It had been about a week since Di took a leave from school.
He wasn't sick.
He wasn't particularly sad either.
But every day when he woke up, he had no idea what he was supposed to do.
No alarm clock.
No uniform.
No noise.
His parents were still away on business trips.
Even after he withdrew from school, they didn't ask.
Maybe they didn't even notice.
The apartment was large, almost too large.
And so quiet, it felt like the sound had disappeared.
He sat on the sofa, staring ahead.
Not reading.
Not watching TV.
Not holding his phone.
Just sitting.
—
He raised a hand and lightly touched the corner of his lip.
It still stung a little.
That was where Jie had bitten him.
That kiss—too sudden, too fast, too close.
But the wound was still there.
It reminded him: it happened.
It really happened.
—
He often wondered—
If he hadn't said "I'll help you" that night,
would things be different now?
But he did say it.
Because he knew, Jie really liked Lan.
And he… didn't want to hold anyone back anymore.
Still, he hadn't expected—
That stepping away would be this hard.
—
He lowered his head.
He suddenly remembered—
It had been a whole week since he started staying home.
No one asked about him.
No messages.
No missed calls.
His parents didn't even ask if he was okay.
—
A bitter laugh escaped his lips.
Then a strange thought came to him:
If he stayed like this,
quiet, still, completely out of the picture…
Would anyone even notice?
—
He stood up and walked to the balcony.
The sunlight was blinding.
The wind wasn't cold at all.
Out of nowhere, he thought of dumplings.
Not frozen ones.
But the kind his grandma used to make.
Chive and shrimp, piping hot,
the kind that would spill broth when you took a bite.
—
"If only Grandma were still here…"
He whispered it softly.
—
He remembered the first time he learned to ride a bike.
Two wheels. He fell. Hard.
Knees scraped open, bleeding.
Grandma didn't scold him.
She didn't rush to lift him up.
She simply walked over, squatted beside him, gently touched his head, and said—
"Just stand up."
—
Di's eyes began to sting.
If Grandma were here, she would probably make a bowl of soup,
wrap her arms around him, smooth down his hair, and say—
"Come on, have another dumpling."
—
That kind of comfort didn't solve anything.
But it gave you enough strength…
to keep going.
—
He glanced at the empty kitchen, then quietly walked over.
Opened the freezer. Took out the dumplings.
The pot started to boil.
He stood by the stove, staring at the rising bubbles.
And for the first time in days,
a small thought surfaced in his mind—
Maybe…
Maybe it was time to try again.
Maybe it was time to stand up.