I began deliberately cooling my emotions.
Fear gripped me; at a critical moment, I chose to retreat, unable to overcome the barrier of Yunke's wife. Countless nights, I lay in bed, envisioning scenes of passion with Yunke, hearing even my own ecstatic moans in imagination. Yet, when faced with Yunke in reality, I lacked the courage to indulge desire, like an exam candidate crippled by stage fright. After that intense kiss, I abandoned my usual affectionate language and adopted a composed tone, discussing economics, philosophy, medicine, psychology, education, and other academic topics with Yunke on calls or at gatherings, carefully avoiding any mention of feelings. And from then on, no chance encounters happened between us. I learned to evade, to extinguish the fervent desire for a man.
I'm unsure if it was my growing coldness that ignited Yunke's passion, or if his years of Puritan restraint began to crack, or perhaps that first kiss in the snow had unraveled his emotions. I sensed his desire surging, his loyalty to his wife teetering. By all accounts, I should be happy—this is what I had long hoped for. But, thinking deeply, over the years Yunke has carried himself like a young widow, a paragon of chastity admired by all. Whether to preserve this image of radiant love, protect his career prospects, or avoid leaving a woman who relies on him entirely in despair, he must continue bearing this burden of fidelity. And I, if unable to relieve him, can at least ensure he won't shatter that virtue on my account.
Yet, emotions and reason often not only fail to align but tend to rebel against each other. In moments of loneliness, my thoughts invariably turn to Yunke—his subtle smile, piercing gaze, and the faint aroma of wine on his breath, all lingering like a carefully nurtured potted plant, eternally vibrant on my windowsill, with my memory as the sheer veil.
The curtains long to be still, yet the wind does not cease.
Tonight, as my body stirs with longing, thoughts of him rise naturally—he is always the dream behind my gauzy curtain.
If I were to call him now, tell him I miss him, need him, yearn to embrace him passionately, I am certain he would abandon everything to reach me.
Time has wearied our hearts and bodies to hunger, eroding any resistance to emotional sustenance. Moreover, my bond with Yunke is beyond mere sustenance; it is an emotional feast.
Yet, I also know, deeply, that our desire is like a long-dormant volcano, and once it erupts, the destruction will be unimaginable. Could I, for my selfish desire, to satisfy this rush of longing, ruin the image of a man I love, and further destabilize a woman's fragile life raft? No! I cannot! The woman who has no way to compete with me for him lies between us like an unscalable mountain, her incapacity to fight back a blade sharp enough to sever our tangled threads of desire! So, no matter how much I want to truly possess him, I can only forcefully extinguish my longing, as tragically as a knife severing flesh.
Sometimes, sparing the first experience spares us from the mistakes that follow.
The first time is a trap.
The first time is like a drug.