The electric toothbrush hummed softly against her molars, a steady rhythm echoing through the small bathroom of her apartment as she stood in front of the bathroom mirror, eyes staring at her reflection, hair wrapped up in a towel after showering.
Sunlight had just begun to slip past the blinds, tracing pale lines across the sink and tiled floor. It was early — too early for thoughts to press too heavily — and Ruolin preferred it that way. Mornings were when the world was still gentle, still peaceful.
She rinsed. Spat. Repeat. Reached for the towel hanging by the mirror and wiped her mouth. And then she proceed to wash her face, doing her skincare routine diligently in hopes it will freshen her up.
Just as she rinsed her face, her phone, which was perched precariously on the edge of the basin, buzzed once.
[New message]
From: LZU Medical Group
Good morning, Miss Sun Ruolin. This is LZU Medical Group. Dr. Li would like to schedule a follow-up consultation regarding your recent check-up. Please let us know a convenient time. Thank you and take care.
Her hands on her cheek stills.
Ruolin stared at the message, mouth slightly parted. The quiet of the bathroom deepened, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
A follow-up?
She hadn't expected that.
Well, not really.
Of course, she knew she hadn't been feeling well. But it was the kind of tiredness you collected after years of chasing deadlines, staying up late editing scripts, skipping elevators just to reach your step count. That kind of exhaustion.
Not the kind that asked for… a follow-up.
She glanced back at the mirror and tried to figure out if there had been anything wrong. She looked... normal. No shadows under her eyes, no strange paleness, no signs of sickness. No ghost pale like Qiao Hui said the other day. She looked healthy, and she mostly definitely believed so.
After a moment of overthinking, she decided it was probably nothing. Maybe she was just tired. Maybe her brain was doing that thing again — making something out of nothing. She turned back to the mirror one last time, scrutinizing her reflection under the warm bathroom light.
"I look normal," she murmured to herself. Healthy, even. And she wanted to believe that. She wasn't imagining that, was she?
Shaking the thought away, she reached for her serum, then moisturizer, carefully smoothing them over her face in practiced motions. With her skincare routine done, she grabbed her phone from the counter, took a steadying breath, and padded out of the bathroom.
But just as she reached the doorway, something made her pause. She glanced back, eyes catching her reflection one more time — just to be sure.
Still her. Still fine.
She gave herself a small nod, as if convincing both the mirror and herself, before finally walking away. She walked to the kitchen, barefoot against the warm wood flooring, her thoughts trailing like shadows behind her.
A soft clink echoed as she placed her mug down — barley tea, barely steeped. She didn't take a sip. Instead, she picked up her phone again and read the message once more.
Dr. Li would like to schedule a follow-up consultation…
She remembered the room. The clean lines, the muted light, the quiet hum of machines.
And of course, she remembered him. His eyes focused, his tone professional, his presence calm but distant.
He hadn't said anything that day, at least nothing unusual. Nothing out of the blue. No urgency. No alarm. Just: We'll run a few tests. It might take a few days.
And now this.
"Maybe it's routine," she whispered to herself. "Maybe it's nothing."
But a tiny knot had begun to tighten beneath her ribs, subtle and slow, like a thread being pulled from the inside out.
~×~
Ruolin placed her phone down and sat at the edge of the couch, now in her oversized shirt she always wore during a day off like this. The sleeves dangled past her elbows. Her hair was half-dried after taking off the towel, clipped loosely to the side with that same ribbon barrette.
She curled her legs to her chest and leaned back on the couch. Then, she exhaled. A long, quiet breath.
Was it serious?
No one said it was. But no one said it wasn't either.
"I don't feel that bad," she thought. "Just a little tired. Just a little dizzy. That's all."
But even as she tried to reason, her fingers curled gently into her sleeve — a habit she'd kept since high school, back when comfort came in cotton and soft colors.
She reached for her phone again and typed a reply.
Hello, thank you for the message. I'm available tomorrow afternoon after 3 PM, if that works. Please let me know.
She hit send and let the moment pass.
But something had changed.
Outside, the city had begun to wake. Cars moved. Leaves rustled. The sun making its way up to shine the world. The day unfolded, unaware. And in a small apartment tucked within it, Sun Ruolin sat still, her heart thudding softly against her ribs — steady, but not quite right.
She picked up her phone again, fingers hesitating over the screen as she opened her contact list. Her thumb hovered above her mom's name, her chest tightening with indecision. How was she supposed to say it? That she might be sick?
"Mom's going to overreact," she murmured, barely audible even to herself. Nothing was confirmed yet. It could be something minor; something harmless. Bringing it up now would only make her worry, spiral, maybe even cry.
She scrolled down, finding her dad's name next. For a second, she thought maybe. She just wanted to look for some reassurance from her parents, but then she shook her head.
"He'll tell mom. And they'll both panic."
Which is worse.
A quiet sigh slipped out of her lips as she turned the phone over and set it face down on the armrest beside her. She leaned back against the couch, arms loosely wrapped around herself.
"It's probably nothing," she whispered to the silence.
But somewhere deep inside her — buried in a place she didn't want to touch — a quiet, persistent ache had begun to stir. Not pain, not fear. Just something unnamed. And it wouldn't stop echoing.