The second thing that happened on the day of the play’s premiere was an unexpected call from Qi Qi.
After graduation, they resumed contact, but it was mostly holiday greetings and birthday wishes, mostly initiated by Qi Qi. Only when she mentioned gatherings with their capital city friends would Huaner chat a bit more – “Mm, Du Man sent me photos of your dinner, it’s always livelier with more people.” Huaner had thought about why things became this way – Qi Qi studied literature, they were at different schools with different majors, and after being apart so long, naturally they had fewer and fewer common topics. But then she felt that wasn’t quite right – for example, she’d barely exchanged words with Du Man during their two years as desk mates, yet after graduation, they grew increasingly close, now able to laugh all evening just exchanging jokes and emoji stickers, and during breaks they did everything together from shopping to eating to watching movies, not missing any typical girlfriend activities. Later Huaner figured it out – there were no taboos between her and Du Man, while what separated her and Qi Qi was precisely their mutual avoidance of discussing the past, their suddenly estranged teenage years.
Huang Lu had mentioned a concept called phase-specific friends – even if you were close enough to share pants during one period, they could still become just a quiet name lying in your contacts later. It was a common phenomenon, comparable to Darwin’s theory of evolution.
The slight difference was that the former was a mutual selection of elimination by both parties.
The call came in the evening, just as Huaner was about to transfer her SIM card to the new phone. She almost missed it.
Qi Qi first asked what she was doing, saying she’d called twice in the afternoon but the phone was off.
“I went out to eat with Jing Qichi, then got caught in rain and traffic on the way back, took quite a while to get to school,” Huaner explained. “My phone died automatically, just got it charging now.”
She couldn’t explain why she gave such a long explanation, perhaps just not wanting Qi Qi to think she was deliberately avoiding her calls.
“Then I should have called Qichi instead.” Qi Qi paused briefly after speaking, “I don’t think I even have Qichi’s phone number.”
Huaner casually asked, “Want me to send it to you?”
“No need.” The other end laughed slightly, “If I need it in the future, I’ll ask then.”
“Okay.”
Qi Qi continued, “I had dinner with Liao Xinyan last week, she has a new boyfriend.”
Strange, they weren’t close before, and could barely even be called friends.
“The new boyfriend is from a professional team, he plays better football.”
Huaner knew about this – Liao Xinyan had sent her a photo of the two of them cheek to cheek, brazenly commenting that he was much better technically than Jing Qichi. The boy you deeply liked during puberty becomes a kind of enlightenment, vaguely outlining your imagination of a lover, then guiding the gradually maturing girl to discover herself and the kind of love she yearns for and seeks. Liao Xinyan wasn’t looking for a substitute – by now, she probably couldn’t remember many details about Jing Qichi. She had just used him, used that imperfect confession to find a quality, a quality that attracted and would continue to attract her.
Huaner increasingly couldn’t understand the purpose of Qi Qi’s call – a long-awaited phone call surely wasn’t just for idle chatter about this and that.
“Qi,” she still habitually called her that, “Do you have something you want to tell me?”
There was silence on the other end of the phone, then she came back on, “Song Cong and I, have decided to try being together. Huaner, I just found out that the person Song Cong had in his heart before, was you.”
As if injected with a shot of adrenaline, the drug took effect in an instant – heartbeat and blood flow accelerated, the brain instantly flashed back, and everything from the past had an explanation.
“But it’s all in the past,” Qi Qi said, “Right?”
Huaner didn’t know how to react.
“I just thought you should know, whether it’s about Song Cong’s feelings for you, my current relationship with him, or… or the reason I misunderstood you and made you sad.” Qi Qi’s voice trembled, “I’m sorry, Huaner.”
The call abruptly ended.
Like unexpected noise from the boys’ dormitory across the way – before you could locate the source, everything had returned to silence. Huaner pondered Qi Qi’s current mood and final tone, thinking she must have been crying.
Her finger hovered over the message-sending interface, then exited; found Song Cong’s number, then exited again – there really wasn’t anything to say.
She neither needed to explain nor needed explanations. Seeking justification from the past was the most foolish action.
“Hey,” Huang Lu, finished dressing and about to head out, knocked on her desk, “Haven’t you contacted the senior yet? The play is tonight, right?”
Ten minutes until curtain time, Tian Chi was probably already there.
He hadn’t said he would pick her up, hadn’t pressed for an answer about whether she was going or not, as if he was still waiting for her response.
“Pluck the flower while you may, too much thinking is useless.” Huang Lu adjusted her makeup in the full-length mirror, extending her hand like an empress dowager, “Perfume.”
Huaner got up and randomly grabbed a bottle from her desk to hand over, “Another date?”
This drama queen held the perfume bottle with dainty fingers, suddenly putting on a solemn, emotional expression, “Darling, do you know? I’m truly grateful for these peaceful times.”
“Why?”
“Strong, capable young men don’t all have to go defend the country.” Huang Lu piously made a cross over her chest, “Amitabha Buddha.”
“Huang Huang,” Huaner teased in a Taiwanese accent, “You’re praying to the wrong god.”
“Not important.” Huang Lu was about to spray when she realized the bottle was the strong type, swaying her hips back to exchange it for a jasmine-light fragrance, finally nodding with satisfaction, “This is more important.”
She had her own set of theories. Seemed like she never talked about love, yet also seemed to be talking about love all the time.
The perfume scent drifted away, night rain pattered against the window frames.
Huaner felt peculiar, with a sense of having crossed thousands of mountains in a small boat.
After so much time had passed, today the people involved finally understood that during their inseparable teenage years, there had been an all-member unrequited love that no one had ever spoken of.
The clues could be traced – everyone just hid it too well. Jing Qichi with his half-true half-joking manner, Qi Qi with her secretly persistent jealousy, Song Cong with his silent care, and Huaner – she used her confusion.
Why did it feel strange when he admitted liking someone else? Why did it feel strange when helping girls who admired him? That bottle of sports drink never given, those study notes organized for him, that bitter feeling knowing he deliberately didn’t study well, that school journey where her ears would perk up whenever he spoke – Chen Huaner allowed herself to remain confused, simply unwilling to admit it.
Because being his friend was also good, she could care for him, help him, and think of him without hiding anything, and until today when all of this had passed, they had always been good.
A girlish sentiment that began confusedly and ended confusedly.
Yes, it was all in the past.
She decided to call Tian Chi.
She heard actors delivering powerful lines, heard someone complaining about the lack of manners in answering phones without going outside, heard increasingly rapid breathing, she even heard the pitter-patter of rain.
The call stayed connected, Tian Chi didn’t speak, neither did she, only various background noises alternately transmitted through the receiver.
After who knows how long, Tian Chi said to come down, it’s cold, so dress warmly.