After sending, she’d put the phone aside and get busy, and sometimes wouldn’t see his reply until four or five hours later—but he always responded in time.
She even used his chat window as a notepad to jot down ideas, without fear of losing them.
But never expected they’d break up.
After deleting him, everything was gone.
“Buzz buzz.”
The phone alarm vibrated.
Five minutes were up. Zhōng Yì dismissed the alarm, sat upright, and resumed work.
Hearing the vibration, Zhou Shíyì glanced at the bottom right of his computer screen—about four or five minutes had passed.
He looked at her a few more times.
Since they broke up, he often got distracted during overtime, giving himself only five minutes before forcing himself back to work.
Never expected she did the same.
Feeling his gaze, Zhōng Yì suddenly turned her head—their eyes met.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
Zhou Shíyì said, “I have a five-minute alarm on my phone too.”
Zhōng Yì was stunned—they could still think alike after breaking up.
She said, “That means you thought of me back then.”
Pausing a few seconds, “I thought of you too.”
She asked, “You were thinking of me, right?”
Zhou Shíyì answered her first: “Definitely thinking of you.”
Then he asked her last question, “If I’m not thinking of you, who else could I be thinking of?”
“Who knows if you have someone else in your heart.”
That sentence was pure teasing, just like when she once said during their wedding photoshoot, “Who wants to take photos with you?”
After saying it, she turned back to the computer screen.
Zhou Shíyì stood up. “Stop looking at that, you’re distracted and won’t focus.”
“I can—” she protested.
Before she could finish, Zhou Shíyì kissed her back.
He lifted her from the swivel chair and placed her on the desk.
Zhōng Yì’s short hair was still damp—after waking up that morning, they wanted to get up but couldn’t.
Later, she showered and came to the study to work overtime.
“There’s no ‘study,’” she reminded him.
Zhou Shíyì kissed her lips. “There is.”
While speaking, he grabbed his suit jacket from the chair. “There’s something in the inside pocket.”
Zhōng Yì reached inside and found two rings. “How did you remember to put this here?”
Zhou Shíyì looked into her eyes: “You used to put them there, didn’t you?”
Although she always did it playfully and rarely used them, he remembered such small details.
She took one ring and handed back the cold, crisp-scented suit jacket.
This suit was one he often wore—its chilly scent matched the one on him.
Zhou Shíyì didn’t hang it back on the chair, but instead laid his black suit beneath her white dress.
The last time she sat on his suit was at least three and a half years ago.
At that time, they hadn’t yet had any conflicts.
She had sat on most of his shirts and suits.
And even worn them.
Zhou Shíyì propped his hands on either side of her, leaned down, and kissed her from her eyes down to her collarbone.
The rest was left to her.
Fortunately, nothing felt unfamiliar.
He was unusually patient, waiting while she helped put on the item she took from the jacket pocket.
Once on, her hands smelled faintly of fruit.
She had tasted that before—the first time she saw him lose control.
Even the calm and reserved man could lose control.
The checkered curtain slowly drew closed by itself, and the study door locked.
Even if it weren’t locked, no one would come in.
Zhou Shíyì shifted her in his arms and changed their position.
She tilted her head and could see the windmill oil painting.
He didn’t forget to pull over another jacket from the other side of the desk for her to sit on.
Held in his arms and kissed from time to time, Zhōng Yì felt as if the oil painting in front of her started to sway slowly.
She tilted her head to look at him, only seeing his sliding Adam’s apple.
She clutched his arm tightly with one hand, and finally freed her left hand to press gently on his sensual, sharp throat.
Suddenly, her whole body tensed.
Clear sounds of water.
Zhōng Yì adjusted her breathing: “Don’t spill my coffee!”
“Won’t spill,” he promised.
He bent down again and pressed his lips to hers.
“Who else do I have in my heart?” he whispered.
Zhōng Yì held him close, burying her face in his neck, silent.
“Zhōng Yì, acting cute won’t work now. Usually, if you don’t, I’ll still coax you.”
Still no answer from her.
Zhou Shíyì cupped the back of her head, forcing her to look up at him.
He kissed her.
More deeply.
Zhōng Yì finally said, “There’s no one else in your heart.”
Still not enough.
Only after she said, “You only have me in your heart. You only love me,” did Zhou Shíyì stop.
Then he pulled her into his embrace, holding her tightly.
Zhōng Yì looked back at the painting, steady and secure on the wall.
She took her water cup and drank half of it.
Zhou Shíyì brought a warm towel and gently wiped her face.
Throughout, he kept looking into her eyes.
Zhōng Yì pushed him away, turning her face so she wouldn’t look at him.
After finishing the rest of her water, she returned to the bedroom.
***
The afternoon sun streamed in through the checkered window.
Zhou Shíyì picked up the suit on the desk, damp in one spot.
Half an hour later, Zhōng Yì came out of the bathroom and chose a soft long dress from the wardrobe to change into.
Her chest was still red, hot, and sore.
She could only wear something soft.
After changing, she gently smoothed the front.
Zhou Shíyì had kissed her for a long time just now.
Returning to the study, the window was open, and only a fresh scent remained.
The man changed into a fresh shirt and dress pants to get into work mode.
She had no mood for anything else and focused on the computer screen.
Except for leaving the study to have lunch, they worked until dusk cloaked the sky.
Zhōng Yì’s phone vibrated—a message from Yuan: 【Sister Zhōng, are you going tomorrow? I can always open the back door for you (sneaky laugh).】
Zhōng Yì didn’t hesitate for a moment: 【I’m going.】