◎I Thought Too Much About the Descriptions of You◎
The crazy thing had still happened.
When Li Xia woke up, she stared at the phone screen showing a call that had lasted eight hours, twelve minutes, and nine seconds. She bit her nail for a full minute without blinking—
F hadn’t hung up all night. The numbers kept ticking mechanically before her eyes. Nine became ten, twelve turned to thirteen.
Dazed.
This was the first time in her life she’d talked on the phone with someone all night long.
And the person on the other end was that man on her phone screen!
It was probably one or two in the morning in France. Li Xia snapped to her senses and immediately hit the end call button.
She got dressed, her hair loose, and sat on the edge of the bed for a while. She couldn’t quite remember what trivial things she and F had chatted about after reconnecting last night. She only recalled that before drifting off in a haze, her mind wandering, F had asked if she’d set an alarm and if he should wake her up.
What had she said?
“No need to wake me, but a wake-up kiss could be considered.”
“…”
F fell silent a thousand times over.
He made that stuttering, embarrassed sound again. “Teacher Lizi, you… I, sigh.”
Li Xia had achieved her goal. She chuckled inwardly, feeling utterly delighted as she fell asleep.
In the days that followed, keeping up the chats felt like the most natural thing in the world.
F would occasionally update her on the shooting progress—sharing fun anecdotes from the set when things went smoothly, or venting about how awful the food in France was when they didn’t.
Li Xia shared her daily life in return: the kitten downstairs, the barbecue stall near her home. When F saw the photos, he said it was a bit like quenching his thirst by staring at pictures of plums. Li Xia burst out laughing.
They went back and forth in text messages without pause.
Li Xia started learning about F’s interests. She found out he was a documentary director who took on commercial gigs now and then to make ends meet. She was pleasantly surprised and told him she’d handled plenty of non-fiction books herself.
F said it was a coincidence. Compared to made-up stories, he preferred the real thing. But reality was, the market for truth was smaller. People always gravitated toward the imagined—the beautiful, the bizarre, the alien—to escape the cruelty and mundanity of everyday life.
Li Xia replied, “Just like you and me.”
“Which kind are we?”
Li Xia: “The imagined kind.”
F: “Imagined? Do you have some image of me in your head?”
He’d asked so cleverly that Li Xia hadn’t answered directly at the time.
It wasn’t until later, when she heard a song whose title was the perfect response to F’s question. It was that gentle, healing track—
I Thought Too Much About the Descriptions of You
She was the same.
She’d thought too much about descriptions of F.
F had carved out a new corner in her world just like that.
He even played the role of advisor sometimes. When Li Xia had no ideas for a book cover, F would share some film posters for aesthetic inspiration, giving her fresh angles to discuss with the designer.
She learned he was a Beijing native like her, though he’d moved away in recent years for personal reasons. She discovered his suave British accent—deep and soft—because she’d asked him to read that love letter from the movie Green Book.
…
They wove themselves into each other’s lives, seizing every gap, meticulously calculating the time. Amid uncontrollable day-night cycles and a six-hour time difference, they carved out moments to talk.
So many times, Li Xia would ask him, “Is Teacher Fang busy today?”
“Am I bothering you by chatting?”
F: A bit busy.
F: Not at all.
F: I want to talk to you too.
At her desk, Li Xia propped up her face, covering her mouth with her other hand as laughter spilled from her eyes.
Look at that.
How could she refuse?
She couldn’t refuse.
Li Xia continued without a shred of guilt, letting herself sink into this ethereal yet deeply satisfying emotional high.
Soon enough, she had a new pre-sleep ritual—
Cutting the cord.
Not the cheesy “you hang up first” routine, but every time Li Xia said goodnight, F would pause for a long moment and say, “It’s not dark here in France yet.”
“It’s midnight back home, Director Fang,” Li Xia yawned.
“Domestic time is so inconsiderate,” F said.
Li Xia laughed. “Can something as objective as time have haters? What would make it considerate?”
“If it passed a little slower.”
Li Xia smiled under the covers. In truth, chances to actually talk on the phone with F were rare—their free time like mismatched puzzle pieces—so they mostly texted. She felt that reluctance to hang up too, but she never said it.
“Time does fly,” she sighed.
“Yeah,” F’s voice was close in her ear. “Especially after chatting with you. I even checked if Earth’s rotation had sped up.”
“So it’s the Earth’s fault?”
“No,” F laughed. “Seems like it’s mine.”
“Huh?”
“Probably because after you go to sleep, I still have hours left in my day. And those hours? I’m looking forward to tomorrow.” F paused for half a second, his voice carrying a helpless, soft chuckle. “So yeah, that’s why time feels so fast.”
Li Xia caught the meaning in his words.
Someone looking forward to tomorrow because of her—it elevated everything. Her heart warmed and softened, long and gentle, like still water.
“Do you always talk like this?” Li Xia asked.
“Like what?”
“Vague stuff that makes people read into it.”
F laughed again. “Do I?”
“You do,” Li Xia said firmly. “But I don’t like doing literary analysis on what men say. I prefer straight answers.”
“Hm?”
Teetering on the edge of sleep, Li Xia’s voice was light and dreamy, but brimming with courage. She turned the question back. “I want to know: that ‘looking forward’ you mentioned—is it looking forward to chatting with me, thinking about me when we’re not? Is that it?”
“…”
F went quiet.
In those silent seconds, Li Xia thought he wouldn’t answer. Just as she was about to brush it off gracefully, his voice came slowly through the earpiece:
“…Yes.”
“You have to say it out loud to satisfy me?”
Buried in her covers, Li Xia revealed a thoroughly content smile. “Yeah. These days, subtlety’s out. It’ll make you miss all the good stuff.”
She liked directness. All those pages of ambiguous texts paled next to hearing that single “yes” from his lips.
F seemed about to ask more.
Li Xia cut it short. “Focus on work, Teacher Fang.”