5 Listen To My Story

"Hi, what can I do to help you?" The receptionist looked up as I entered the hospital.

The scent of disinfectants and the undertones of artificial fragrance coated its pristine white walls. A feeling of quietness settled inside the main lobby. A few visitors sat in the chairs. An old man reading a book. A lady clutching her bag. The low hum of ventilation switched on and off, its sound muffled. Green light highlighted the signs leading inside. The atmosphere was so still.

I realized that I had no way to find the girl. How would anyone expect to find her without a name, I thought to myself, a little annoyed and flustered.

After a moment of hesitation, I voiced. "Sorry, could I just stay here for a while?"

"Usually," The receptionist paused. "We don't allow strangers to wander aimlessly in the hospital."

The woman looked at me for a long time. "Just stay close. And don't go too far down the hall."

"Thanks," I told the receptionist, walking out a side door.

Following the marbled floor, I found myself in a courtyard outside the hospital. I made my way through the wet grass, its soil soft with rain. Cold, translucent droplets slept on the leaves of flowers after a summer drizzle, ending its hot, suffocating heat. I breathed in the cool air, my breath coming out in a hazy grey. I felt a freeness in being able to make my own decision for once. To not listen to my father— and to believe in what I wanted.

I had not achieved my goal by coming here, but I thought my choice to defy my father was enough for me.

The night was already dark. Yet in the limitless void, only a black smokiness covered it. I heard the creak of the wheels first coming up behind me.

"You're thinking about how there's no stars in the sky right?" The girl looked at me. "It's really sad actually."

I glanced at her warily. "How are you…?"

She smiled. "What are 𝘺𝘰𝘶 doing here? Stalking me?"

She pointed to one of the lit windows of the hospital. "Actually, my room actually faces the garden. I saw you."

I laughed. It was a real laugh. "Can I take some of your time?"

"Of course." Amusement crossed her face. "I'm already running out of time as it is."

It was quiet for a moment.

"Do you want to grab some food?" She broke the silence.

I moved behind the chair, rolling her towards the cafe.

"Usually I don't allow others to touch my wheelchair." She looked back. "But seeing as how you're all red-faced is kind of cute."

There was an awkwardness between us as we settled in with the coffee out in the courtyard again. The cool breeze swept through the garden. I suddenly remembered that I still didn't know her name after all this while.

I hesitated, not sure how to ask for her name. However, my worries were washed away in a moment.

"By the way, I still only know you as the 'I want to die' guy." She cocked her head, waiting for my answer.

I blinked. See, my worries were washed away. Just. Like. That.

"I'm Wang Jun."

The girl smiled, her little dimples spreading across her face. "I'm Ye Ying."

We talked for a few minutes more getting to know each other. I learned that she liked eating lavender flavored ice cream. I learned that she liked to listen to music. She seemed to become more wistful as we talked— I learned that she used to love running.

Ye Ying's face became serious. She seemed to be thinking whether to ask the question or not. In the end, she chose to ask.

"Why did you want to jump from the roof that day?"

I paused. It was a question I had asked myself everyday. I felt a sudden warmness . I think it was because that was the first time someone had wanted to know how I actually felt.

"I think— it's better to show you." I wavered. "Do you have a piece of paper on you?"

Through the dimly lit street lights, I began drawing her. My pencil scritch scratching across paper, the grey strokes becoming human. I realized that this time she looked more real. More human. I could see the smirk on her face. The straightforwardness she had. It felt alive in the drawing.

"Look." I showed her the sketch. "I...live for this."

"That's a drawing of me though." A bit of confusion crossed her face. Then a joking grin. "So you love me that much?"

I laughed again. This was what I liked about her. Even in something that hurt me so much, she could make me happy while talking about it.

"My father… he doesn't like me drawing."

I talked about living in poverty. Of being looked down upon by strangers. Of being hungry. And sad. And angry. Of the unending sense of never being enough.

And through all of that— she listened. She listened to my story.