Zhan stands up, and I take it as my cue.
"Zhan, can we talk?" I ask, hoping.
He barely hesitates. "I'm a bit tired. I want to rest a little before work." His tone is calm, almost dismissive, as he walks into the room and closes the door behind him.
I sit there for a moment, unsure if I should feel embarrassed or just let it go. Maybe both.
"Go and talk to him," Grandma says, her voice gentle but firm. A quiet push of encouragement.
I take a breath, gather whatever confidence I can, and follow.
When I open the door, Zhan is already lying on the bed beside Ji Li's, his back to me. He doesn't turn, doesn't acknowledge my presence beyond the steady rise and fall of his breathing.
I step inside, hesitating before speaking.
"Zhan, I'm sorry about last night," I say.
For a second, there's silence.
Then, without moving, he replies. "No big deal."
His voice is neutral. Distant.
I sighed, running a hand through my hair. No more half-truths, no more dodging. I needed to say it properly.
"Zhan," I started, steadying myself. "I know you like me. And I don't want to lead you on, only to break your heart in the long run."
Silence stretched between us. For a moment, I wondered if he'd just ignore me. Then, slowly, he turned to face me.
"Am I too ghetto for you?" he asked.
His voice was calm, but his eyes, his eyes held something raw, something that twisted in my chest. The fact that he even had to ask, that he thought I saw him that way, broke something in me.
"No," I said quickly. "No, Zhan, you're not too ghetto for me."
I sat beside him on the bed, close enough to feel the warmth of his presence but not close enough to touch.
He held my gaze for a second longer like he was searching for something in my face. Then, with a quiet exhale, he turned away again, his back to me.
"I see," he murmured.
That was it.
No argument. No accusations. Just those two words, spoken like a door quietly closing between us.
And I wasn't sure if I was supposed to knock or just walk away.
"My mom made this arrangement with her childhood friend," I say, my voice trembling slightly, enough to surprise even me. "Her daughter and I got engaged three months ago."
Zhan sits up immediately, turning to face me fully. His expression is unreadable at first, but his eyes burn with something sharp.
"I'd appreciate it if you just said you don't want to have anything to do with me instead of lying," he says, his voice edged with frustration. "Mia said you told them you were single."
"I am," I say quickly. Too quickly.
My hands are shaking as I unlock my phone, scrolling until I find what I need—a video. I press play and hold it out to him.
Zhan watches, his face shifting through emotions I can't quite name. His jaw tightens. His lips press together. Then something softer, something sad, settles in his eyes.
"She's pretty," he murmurs, smiling, but it doesn't reach his eyes. It's the kind of smile that looks like it hurts. "I'm happy for you."
He looks up at me then, really looks at me, and I swear—he's biting back tears.
YOU ARE READING
Swamp Murder
أدب الهواةWang Yibo, a medical doctor from Harvard University, was born into a prestigious family. His mother is a judge, and his father is a general. Given their backgrounds, it is no surprise that Wang Yibo was driven to pursue a successful career in the me...
