The Warmth of Happiness
The weather was getting colder, and the sky over the city was always a dull gray.
Christmas was approaching. The front of the convenience store was decorated with festive ornaments—red and green lights twinkled softly in the night, filling the streets with a cozy holiday vibe.
Another night shift ended. This time, Zhou Shou didn’t wait for me inside the store. He sent a message saying the department was busy before the holidays—he had to stay late to review project reports. Meet you in the car later, he wrote.
At ten-thirty sharp, his car stopped right outside the store.
I opened the door and got in. Our hands brushed together as we both reached for the seatbelt. As always, he took over and fastened it for me.
The car was warm, the air filled with a faint citrus scent that made me feel safe.
“Thanks for your hard work, Xiao Guai.” Zhou Shou started the engine, his voice calm and steady.
“You worked hard too!” I replied, leaving a quick kiss on his cheek.
That kind of small, affectionate exchange had become part of our routine.
The car moved smoothly through the damp, chilly streets.
The silence between us wasn’t suffocating anymore. Instead, it brought a strange sense of peace. That peace made me feel drowsy.
Somehow, I always ended up falling asleep in Zhou Shou’s car.
Just as we were nearing the apartment, Zhou Shou suddenly let out a quiet, surprised “Hmm?”
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s snowing,” he said.
I immediately turned toward the window.
Tiny, sparkling white flakes drifted down through the hazy yellow glow of the streetlights.
It was snowing again.
Zhou Shou pulled over somewhere empty.
He turned on the cabin light, and together we watched the snowflakes dance like little fairies outside the windshield, piling softly against the glass.
“Do you remember the first time I brought you home?” Zhou Shou said suddenly, his voice clear in the small space. It was still low, but I could hear a trace of happiness in it.
My chest tightened.
“It was snowing that day too,” he said, turning toward me. The warm light from the car roof deepened the lines of his face. “At the convenience store—I actually watched you for a long time from outside. You were putting radish into the oden pot. You looked really happy.”
Listening to him, I could almost see that scene again—me working while stealing bites of food, completely unaware of the “trouble” that was about to enter my life.
“At that time…” Zhou Shou’s voice softened, as if he were recalling a distant, precious dream. “It felt like no matter how cold the day was, or how exhausting the work, nothing could crush you.”
He fell silent. The only sound was the snow falling softly onto the car roof.
“Ji Chi,” he said again, voice trembling, “I… I was just too cold. Cold for too long. I don’t know how to talk to people properly. I don’t know how to show love the right way.”
Then he switched off the light. The darkness magnified everything—the sound of our breathing, the heartbeat pounding in my chest.
His pain and loneliness crashed into me like a wave.
The fear and humiliation he’d once made me feel, the pity I had for his past, the conflict and confusion that had tangled around my growing feelings—all of it shattered in that instant.
My body moved before my mind could react.
I unbuckled my seatbelt, leaned over, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
Zhou Shou froze instantly, his whole body stiff. He clearly hadn’t expected that from me.
We had embraced many times, in many places—but this time, I could feel how tense he was under my touch, the tremor in his muscles.
I said nothing, just held him tighter, pressing my cheek to his neck. His pulse beat rapidly beneath my skin. It was damp there, and I realized—
He was crying.
I tightened my arms around him. At that moment, Zhou Shou felt fragile, like a child.
“Zhou Shou…” I whispered his name, my voice rough. “You’ll warm up.”
He stayed stiff for a while, silent, but I could feel him slowly relaxing in my arms.
His head came to rest on my shoulder.
The warmth seeping through my clothes was his tears—not loud sobs, but the quiet breaking of someone who had been holding everything in for too long.
Outside, the snow was falling heavier, the cold sealed away by the car. Inside that small space, only our shared warmth remained.
Two souls, both standing on the edge of their own abyss, once again—on a snowy night—reached toward each other. Clumsy, tentative, but real. Using the warmth of their bodies and their hearts to melt the ice buried deep inside them over the years.
The road ahead was still unknown, but that single embrace gave them both a little more courage.
Zhou Shou kissed me and said, “Ji Chi, I love you. I don’t know what love really is, but my heartbeat tells me—I love you.”
“It’s okay, Zhou Shou,” I said softly. “It’s my first time loving someone too.”
Thirty-year-old Zhou Shou thought—he was happy.
And I thought… so was I.