I still could not get the image out of my head.
Wen Xiao on the bed, flushed and half-covered by a blanket, a pillow trapped between her thighs like evidence of a crime. The way she had frozen when she saw me. The completely blank expression that slowly cracked into pure horror. I had closed the door to give her dignity, but dignity had already left the apartment and was probably halfway across the city by then.
I had laughed about it in the hallway. Then I had gone to my room and sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring at the wall while the memory kept replaying. It should have been simple secondhand embarrassment. Instead it sat warmer and more complicated under my skin than I wanted to admit.
By early evening I decided the only productive thing left to do was cook.
I pulled out the cutting board, the knife, and the vegetables I had bought the day before. Green onions, carrots, a small cabbage, garlic, and a piece of ginger. The familiar rhythm of washing and lining them up on the counter helped more than expected. I turned on the stove, set a pan to heat with a little oil, and began chopping the garlic into fine pieces. The sharp scent rose immediately and filled the quiet kitchen.
I had just started on the green onions when I heard soft footsteps behind me.
Wen Xiao stopped a short distance away. I did not turn around, but I could feel her hovering, uncertain.
“Do you need help?” she asked. Her voice was careful, almost formal, as if she hoped the earlier incident might simply dissolve if she spoke politely enough.
I kept chopping.
“That depends,” I said. “Did you use any of the utensils for what you were doing earlier?”
The silence that followed was extreme.
I glanced over my shoulder. Wen Xiao’s face had gone a deep, impressive red that started at her neck and climbed all the way to her ears. She looked like she was considering the merits of walking straight out of the apartment and never returning.
“Shut up,” she muttered.
I laughed. The sound surprised even me. It came out lighter than most of our recent conversations.
“I am serious,” I continued, turning back to the cutting board so she would not see how much I was enjoying this. “The toothbrush is still under suspicion. And I saw the sofa cushion. I need to know if the kitchen is safe.” Read the latest chapters at novelping(.)com.
“I did not touch the kitchen,” she said through her teeth.
“Good. Then you can peel the carrots.”
I pointed the knife toward the vegetable drawer without looking at her. For a moment I thought she might refuse and leave. Instead I heard the drawer open and the soft thud of carrots being set on the counter. She took the peeler from the holder with more force than necessary and began working in tight, irritated strokes.
We stood side by side at the counter.
I finished the green onions and moved on to the cabbage, slicing it into thin strips. The knife made clean, rhythmic sounds against the board. Beside me, Wen Xiao peeled in silence, the long orange ribbons falling into a small pile. Every so often I felt her glance at me and then quickly look away again.
“You are still red,” I observed.
“You are still talking about it.”
“I have not even started talking about the pillow.”
She made a low sound that might have been a growl. I smiled at the cabbage and kept cutting.
Once the vegetables were ready I heated the oil a little more and slid the garlic in first. It sizzled immediately, releasing a richer scent that made the kitchen feel warmer. I added the carrots next, letting them soften for a minute before the cabbage and green onions followed. A splash of soy sauce, a pinch of sugar, a little white pepper. The familiar smell of a simple stir-fry filled the space between us.
Wen Xiao had moved on to washing the rice without being asked. I watched her measure the grains, rinse them twice, and set the pot on the other burner. Her movements were precise, the same careful efficiency she used in everything else. The earlier embarrassment still colored her ears, but her hands were steady.
“You cook like someone who has done this for a long time,” I said.
“I know.”
She did not answer, but the tension in her shoulders eased a fraction.
I stirred the vegetables, lowered the heat, and covered the pan for a minute so everything could finish together. The rice cooker clicked. The apartment smelled like an ordinary shared dinner instead of arguments and silence. It felt almost normal. Almost dangerous in how easy it was.
When the food was ready I portioned it into two bowls and set them on the table. Wen Xiao brought the chopsticks and the water glasses. We sat down across from each other the same way we had that morning, only this time the air between us was less heavy and more charged with residual awkwardness that neither of us seemed willing to fully address.
I took a bite. The vegetables were still crisp. The seasoning was simple and right.
“Acceptable?” I asked.
Wen Xiao tasted her own portion, chewed, and gave a short nod. “Better than protein shakes.”
“That is a very low bar.”
“It is the bar I usually clear.”
I almost smiled again. The memory of her on the bed tried to surface once more and I pushed it down by focusing on the next bite. Across from me she ate quietly, eyes on her bowl, the last traces of red still lingering on her cheekbones.
The kitchen remained warm. The dishes could wait. For the first time in days the silence between us did not feel like a wall.
It felt like a temporary truce sealed with stir-fried vegetables and the mutual agreement not to discuss the toothbrush ever again.