Chapter 8:
Teaching is busy, even for non-homeroom teachers. Tasks pile up, and time slips away. After school, Lin Zhengmo planned to go home but stayed for relay practice. She ordered wired headphones—eager to listen to the MP3 from AhAhAh.
Wandering to the playground, she wore the headphones, clutching the tiny MP3. The May dusk glowed like fresh orange peel, students lingering on the track, their arms golden in the sunset.
The MP3 held 49 voice messages—"A 49-day meeting gift." The first message played:
"Dear Lin Zhengmo, 49 voices. Listen one a day, and we'll meet when done."
Message 1 began: "First time speaking like this. Your name—Lin Zhengmo—is beautiful. I was shocked when I first heard it, though I can't say why yet. Your name drew me to love you."
Lin Zhengmo wrinkled her nose. No love words first?
"You, like me, never planned to fall for a stranger online, yet here we are."
She nodded—online love was unthinkable. AhAhAh was a mystery, a never-ending decimal, a choice without rules.
"Since we started dating, you've been a tempting box. I wonder: How do you look at work? At home? When you look at students? What color do you wear? Does the sun hit your face? I crave every detail." A sigh. "So why won't I meet you?"
The message ended abruptly. Lin Zhengmo stopped, seeing her shoes and swinging headphone wires. A student greeted her: "Good afternoon, Ms. Lin."
She yanked off the headphones, flustered. "Director Jian."
Jian Yue eyed the MP3, smiling. "Listening to English?"
"Yep." Lin Zhengmo stuffed it away.
They walked side by side. Lately, every AhAhAh moment was followed by Jian Yue. Their voices were similar—it was odd, like merging the invisible with the real. Am I crazy? She shivered.
"Teacher Zhao and Gong can't make it," Jian Yue said.
"Just us, then." Lin Zhengmo tensed. Alone again? Jian Yue wasn't bad, but 独处 (alone time) made her awkward.
"Right. Wanna practice first or eat?"
"Not hungry," Lin Zhengmo lied.
"Then let's start." Jian Yue saw through her, chuckling.
Lin Zhengmo blushed, stealing a glance—Jian Yue was watching. Their eyes met, her heart skipping. May's sun exposes everything.
"Practice," she looked away. "How?"
"Just pass the baton. Make sure we don't drop it."
Jian Yue wore a dove-gray shirt over a sleeveless top. She took off the shirt, revealing a toned figure—slim waist, jeans, and... abs. Lin Zhengmo stared, then froze.
Wait— Jian Yue's top was the same style as AhAhAh's photo, different color. Same brand? All fit women wear this? Her mind reeled, linking the unconnected. This is bad.
"Something on me, Ms. Lin?" Jian Yue asked.
"Nope. Let's run."
"Eager?"
"No." She blinked, avoiding her body. "Baton?"
Jian Yue handed her a stick. "I'll run 200m, wait for you."
"Okay."
Watching Jian Yue run—light steps, slim shoulders—Lin Zhengmo thought: Vibrant. Not a word for Jian Yue, but fitting.
At 200m, Jian Yue waved. Lin Zhengmo started running, eyes on her. Jian Yue's smile was... adoring? Embarrassing.
As she neared, Jian Yue's features sharpened in the sunset—lips, eyes, smiling. Lin Zhengmo recalled last night's photo.
Closer, she held out the baton. Suddenly, a soccer ball flew at her head. Before she could react, Jian Yue lunged, the ball hitting her shoulder with a thud.
Lin Zhengmo grabbed her, their arms locking naturally. She found herself in Jian Yue's embrace, hair brushing her cheek, warmth and scent overwhelming her.
"Bad start," Jian Yue laughed.
"Are you okay?"
"Not really. It hurts."
"Where?" Lin Zhengmo stepped back, worried.
Jian Yue turned, offering her shoulder. "Here. Check for me?"