Love for One Night

Ch 1: The Night I Can't Forget (1)

When she was little, there were always things that adults made her do that she couldn't figure out why she had to do. She was made to write diaries and travelogues during summer vacations, call a man she didn't know "dad," and refer to a boy she barely recognized as her "brother." She assumed there were reasons behind these demands, believing that adults always knew best.

Back then, she thought that being an adult meant understanding what you were doing, why you were doing it, and how to do it. However, as she grew up, she realized that there were many moments when she felt lost. Despite her busy life, she would occasionally pause, unsure of her actions and their purpose.

Like now, as she awoke on a Saturday afternoon in an unfamiliar bed, staring at a ceiling sprayed with acoustic paint, textured like the uneven face of her first love, she found herself questioning how she ended up there.

Okay, she admitted, she had quite a bit to drink yesterday, but not enough to lose consciousness. The other man was rather well-endowed, and it seemed she had enjoyed herself. However, her mind felt too blank at the moment to want to, or even dare to, contemplate what had truly happened.

In her traditional culture, a girl is expected to maintain her chastity until marriage and remain faithful to her husband afterward. Of course, society has become more lenient toward women nowadays. Her mother left her real father to pursue love and did not face too much resistance from her grandparents.

However, her mother taught her from a young age that girls should approach sexual matters with care. Her mother often said, "Men who win you over too easily may not cherish you enough."

She had always been an obedient child. However, the scene she encountered at her boyfriend's bedroom door yesterday shattered her illusions. Unprepared for the harsh reality, she realized that her caution hadn't led him to appreciate her more; instead, it had given him an excuse to betray her trust and be with another woman.

Of course, she would never admit to feeling that vulnerable—certainly not to the point of punishing herself over a man. Women who did that were, in her eyes, utterly pathetic.

She was the one who organized her first painting exhibition at the age of ten.

She was the one who received a full scholarship from ECU to study abroad at the age of sixteen.

She was the one who claimed third place in the Western Amateur Women's Sanda League just last month.

As tough as she was, she hadn't been defeated by her formidable Western competitors, so how could she possibly be broken by a mere heartbreak?

It made her feel a lot better to think that way.

She didn't really want to move; lying here was quite comfortable. Mostly, her back hurt when she moved, and the tendons in her thighs didn't seem to be very pleasant.

The sheet beneath her was smooth and soft. As she ran her fingers over it again, they brushed against a dry, rough patch. She hesitated to look at it or consider what it meant. Surely, a hotel with sheets of this quality wouldn't be hounding guests for payment.

She chuckled to herself. How many clandestine affairs had this bed witnessed? People turned a blind eye; who cared about such things? Even she found herself less concerned than she thought she would be. What mattered more now was that it was already past noon, and she needed to decide whether to pay for two days. Hopefully, the man was a gentleman and had settled the bill in advance.

In the end, she got up. She wondered if she lingered any longer, the receptionist might come knocking to check on her.

Clothes, like weary souls resigned to their fate, lay strewn from the doorway to the bed. She picked them up one by one, dropping each piece onto the couch. A sticky note, bearing a phone number filled with '8's, was pressed against the nightstand. In her culture, the number '8' sounded like the word for fortune, making it particularly auspicious. She glanced at the note, crumpled it up, and tossed it in the trash.

Towels lay scattered across the bathroom counter and floor. The shower was still wet, with two curly hairs clinging to the tiles. It seemed the man hadn't been gone long. A small, square, silver packet floated on the surface of the toilet water. She stared at it briefly before pressing the button. A soft flash of silver light swirled in the white water, causing her heart to clench inexplicably.

There shouldn't be any trouble from that.

She eased herself into a bath of hot water, feeling the gentle waves buoy her and soothe her aching back. As her hand brushed against her skin, tiny bubbles rose from the slightly blue water, eager to burst at the surface. The room was silent, enveloped in peaceful stillness.

Was anything different? It didn't seem so, at least not on the surface. But change often happens in ways that aren't immediately visible, especially with people. Her mind wandered back to the moment she opened the door, catching sight of two slightly startled faces. She had left calmly.

There was nothing in the world to worry about. Wrapping her arms around herself, she tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and sank deeper into the water's embrace.