she just leaned against the window, playing on her phone.

"Hi, your... bracelet is really pretty."

Qingzi looked at the newcomer with a puzzled expression. Then it dawned on her: it was "Truth or Dare" time. The boy told her she had a unique charm and asked if he could add her on WeChat.

She flashed a perfectly measured smile. Even though she was thinking about how strange it was to still use such a cheesy pickup line, she nodded anyway. It was better to be gracious in these moments. She pulled up her QR code and told him to just put his name in the verification message. The table next to them, which had been watching the whole time, erupted into applause. The boy gave a sheepish smile and said thank you.

Qingzi didn't reply, thinking to herself that there was no need to thank her, though she was curious how many girls would actually agree to that. She also felt it was about time to leave, so she started to pack up.

As soon as she stepped outside, the boy chased after her, asking if she was alone and if she needed a ride home. Qingzi quickly declined, saying it wasn't necessary, she was just going to grab a cab. "Then let me walk you to where you can catch one," he said. "I noticed when I came in that the path out doesn't have any streetlights."

Then the boy introduced himself as A-Chen. After the introduction, he said thank you again.

"No, no, I should be the one thanking you for walking me out."

"Thank you for rescuing me from that awkward spot. I was sure I was going to get rejected."

"Why would you think that? Do I look like I'm hard to talk to?"

"Oh, no, it's just that what I said was so silly."

Thinking about it, Qingzi realized it was pretty silly. She gave a noncommittal response.

"They love to use that as a punishment for Truth or Dare."

Just then, the cab arrived. She said a casual goodbye and got in.

When riding in a car, Qingzi liked to rest her elbow on the window frame and watch the dim streetlights cast shadows on her wrist. Whenever she visited a new city, she would take a photo of herself doing the same thing. After settling down in this city, she hadn't taken one in a long time. Partly because the background always looked the same, and partly because there was no one left to see those photos.

She pulled her gaze away from her wrist and checked her WeChat notifications.

"Message me when you want to kill some time."

Qingzi hesitated for a moment, then clicked "Accept" and started scrolling through A-Chen's Moments.

Likes to write things,

Not bad...

Selfies,

Vain...

Likes photography,

So-so...

Shared a current events post,

Little social justice warrior...

Voting for an all-girl variety show,

Tacky...

She hadn't scrolled far when A-Chen sent a message.

"Hello."

Qingzi had to exit her feed to reply, wishing she could scroll through Moments while chatting.

Qingzi was stingy with "likes" because she felt a like meant agreement, and she rarely agreed with what people posted. A-Chen, however, was very active and always managed to find a topic from her posts to start a conversation. Since they were talking about things she was interested in, she didn't feel annoyed. In fact, she even started to feel a little anticipation whenever she posted something new.

Anyway, that’s how they met.

A-Chen sent a specific message:

"Taping the windows is still necessary, you know."

"I did it! I just think it's funny how tape always sells out during typhoon season."

"Well, it is a typhoon."

Qingzi looked out the window; the sky was starting to darken.

"What do you usually do on typhoon days?"

"Usually watch old movies, read a boring book, or write something—things that aren't really meant to be done with other people."

"That's nice. I feel like I have so many things I want to do, but I never know where to start."

"The pleasure of free time and the hesitation of how to spend it are always tangled together."

"The Lover."

This was one of their little games: one would quote a line, and the other would name the source. Qingzi often wondered if A-Chen had been living as her shadow all this time; otherwise, how could they both blurt out the answers so easily? But based on their backgrounds, there was no way their lives could have intersected before.

"Want to go out? I'll take you somewhere."

"Unless necessary, try not to go out."

Qingzi wanted to say yes immediately, but she typed that instead. It felt like if he insisted on going out after that, any trouble would be his responsibility. The sentence carried a strange sense of guilt, making her want to unsend it—partly out of shame for the thought, and partly out of fear that A-Chen would give up on the idea.

"It's very necessary."

"Okay."

Qingzi smiled, put down her phone, and went to find her umbrella and rain boots.

A-Chen was already waiting downstairs. She hurried over.

"Sorry, sorry! Have you been waiting long? I could never get my eyeliner right."

"I just got here. Besides, not many men would mind waiting for a girl to finish her makeup."

Qingzi smiled and nodded.

"I'm not a 'girl' anymore. That line only works on the young ones."

"Is that so?"

A-Chen stared into her eyes for a few seconds before looking away.

"Qingzi is clearly still a girl."

Qingzi rolled her eyes and changed the subject.

Luckily, the typhoon wasn't hitting until tomorrow, so getting a cab wasn't too hard. Once inside, A-Chen took out a bag he’d brought along and put both their umbrellas inside. He’d even taken her umbrella and opened the door for her before closing his own. That was one of the reasons she liked him—he always made the people around him feel comfortable.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see when we get there."

A-Chen gave the driver an address not too far away, then rested his elbow on the window frame. Qingzi saw this and blushed, quietly pulling back the hand she had been about to rest there too.

"I just realized my wrists look really nice."

"Because you're too thin."

Qingzi was startled; someone had said that to her once before. She went quiet.

The destination was a small drink shop. Thankfully, there was a large umbrella at the entrance, saving them the trouble of fumbling with the door and getting soaked. Qingzi looked up at the sign: "Drink Summer." The white letters on a blue background were a bit crooked.

"I like the name of this place."

Maybe because her name had "Qing" (clear/sunny) in it, she had always loved summer, and now she liked this shop too.

"Right? I knew you'd like it. I liked it the first time I saw it too."

As he spoke, A-Chen pushed the door open, put the umbrellas in the bag, and held the door for her. As soon as they entered, the music hit them. They caught each other's eyes and smiled.

• Innocent Years.

• Yes, Innocent Years, by Pu Shu.

Even without speaking, the conversation had taken place.

It was a dessert shop.

A-Chen seemed to know the owner well, just saying, "The usual." Then he bragged to Qingzi:

"You know, the owner's best trick is that he makes different flavors based on your mood."

Interesting. Qingzi looked at the owner, who smiled and nodded.

"So, what mood does the owner think I'm in?"

"Just a moment, you'll know when you drink it."

A-Chen got his drink and introduced it to her:

"It's mostly Sprite, but with Vita-lemon-tea jelly inside. One sip and you'll be super satisfied."

Qingzi was tempted to ask for the same thing, but the owner had already handed her a second glass. It was a beautiful layered drink: green on top, yellow on the bottom. She took a sip; the bottom was mango and yogurt.

The owner smiled and said, "Enjoy."

A-Chen and Qingzi found a table. Only then did Qingzi really look around. The wallpaper matched the sign—blue background with white text scattered haphazardly. The decor was a mix of cluttered and delicate, and there was even a record player on the counter. It worked, too; the music in the shop was coming from it. Seeing her staring at it, the owner explained:

"It's Bluetooth. I don't have enough records."

Just then, Innocent Years ended, and the next song began.

Qingzi looked up and caught A-Chen's gaze.

• Guo Yuan Chao?

• Yes, Guo Yuan Chao.

Qingzi took a sip of the top layer—kiwi. It was too sour. If it represented her mood, why were mango and kiwi together?

The next day, the typhoon didn't arrive as expected. The sky cleared up completely, as if the typhoon had drifted past the edge of the city.

A-Chen invited Qingzi to read something he’d written. In his own words:

"If it's you, Qingzi, you'll definitely know where it can be improved."

In reality, A-Chen wasn't a writer; he was a bank clerk. He said writing was just a habit to relieve stress, and if he had to do it for a living, he wouldn't be able to stand it.

Qingzi carefully chose her outfit, worried about being late. She arrived at the meeting spot—the same shop—with a minute to spare.

"You could have just sent it to my phone. It's super hot today."

"I like writing by hand. Sorry about that. Let me buy you a Coke."

A-Chen handed her a white A4 folder and went to the counter to get her a Coke slushie. His handwriting was clean, and the story he wrote was clean, too. Summer, a fruit shop, simple character dynamics, a sudden ending. But just like everything else of his she’d read, she loved this piece.

"Opening a fruit shop would be so nice."

"Yeah, it really would."

Qingzi’s eyes were drawn to the woman at the counter. She nudged A-Chen’s foot.

• Hey, hey, that's flirting, right? That's definitely flirting.

A-Chen smiled, winked, and nodded.

• I've run into her many times.

Qingzi glanced at the toddler the woman was holding—about two or three years old, spinning a pinwheel and laughing.

• A kid? The owner looks so young, no way...

• That kid isn't the owner's.

The woman got her drink, thanked them with a smile, and walked toward them with the child. Qingzi and A-Chen stopped their silent exchange. Qingzi smiled at the child, and the child smiled back. But because he’d been spinning around so much, he got dizzy and knocked over A-Chen’s cup. A-Chen quickly caught the boy to keep him from falling, wiped the Sprite off his pants with a napkin, and mopped up the table. The woman apologized profusely, ready to scold the child. A-Chen let go of the boy, held his hand, and smiled.

"Be careful, okay? It’ll hurt if you fall and hit your head on the table."

The owner made A-Chen a new drink, patted the child’s head, and pulled a White Rabbit candy out of his pocket.

Qingzi bit her straw and mumbled:

"How do you become a gentle person?"

"You want to become a gentle person because you've been treated with gentleness before, and you deeply understand how that feels."

Qingzi was silent for a moment before nodding slowly.

"That’s from Natsume's Book of Friends. You didn't say it out loud! So, is there anything in this piece that needs changing?"

"I don't think so. I love it. A-Chen, you must have had a really good relationship in the past."

Qingzi read it again carefully, even checking for typos.

"Why do you say that?"

"Otherwise, how could you write such a sweet romance? It’s giving me a toothache."

"It's precisely because I haven't experienced love that I think it's so beautiful."

Typhoon season was coming to an end.

If this were a story written by Qingzi, she and A-Chen would fall in love during typhoon season and spend every typhoon season together after that. When it was sunny, they’d sleep under sun-dried quilts; when it was windy, they’d fly kites; when it was cool, they’d go for picnics; and when the typhoon came, they’d curl up on the sofa and finish that long, long movie they hadn't finished last time.

"The wind and rain are clattering outside, and the whole world is today."

But this story wasn't told in Qingzi’s first-person perspective. At the very end of the typhoon season, another typhoon caught the last train home. A rainy day, "Drink Summer," and this time, no mango—only kiwi.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Two years. When I come back, I'll be able to open a fruit shop."

"I can't draw, though."

Qingzi meant to say it with a smile, but her nose stung the moment she did. She didn't understand why she wanted to cry. After all, they weren't even together, and it wasn't a tragic parting. Maybe it was just the feeling that it would be hard to find someone as compatible as A-Chen again. But what hurt even more was that even though A-Chen was such a perfect fit, Qingzi couldn't guarantee she’d be able to wait for him for two years.

A-Chen reached out, took her hand, and tapped her palm.

Qingzi tapped his palm back.

• Can you hear it?

• I can hear it.

A-Chen tapped her palm four times, with a few seconds between each tap.

• I, like, you.

Qingzi suddenly pulled her hand away.

The music in the shop switched to the next track. Qingzi thought of the lyrics:

"Everything gained is a fluke; everything lost is life."

"Zhang Xuan."

"Yeah, that's right."

As expected—or perhaps as Qingzi had intended—she slowly faded A-Chen out of her life over the course of a year. From frequent chats to disappearing from her message list entirely.

During that time, she attended many more dinner parties, encountered many more "Truth or Dare" games, had her WeChat added many times, and would occasionally click "Accept" for those who seemed decent.

It was typhoon season again, and the rain against the window stirred up a faint mist. After waking up, Qingzi taped the windows, wrapped herself in a blanket from the sofa, and started watching Once Upon a Time in America, which she hadn't finished the night before.

At dinner, she suddenly thought of things from a long time ago. There was no typhoon season in the city where A-Chen lived. After eating, Qingzi found some stationery in a box and wrote a long letter.

The next day, Qingzi was woken by the sun. She pulled back the curtains and stretched hard. She wondered if typhoon warnings were just a marketing ploy for supermarkets—they were completely unreliable. Then she saw the unsigned letter on her desk and tossed it into the trash can.

Typhoon season had passed.