Two weeks had passed since my grandpa died.
In all that time, I hadn't stepped a single foot out of my room. I hadn't spoken to anyone at home, either. Sayma and Alif had sent tons of messages and called me repeatedly, but I left my phone abandoned on the bed, ignoring every single chime. They had even visited the house twice, but no one was able to get me to come out. A few other relatives came by to see me over those two weeks, but they left without a glimpse of me.
From inside the quiet confines of my bedroom, I could hear their muffled voices. They talked about Grandpa, discussing the arrangements and the memories, but eventually, the conversation would shift. When the sound of their sudden laughter drifted through the cracks of my door, a cold bitterness wrapped around my chest.
How can they forget about someone that easily? I wondered, staring blankly at the dark ceiling. If I die... will they forget about me just like that, too?
Lately, Grandpa had been appearing in my dreams. It happened almost every few nights. In those fleeting moments of sleep, his voice would echo through the shadows, calling out to me just like he used to.
"Benny, Benny, where are you?"
In the dream, I would peek out at him from my hiding spot and reply, "I'm here. I'm not dead yet, Grandpa." Then, he would walk over and wrap his arms around me in a tight, warm hug. And right there, held in his embrace, I would start crying uncontrollably—because even inside the dream, some cruel part of my subconscious knew the truth. I could feel that I was dreaming, and I knew that he was already gone.
I lay completely still in the dark, watching the shadows stretch across the room as tears silently rolled from the corners of my eyes, tracking wet paths down to my ears. The weight of everything was suffocating. I desperately wanted to talk to someone—someone who didn't know me, someone completely removed from my world.
Driven by a sudden impulse, I picked up my phone, opened Instagram, and tapped on Song Weilong's inbox. With trembling fingers and tear-filled eyes, I began to type.
Song, two weeks ago my grandfather passed away... I miss him so much. He keeps coming into my dreams, calling out "Benny, Benny, where are you?" and I tell him I'm right here. Then he hugs me, and I just cry so hard because even in the dream, I know I'm dreaming and that he's gone.
I pressed send, staring at the unread message in the empty chat window.
Chime.
A sudden notification shattered the silence, but it wasn't from Instagram. It was that number. I hadn't received a single text from him since that night, but suddenly, a long paragraph popped up on the screen.
"I didn't text you that night because you were tired, and I didn't want to bother you. I thought I'd reply the next evening, but something came up and I couldn't. I heard that your grandpa passed away. I'm so sorry for your great loss. If you feel like talking to someone, you can talk to me. If you keep everything locked inside, your heart will only feel heavier."
Reading the long message, something inside my resolve cracked. I couldn't help myself; I actually typed out a reply.
Do you live near my house? I asked.
His reply came back almost instantly. "It's a secret. But you don't have to worry about stalking. I won't cause you any trouble. You can trust me."
Staring at the screen, a strange, conflicting thought crossed my mind. Part of me desperately wanted to talk to someone—someone who didn't really know me, even if he somehow knew things about me. I tried to tell myself it was fine as long as he remained a stranger. But another voice in my head sharply corrected me: No, it's not okay. He's a stalker.
Pushing the warning aside, I typed out a simple question: Who are you?
It took a few minutes before the three typing dots appeared and vanished. Finally, his message popped up.
"Someone likes you."
Before my brain could even begin to process the bizarre sentence, a sudden, violent pounding shattered the quiet of the house. Someone was loudly hitting my door.
I startled, nearly dropping the phone. The aggressive banging grew louder and more relentless by the second, vibrating through the wood. A surge of hot anger rushed through me, burning away weeks of lethargy.
"What do you want?!" I snapped toward the door, but no one responded. The banging just continued, loud and unbearable.
Unable to take it for another second, I threw off the blanket, marched across the room, and yanked the door open with pure fury.
The moment the latch cleared, the door flew open, and Sayma and Alif practically smacked right into me, throwing their arms around me in a crushing, forceful hug. The sheer momentum of their collision forced my legs to step back a few paces into the room just to stay upright.
"We missed you! We missed you so much!" both of them cried out at the same time, squeezing me tightly.
Sayma finally pulled back, her hands immediately grabbing my face, turning my head from left to right as she inspected me under the dim light. "What have you done to yourself?" she whispered, her eyes welling up with tears before she began to openly cry.
Seeing the two of them standing in my room, completely breaking through my isolation with such raw, unfiltered care, caused a faint, genuine smile to tug at the corners of my lips for the first time in two weeks.
They stayed with me for the rest of the day, lounging in my room from afternoon until the evening took over. They filled the quiet space with chatter, updating me on all the things I had missed in the outside world.
Suddenly, Alif's expression shifted, and she nudged Sayma. "We have two pieces of news to let you know," Alif said, turning to look at me seriously. "One is good news, and the other is sad news. Which one do you want to hear first?"
I leaned back against the headboard. "Choose the sad one."
The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Both of them had been half-lying casually on either side of me, but now, they simultaneously sat up, crossing their legs. Seeing them look so dead-serious made a knot of nervousness tighten in my stomach. I looked between them anxiously. Was it really that bad?
Alif reached out and took my hand, placing it securely between both of her palms. She gently tapped the back of my hand, her voice dropping to a somber, hesitant tone. "I... I don't really know how to tell you this."
Seeing her solemn face. I shot a glance at Sayma, but she was equally stone-faced, staring down at the bedsheets. I looked back at Alif, my heart rate picking up. "Go on," I urged quietly.
"Well..." Alif hesitated for a fraction of a second. "It's about Teacher Wang."
"Teacher Wang?" I repeated, my breath catching in my throat. "What about him?"
"Everyone at the institute is talking about it," Alif said softly, looking directly into my eyes. "They're saying that Teacher Wang is dating."
The words hung heavily in the quiet room. "Dating whom?" I managed to ask, trying to keep my voice completely level.
"Remember that day at the Spring Festival? The pretty female teacher we saw him with?" Alif explained, her grip tightening slightly on my hand. "Everyone is saying they're an official couple now."
The world seemed to pause for a beat. The image of the beautiful, elegant woman from the festival flashed vividly in my mind. She was sophisticated,and effortlessly graceful—someone who was truly, absolutely perfect for him.
Just thinking about it made me heave a deep sigh.