◎The Thrill of First Love◎
“So just because you were feeling a bit down, he took you to play scratch-offs and went out of his way across borders to cheer you up?”
Chu Xiaowen looked utterly incredulous as she munched on the snow flower pastries Li Xia had made. She paused mid-bite. “This wouldn’t happen to be wedding candy I’m eating, would it?”
Li Xia burst out laughing at her. “We haven’t even seen each other’s faces, and you’re talking about wedding candy.”
“He doesn’t know what you look like?”
“Nope.”
“So how far along are you two?”
“Just chatting, that’s all.”
“Any plans after this? Like meeting up in person?” Chu Xiaowen blinked her eyes.
“I haven’t thought about it.” Li Xia said.
“Oh my god, that’s even more incredible. He doesn’t know what you look like, but he’s willing to do all this for you, just to make you happy because of him.” Chu Xiaowen’s eyes sparkled with dreamy longing. “That’s so wonderful. The fantasy stage between people really is the most beautiful.”
Li Xia nodded noncommittally.
She had to admit, F’s subtle healing mode—no grand gestures, just steady warmth—had quietly captured her heart. She even thought of him whenever she passed a lottery shop.
Over the next few days, she turned into a vine stretching toward the sunlight, climbing the trellis of her good mood and letting it unfurl.
During the day, she treated her frustrating job like side quests to grind through. In the evenings, she dove into the main quest at home: voice-chatting passionately with F while watching movies together.
The reward for finishing the side quests was the joy of the main one.
This mindset gave Li Xia a whole lot more energy for work.
Still, pinning her emotions on someone else wasn’t the wisest move, so she shifted her focus back to the movies as their shared input. They watched Little Women together, and Wong Kar-wai films.
Li Xia asked F if he’d already seen them all, wondering if she was wasting his time.
F replied that watching alone before was what wasted time.
Laughter bubbled up from Li Xia suddenly. “How is your mouth so sweet?”
It was like the water-rich peach in her hand, brimming with juice. She took a bite, savoring the sweetness made real, and asked contentedly, “By the way, I still haven’t seen anything you’ve directed, Director Fang. What are you working on lately?”
“Me? Well…” F’s voice trailed off hesitantly. “Lately, I’ve taken on a commercial ad project over here. Low workload, good pay. Whatever the client wants, I deliver.”
“Sounds like… you don’t really like it?”
“It’s pretty dull.”
“So, just for the paycheck?”
“Yeah, for a living.”
A mutual pause followed, then silence.
Li Xia keenly sensed that F never had much to say about his day job—or he’d start and then hold back. She couldn’t tell if he just didn’t love the work or if he didn’t want to spill everything to her.
Truth be told, she could understand either.
Li Xia kept her tone light. “But making good money is great! Survive first, chase passions later. Besides, high pay for low effort? Only a fool would turn that down. Director Fang, is your team still hiring?”
“We are. Looking for a little chatterbox.”
“Would someone like me do?”
“You’re not the problem.”
“Hee hee.”
Li Xia sat cross-legged on her bed, laptop propped on her lap, bobbing happily like a dashboard bobblehead. “Once I quit my job, I’ll tag along with you. I can adjust lights during the day, fetch you water…”
She was just riffing to lighten the mood.
Then she heard F murmur, loud enough to cut through her words, almost like he was talking to himself:
“Actually, I haven’t been doing only these assembly-line gigs. I did a documentary before. It took a ton of time and energy, but…”
He trailed off again.
The topic hung in his mouth like a warped, worn-out cassette tape—audio degraded, magnetism gone, unreadable. All Li Xia had left was a long stretch of blank tape and vague fantasies.
He fell silent.
In the quiet, Li Xia heard a faint sigh rise from her own heart.
Clearly, F had no desire to open up to her.
She’d started seeing him as a friend lately, ready to listen. But did he feel the same, or was it all one-sided?
The thought of giving up crossed Li Xia’s mind.
She told herself to rein in her curiosity. Just because she wanted to hear it didn’t mean he owed her the story. That was emotional blackmail, and it wasn’t right. In mere seconds, her mind turned into a racetrack, thoughts galloping wildly.
But the next moment, F’s words hit pause on her racing thoughts.
His invitation came from afar, yet rang utterly sincere:
“But Teacher Lizi, if there’s a chance, I’d like to watch it with you.”
Li Xia’s heart fluttered then, soft and melted. She shadowboxed the air in excitement.
She shot back without thinking: “Watch what, your abs?”
…
F had zeroed in on her favorites among all the options, Li Xia thought, waving the white flag in her heart.
Before, the slightest shift in Li Xia’s mood, and Bread sensed it first. When she was sick, sad, on her period, or crying in secret, Bread was always there. It would fetch toys, its favorite little snacks. It pressed its soft belly against her, nuzzled her face with its muzzle, licked away the salty tears with its tongue.
Of course, Li Xia rarely bawled like that. She had a better way to vent—
Skateboarding.
Making peace with life through speed and wind.
Bread went with her and loved it too. It enjoyed running, chasing, barking gleefully during acceleration.
Sometimes it was hard to say who was comforting whom between human and pet. The love and stability from dawn to dusk always seemed rooted in mutual needs.
After Bread left, Li Xia stopped expecting extra emotional value from anyone. Her highly tolerant family—lively, harmonious—quickly absorbed her bad moods, and she was content.
So she rarely sought it elsewhere.
But F was different.
He offered it freely.
A slightly wrinkled shirt could be worn, but it was rare for someone to take the time to smooth it out, iron it flat.
Sometimes Li Xia lay in bed, scrolling through endless chat logs, eyes closed as she recalled these days of warmth. She marveled at her own heart’s endurance.
It wasn’t even love yet.
But she’d poured in the full enthusiasm of first love.
And remarkably, F outdid her.
Even when his shoots kept him swamped, he’d message ahead: 【Can’t call today—bummed about it. Let’s make up for it tomorrow.】
Li Xia smiled: 【Sure.】
See? It wasn’t her fault.
Blame the guy who always responded, always had her back.
One time, noting his reply speed, Li Xia teased: 【Director Fang, quick interview: how do you reply instantly amid all the chaos?】
F: 【I’m not that great at instant replies.】
F: 【Every time you message, I’m glued to the monitor.】
F: 【But you’re my WeChat pin, so you get priority.】
Ah—
WeChat pin.
Li Xia hadn’t even pinned him.
He was more thoughtful than she was!
In that instant, Li Xia tumbled into a honey jar, coated in tingling sweetness.
She didn’t yet realize that relationships hovering between deep talks and shallow flirtation were the most addictive—tempting in their existence, yet hollow underfoot.
Li Xia had pondered it too. She’d read a line in Dostoevsky that struck her like thunder:
Love a concrete person, not an abstract one.
There, with F’s chat open beside her, Li Xia split her attention between abstract and concrete. She struggled through the sentence twice, then dimmed her phone screen. Her fingertip flipped the thick pages, and she couldn’t help wondering:
Was F abstract?
If he was, why had she felt his impact so vividly—joy from him, healing from him?
Was he concrete?
If so, why had she never seen him, touched him, met his eyes, seen his smile, known the shape of his eyes when he laughed?
And if he was concrete, why did Li Xia rarely dream of him?
They chatted daily, delved into each other daily. F was always the one staying till her last second before sleep. Many nights after setting down her phone, Li Xia expected to dream of him, extending the happiness.
But she didn’t.
Sometimes on Zoom movie nights, he’d share screenshots from his home cam of his dog in ridiculous sleeping poses, chuckling about Melon Seed. Li Xia chimed in, terrified he’d ask anything. But the feared moment came.
“Eating bread this morning made me think of your dog’s name. How’s it doing? You don’t mention it much.” His question flowed naturally.
Li Xia blurted, “My dog, it…”
Then she woodenly looked away from the screen. “It’s good. Super naughty.”
“Mine too—total rascal. Always digging up my mom’s flowerpots, gets whacked daily, haha. Do you walk it after work, or mornings?”
Out of F’s sight, Li Xia bit her lip silent.
“…Mostly my parents do.”
“Oh, that must be easier for you.”
“Yeah.” Li Xia cleared her throat. “Hey, chatting with you, I missed the lines. Rewind two minutes!”
Movies always took 1.2 times longer with them. F chuckled indulgently. “Go ahead, whatever you want.”
He was always so tolerant, so patient—it made Li Xia itch to spill everything.
Should she tell him?
Show him her raw, bleeding sore spot for some casual online comfort?
Caught between abstract and concrete, Li Xia found no answers.
That night, she still didn’t dream of F.
For the countless time, she dreamed of her little dog, Bread.