Three days passed without him showing up.
By the fourth, I noticed myself checking the door every few minutes.
When I caught it, I laughed. Then stopped.
He came in on the fifth day, hair still wet, shirt half-tucked.
"You were gone," I said.
"Had a deadline."
"Missed your cactus."
He looked at it on the shelf. "Still alive?"
"Barely."
He smiled. "That makes two of us."
He sounded tired. Not sad, just worn out.
"You want tea?" I asked.
"Sure."
He sat at the counter while I made it.
"You always this quiet?" I asked.
He nodded. "Mostly."
"Work thing?"
"Personality thing."
I handed him the cup. "Then we'll keep it that way."
He stayed longer than usual. Didn't say much. Just drank, watched the rain outside, then left.
After that, he started coming around at night instead of mornings.
Sometimes with takeout, sometimes just to sit.
He'd set his laptop on the counter, work while I finished closing up.
One night, he asked, "You always eat alone?"
"Yeah."
"You want to change that?"
I looked up. "What, you asking me to dinner?"
"Something like that."
"Fine. But you're paying."
He smiled. "Deal."
The next night, he texted me for the first time.
6 p.m. at Blue Door?
I typed back: Okay.
When I got there, he was waiting by the door, no jacket, just a gray shirt.
"You're early," I said.
"You're late," he said.
He opened the door for me.
The place was small—wood tables, quiet music, not fancy.
We ordered. He didn't talk much, but it wasn't awkward.
Halfway through, he said, "You know, I didn't think you'd actually come."
"Why?"
"You don't seem like the type."
"What type?"
"The type that says yes easily."
He wasn't wrong.
"Guess I got curious," I said.
"About what?"
"You."
That shut him up for a second.
Then he asked, "What did you figure out?"
"Nothing yet."
"Good," he said. "Keep it that way."
When the food came, we didn't talk again until dessert.
He pushed the menu toward me. "Pick something."
"You pick."
"I'm bad at that."
"So am I."
We both ended up ordering the same thing by accident. He laughed.
That was the first time I saw him laugh properly—head tilted, shoulders loose.
After dinner, he walked me to the station.
"Want me to wait?" he asked.
"No."
"Sure?"
"Yeah."
He nodded.
I got on the train and watched him through the window until the doors closed.
When I got home, there was a message:
Forgot to say thanks. For coming.
I didn't reply.
The next morning, he showed up again. No talk about last night.
He helped me move flower boxes inside and stayed until the last customer left.
When I turned off the lights, he said, "You ever think about leaving this place?"
"Where would I go?"
"Anywhere."
"You?"
"Same."
He paused. "But I might leave soon. Got a call from Shanghai."
"For work?"
He nodded. "Temporary. A few months maybe."
I felt something twist in my chest. "When?"
"Next week."
I didn't say anything.
He looked at me. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
He didn't believe it, but he let it go.
When he left that night, he didn't look back.
---
The week went fast.
He came every day, like nothing changed.
We talked about everything except the move.
On the last night, he stayed until I locked the shop.
"You sure you'll be fine?" he asked.
"I've been fine before you showed up."
"Right," he said. "Still."
He handed me a small box. "Don't open it now."
"Why?"
"Just don't."
I nodded.
He looked like he wanted to say something else but didn't.
"Take care," I said.
"You too."
He walked away.
I went home and opened the box anyway.
Inside was a new cactus.
Smaller than the first one.
Next day,
He left on a Monday morning.
Didn't tell me the time. Didn't say goodbye.
I found out because the shop felt different that day.
No one came in for the first hour. No messages. No sound except the door chime once when the wind pushed it.
I looked at the cactus on the counter. The small one he gave me.
Still green. Still standing.
The first few days were quiet.
Then I started noticing how often I checked my phone.
It wasn't that I missed him.
At least, that's what I told myself.
---
On the eighth day, he finally texted.
Made it.
That was it. No name, no emoji, no question.
Just two words.
I typed good and deleted it. Then wrote that's good and deleted again.
In the end, I didn't send anything.
He didn't text again either.
---
A week later, I had to deliver flowers to a small office near the river.
When I came back, I saw someone waiting outside the shop.
A woman.
Neat clothes. Pretty. Looked around my age.
"You're Mei?" she asked.
"Yeah."
She smiled politely. "I'm a friend of Ethan."
That stopped me. "Oh."
"He asked me to check on the shop. Said you might need help moving stock."
I looked around. "I'm fine."
She nodded. "He worries too much."
That sentence stuck. He worries too much.
"He's busy?" I asked.
"Always. But he talks about this place a lot."
I didn't know what to say. She noticed.
"Anyway," she said, "he said you'd pretend not to need help. So I'll leave it here."
She handed me a small brown bag and walked off before I could stop her.
Inside was a packet of tea.
Same brand he always brought.
---
For the next few nights, I started closing later.
I told myself it was because of orders, but really, I just wanted the time to stretch.
One night, I got a message.
Still alive?
I typed, Barely.
He replied, Good. Means you're still working.
Then nothing else.
It became a pattern.
Short messages. Random times. Never too much.
He didn't talk about Shanghai. I didn't ask.
---
Two months passed.
Business stayed steady.
The cactus grew taller.
Then one morning, I got a call from an unknown number.
"Mei?"
It was his voice.
"You okay?" I asked.
"Yeah. Flight tomorrow."
"Back here?"
"Yeah."
I didn't say anything.
He laughed softly. "You don't sound surprised."
"I'm not."
"Guess I should've expected that."
"When are you landing?"
"Evening."
"Fine."
He hesitated. "You'll be around?"
"I always am."
---
The next day felt slow. I cleaned the shop twice. Rearranged shelves. Moved flowers for no reason.
When I closed up, I didn't go home. I waited.
He came right before nine. Same shirt. Same quiet way of walking.
"You look the same," I said.
"Wanted to keep the brand consistent."
"Shanghai didn't change you?"
"Not enough time."
He stepped inside, looked around like he was making sure nothing broke.
"You did fine," he said.
"I told you I would."
He smiled a little.
For a moment, neither of us talked.
Then he asked, "Still eat alone?"
"Yeah."
"Let's fix that again."
"Dinner?"
"Dinner."
---
We went to the same place. Blue Door.
He ordered the same thing as last time.
I didn't even have to look at the menu.
Halfway through the meal, he said, "They offered me another project."
"Here?"
He shook his head. "Beijing."
I stared at him.
"How long?"
"Could be a year."
"So this was just a stopover?"
He nodded once.
I didn't say anything.
He leaned back. "You're angry."
"No."
"Then what?"
"I just don't get why you keep showing up if you're always leaving."
He didn't answer.
We finished eating in silence.
When we stepped outside, it started raining.
He held out his hand. "Same umbrella?"
"I threw it away."
He smirked. "Guess I deserved that."
"Probably."
He walked me to the station again. Didn't try to hold my hand this time.
Before I got on, he said, "I'll call."
"You won't."
"Maybe not."
"Then don't promise."
He nodded once.
The doors closed.
He didn't move until the train left.
---
That night, I didn't check my phone.
The next morning, I still didn't.
By the third day, I did.
Still, no message.