I often run out of inspiration when writing. When I do, I go out for a stroll to find some. Sometimes a single tree is enough to spark an idea; other times, I can walk all day and find nothing. When I’m stuck, I message Ms. Y, asking what she would do if I suddenly became someone who had nothing at all. Ms. Y says that I have always possessed the courage to start from scratch. No matter what the future holds, at least she is by my side right now. She tells me to just keep charging forward and she will be right there with me. No matter what difficulties lie ahead, as long as we are together, we have nothing to fear.
One night, inspiration struck and I didn’t want to sleep, so I let Ms. Y go to bed first. I didn’t finish the story until three in the morning. Knowing that if I caught up on sleep now, I wouldn’t be able to have breakfast with Ms. Y, I looked around the study and found some construction paper. I looked up an origami tutorial online and folded two roses and a paper crane, leaving them on the dining table with a note: Hope the roses bring you a good mood for the day, and the paper crane takes away your worries. Love, your Ruru-baby.
I saw a guitar video on a short-video app and inexplicably wanted to buy one. But knowing my childish nature—that this was just a fleeting impulse—I just liked and recommended the video. A few days later, I had almost forgotten about it. Ms. Y messaged me to go get a package. I went to check and—!!! It was so huge! I carried it home all by myself. When Ms. Y got home, she saw the package still sitting in the living room and asked why I hadn’t opened it. I said, “I was waiting for you to come home so we could open it together.”
Ms. Y asked if I knew what was inside. I said, “No idea.”
Ms. Y said it was a guitar. I looked at her with a blank stare. “Huh? Really? Why did you suddenly buy a guitar?”
Ms. Y said it was because I liked it. I argued that just because I like something doesn’t mean I have to buy it, especially since I wouldn’t have the persistence to learn it. She replied that she wasn’t expecting me to play well anyway—if I want to play, I play; if I don’t, I put it away. Our house is big enough. Seeing Ms. Y’s sincere expression, I hugged her tight. “Thank you, Ms. Y, for making my life less dull.”
Near the end of the workday, Ms. Y’s team leader said they needed a meeting. Ms. Y messaged me that she might be home late and told me to just eat dinner without her. Seeing her message, I sent her a pitiful-looking selfie. In the photo, I’m wearing my black-rimmed glasses, my hair is messy, and my eyes are misting up, looking like I’m about to cry. My lips are pouting slightly, and my fuzzy sweater makes me look even more obedient and cute. Seeing how clueless I looked, Ms. Y’s heart must have skipped a beat. I sent her a voice message, dragging out my tone:
“Without my wife home, I’m just a little wilted vegetable with no one to love me.”
Ms. Y replied with a cat-patting-head sticker and said she’d be home soon, bringing me something delicious. I reluctantly agreed to her working overtime.
Later that evening, while we were hanging out, I asked, “Do you love me, Ms. Y?” Ms. Y glanced at me and said, “What kind of bullshit question is that?”
“Come on, do you love me or not?”
“No.”
“Liar. You love me the most, right?”
As I spoke, I leaned in to kiss her, covering her face with saliva. She found me too annoying and gave me a few light slaps. Since she had just gotten a new manicure and was afraid of scratching my face, she tapped me very gently. Ms. Y asked, “If you already know the answer, why do you keep asking?” I said, “Because I want to know at every single moment that you love me and can’t live without me.”
Once, we went to see a horror movie. My intention was to make her afraid so I could hold her and kiss her to comfort her. As it turned out, that was her intention too, so when the scariest part came, we both reached out to hug the other and ended up in a “bros hugging” position. Ms. Y said, “Aren’t you scared?” I said, “Aren’t you?” We both shook our heads. Sigh, we both saw the disappointment in each other’s eyes.
Kunhe has many beautiful restaurants. Sometimes, wanting to experience a better life, we go out to eat on Sundays. I remember going to a dessert shop where the sweets were so exquisite they looked like models. Ms. Y and I ordered a strawberry cake and a blueberry croissant, and the shop gave us a free drink. We tasted them and found the strawberry cake too sweet and the blueberry croissant too sour; only the free drink was good. We stared at each other and laughed for a long time. Ms. Y asked what I thought of the “internet-famous” shop, and I said it was better to make them at home. Ms. Y suggested we take a few photos and then go home to make something delicious. I said, “Okay.” I took a few photos of her, but she complained that my photography skills were terrible, so we asked another diner to take a photo of us together. That was the only good photo we took, and later, we printed it out to display in our home.
One winter, something happened at my family’s place and I had to go back to handle it. Originally, Ms. Y wanted to come with me, but with the end of the year approaching, her company wouldn’t let her leave, so I went alone. It was snowing heavily the moment I got off the high-speed train. It took a long time to get a taxi, and by the time I got home, it was eleven at night. My family said we could handle things the next day, so I just packed my bags and prepared to sleep. By the time I finished everything, it was already midnight. I checked my messages and saw Ms. Y had sent one asking if I’d arrived home. Afraid of waking her, I just replied, “I’m home,” and went to sleep. I woke up at five the next morning to go to my hometown with my family. On the road, I sat by the window in the back seat. Because of the low outdoor temperature and the high heat inside the car, mist formed on the glass. I wrote “Wishing you no worries” in the mist, added a cute smiley face, took a photo, and sent it to Ms. Y. We’d only been separated for less than a day, so why did I miss her so much?
We both love daydreaming. Ms. Y asked me how I would spend it if I won ten million in the lottery.
I said, “First, after deducting taxes and whatnot, there’d be about eight million left. I’d put two million in a savings account, spend one million on a house, one million on a car, and with the remaining four million, neither of us would go to work. We’d just resign and go traveling for a few decades. When we’re old, we’d choose a city to settle down in, use the money from the savings account to hire a lawyer and pay for a nursing home to take care of us. After we head to the Pure Land, we’d give the rest away.”
Ms. Y: “That’s such a boring life, but I like it. So, when are we going to win the ten million?”
“I don’t know, maybe we’ll win tomorrow.”
“Then I’m going to buy a lottery ticket tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
“What if I don’t win?”
“If we don’t win, we’ll live our normal lives. You go out and make money, I stay home and make money. I’ll cover the minor expenses, you cover the major ones. I’ll be responsible for our three meals a day, you cover the grocery money. On Sundays, we’ll clean the house together. Whenever we have extra money or get a bonus, we’ll go out for a good meal.”
“Okay, I love that life. I want to spend a lifetime living like that with my Ruru-baby.”
When Ms. Y was walking home, she passed a boutique store that sold all sorts of exquisite little items. Ms. Y’s eyes caught a snow globe—a pink and blue one with two little girls dancing inside. Ms. Y rarely falls in love with things at first sight, but that day, she somehow thought it was beautiful and bought it. When I got home, I saw the snow globe, and Ms. Y pointed it out to me, asking if the two little figures looked like us. I looked—they really did, except the real people are much better-looking. Ms. Y called me a narcissist.
Ms. Y said, “I used to have a dream of dancing, but my flexibility wasn’t good enough in high school, so I didn’t sign up for dance class and chose art instead. If I could do it over, I would definitely learn to dance.”
“Do you want to sign up for one now?”
“For what?”
“A dance class.”
“No way, I’m so busy. Where would I find the time to learn?”
“Then we can practice at home. Our living room is big enough anyway.”
“No, I was just thinking about it. I don’t want to learn now. What are we eating for dinner?”
“Stir-fried vegetables and steamed buns.”
“I don’t want to eat at home. Can we go out?”
“Why do you keep changing your mind?”
“Oh come on~ Please, please, I want to eat barbecue.”
“Fine, fine, let’s go. I’ll go turn off the stove. You look up where we should go.”
“Yay, you’re the best, Ruru-baby! I love you.”
Sometimes when I look back at our chats, I’m constantly amazed at the speed at which our train of thought jumps around.
Saturday, sunny. Woke up early with Ms. Y to make potatoes with meat. Why would we wake up early to cook such a greasy dish? Because we were talking about delicious food last night, and both of us were so hungry but too lazy to get up and start a fire, so we agreed to wake up early to make meat. We checked the fridge and found potatoes and meat, so we decided to make potatoes with meat and pair it with hand-pulled noodles. It tasted excellent. Ms. Y happily said that meeting me was the greatest and most beautiful thing ever. Waking up early to get praise from my wife—I’m happy too.
Ms. Y is seven months older than me—not much, not little, exactly seven months. I remember before we were together, I asked for her birthday once. Finding out she was older, I called her “Big Sister,” but after we got together, I started calling her “Ms. Y.” A few years later, Ms. Y asked why I stopped calling her “Big Sister.” I said, “If I call you ‘Big Sister,’ you have to shoulder the responsibilities of a big sister, and I don’t want you to be too tired. We are equals; you don’t need to overly bear that responsibility for me. I didn’t fall for you because of the ‘Big Sister’ identity; I love you because you are you.”
Ms. Y doesn’t like to drink water, so I set alarms on my phone. When the time comes, I send her a message to remind her to drink. Every time Ms. Y sees my message, she records a video of herself drinking water for me, and at the end of every video, she makes a heart sign with her fingers. Ms. Y is so cute.
Ms. Y’s face is very radiant. I love the way her mouth curves when she smiles and her expressive, “talking” eyes. I accept everything about Ms. Y—I accept her personality and temper, and I embrace her flaws. Isn’t that what lovers are like? I love her, so I love everything about her and embrace everything she is. That is what love is.