Soon, I returned to my routine of working seven days a week at the café. Partly, I didn't want to miss any chance of seeing him again, and partly, I regretted the lost income from taking leave.
But to my disappointment, he hadn't come to the café for a long time.
The girl in white came a few times, sitting in their usual spot, staring out the window. Several times, I wanted to talk to her, to ask who she was, what her relationship with him was, why he hadn't come recently, and if she was really his fiancée, as Zhang Ying had said. But I didn't dare. I feared she'd think I was nosy, that she'd notice how much I cared about him, and that if she truly was his fiancée, I'd bring trouble upon him.
So, the days passed, and eventually, the girl in white stopped coming too.
Soon, it would be winter break. Zhao Kai mentioned that business always slowed down during holidays. The café was in the city center, and most of the nearby residents were wealthy. The café served sandwiches for around ten yuan during the day and steak for over a hundred yuan at night. Many students came to the café, but now they were going home. I realized that regular customers like Gu Shijie were actually rare; the majority were students.
As business slowed, I began to worry. With fewer customers, would the owner send us home too?
Fortunately, as the winter break approached, the owner only asked if I was going home but didn't imply any further actions. This reassured me a lot.
But as the café became quieter, I often found myself daydreaming, staring at the spot where Gu Shijie used to sit.
The winter in Shan City was cold but dry, unlike the damp cold of the south. The café had heating, so it wasn't unbearable. Most of my dorm mates had gone home, so I enjoyed coming to the café early, helping the owner clean, and occasionally serving daytime customers. The owner felt a bit guilty, saying I didn't need to do these extra tasks.
But I was happy to be there. Although there was no pay, I enjoyed the warmth, the books, and the company more than the dormitory. Zhao Kai would occasionally stop by, and we'd chat.
Zhao Kai was a local, from a well-off family, so I never understood why he worked here part-time. When I asked, he just smiled and said it was for social practice.
One day, the sky was particularly gloomy. Even at 10 AM, it was gray and dim. When I arrived at the café, it started snowing. It was my first time seeing snow, and the flakes fell like heavenly flowers, starting small but quickly growing larger and heavier, like goose feathers. It was so beautiful. I was mesmerized, unable to resist stepping outside.
I walked into the snow, holding out my hand to feel the flakes melt on my fingers. I looked up, the snowflakes landing on my eyelashes. I blinked, taking in the scene through the snow. The pine needles on the roadside trees were dusted with a thin layer of white, and the snowflakes danced past the row of large windows opposite the café. It was all so beautiful, so surreal.
I was lost in the moment, turning in a circle with my arms outstretched. The scene reminded me of Wu Cheng's poem "Ode to Snow":
"Who plays the flute in the sky, blowing snowflakes all over the world?"
"Clap, clap, clap." Suddenly, I heard someone clapping behind me.
I turned and saw that familiar figure. Our eyes met for a moment.
I froze, embarrassed, and looked away.
He smiled, still with that half-smile, and said, "Good poem." His voice was soft, as if afraid to disturb the tranquility.
"It's Wu..." I started to explain, but he interrupted.
"It's Wu Cheng's 'Ode to Snow,'" he said, looking at me meaningfully.
Surprised, I nodded. My admiration for him grew. Not only was he handsome, but also knowledgeable.
Of course, in hindsight, it made sense. Among the people I knew, few were literate, let alone versed in poetry. But he, the future heir of the Gu Group, must have been well-read. I sighed inwardly at the gap between us. But he didn't know any of this.
"Let's go inside. It's quite cold, and you're not dressed warmly," he said with a smile.
I realized I had rushed outside in a thin shirt, too excited by the snow to notice the cold. Now that he mentioned it, I felt a chill.
"Okay," I nodded and followed him inside.
He went straight to his usual spot. After taking his order, I couldn't hold back and blurted out, "Are you meeting that girl again today?"
Immediately, I regretted it. I should have held my tongue. There were so many better ways to ask, but I chose the dumbest one. I could have asked if he needed another place setting or if I should prepare for someone else. Instead, I made it obvious that I cared about who he was with.
He looked up at me, surprised.
I panicked and added, "Oh, I mean, if you're ordering more food, I can let the kitchen know in advance. With fewer customers, not all dishes are prepared..."
He continued to stare at me, making me more flustered.
After a long pause, he shook his head, his eyes dimming slightly, and said, "No, it's just me today." He smiled but said nothing more.
"Okay, okay, sorry, okay," I stammered, then quickly turned away, not wanting him to see my blushing face. What was I doing? I scolded myself. But I was also curious. Wasn't she his fiancée or girlfriend? They hadn't come together in a long time. Had they broken up? Had they fought? I felt a bit of joy, though I didn't know why.
That day, he sat by the window, elegantly eating his steak. Occasionally, he stopped to gaze outside, seemingly lost in thought or admiring the snow.
Watching him reminded me of the girl who often sat there daydreaming. They seemed like two people in love, separated by time and space. So similar, so well-matched, so beautiful.
A melodious ringtone broke my reverie. It was his phone. The sound was familiar, but I couldn't place it. He used a silver flip phone, a Nokia like Zhang Ying's.
He looked at the caller ID, frowned, and didn't answer. The phone rang persistently, almost demanding to be answered. After three rings, he finally picked up. "Hello," he said, his voice low.
He spoke softly, but his anger was palpable. Even with his back to me, I felt the tension. It was as if a lion was trying to suppress its rage.
The voice on the other end was sharp, possibly a woman's, but it was too far for me to hear clearly.
He listened for a while before saying coldly, "Stop messing around. You know my stance. It's best for everyone to stay out of trouble, understand?" Then he hung up without waiting for a response. In an instant, the calm, elegant man reappeared, as if the tense moment had never happened.
Who had called him? The girl in white? His fiancée? It had to be someone he disliked. I instinctively felt the girl in white wasn't his fiancée, though maybe it was just my hope that she wasn't living such a perfect life, especially being a woman like me.