Chapter 21

Michael inhaled deeply, the smoke swirling inside him, cutting his throat as it surged outward. Even his nasal passages burned painfully.

Before he had fully exhaled, he took another deep drag, trying to make the ember last longer, hoping to catch the attention of the person across the street.

An hour earlier, Emily had alighted, and Michael had left the parking lot without delay. Yet, at one intersection, he turned in the opposite direction of home.

He concocted an excuse about collecting some clothes to justify his sudden impulse.

He told himself Amanda would notice if a set of clothes was missing when he returned, so it was simpler to make an extra trip to the guesthouse to fetch them.

On the way, Michael received a call from Amanda, asking when he would be home. Michael said he needed to talk to his sister and would be late. Conveniently, Amanda was having dinner at her parents' house, where her mother had made black-eyed pea and pork bone soup for him.

Michael agreed absentmindedly, his mind occupied with the thought that Emily must be furious with him now.

He certainly regretted his rash actions, though they had been thrilling at the moment, leaving him aroused.

But it had been wrong, especially since he hadn't even said goodbye when Emily got out of the car.

Emily had the access card to the apartment, so Michael waited in the parking lot for a few minutes, then followed other residents into the building's elevator.

He hadn't cleared his chat history with Emily yet, which contained the electronic lock code. A few beeps later, he was inside.

Everything was as they had left it that morning: the strong wind from the high floors making the clothes on the balcony sway wildly.

Across several lanes, the high-rise residential buildings were brilliantly lit. Emily had made an arrow mark on the balcony railing earlier. Michael bent down, his gaze crossing the lanes to find the approximate direction.

Emily's kitchen lights were off; she might not be home yet.

Michael collected the clothes, even folding Emily's meticulously.

Her style was simple: unchanging jeans and T-shirts, with only the patterns on the T-shirts and the colors of the jeans varying. But Michael had noticed recently that her lingerie was quite sensual.

Thin black lace without padding or underwires, like raven feathers cradling her curves. The straps were just an inch wide, offering some support but leaving faint red marks on her shoulders by nightfall.

A slightly firmer grip would leave a mark.

He dazedly recalled the petite woman in his car, fumbling with her bra, almost crying.

Her hands trembled so much, yet she still softly thanked him for his company as she got out of the car.

Michael slapped himself.

Emily wasn't wrong; a whirlwind of complex emotions had pushed them over the edge.

But driven by impulse and desire, other feelings seemed insincere.

Even asking, "When will we meet again?" felt calculated.

No longer teenagers, they needed to calm down and think about what they wanted.

And what Emily wanted.

Michael took the ashtray to the balcony, leaning against the railing, smoking one cigarette after another. When the ashtray was full, a tiny light suddenly illuminated the small square.

His heart fluttered.

Someone walked into the kitchen. From this distance, Michael could only see a silhouette, unable to make out more details.

He zoomed in with his phone's camera. Though blurry, it was clear it wasn't Emily.

Anderson might have come to get water; he soon left. Michael cursed under his breath and continued waiting.

The traffic lights changed several times before Emily appeared.

The cigarette in his mouth burned quickly as he drafted a message, unsure whether to start with a greeting or an apology.

Unexpectedly, Emily texted first.

"Are you at the guesthouse?"

Michael paused, then replied, "Can you see me?"

"No, it's too dark. I only saw a spark. Are you smoking?"

"Yes, it's me."

Emily's hands trembled slightly. "Why are you here?"

Michael glanced across, biting the cigarette, typing quietly, "To collect the clothes."

He asked, "Are you okay over there?"

"Fine for now. Are you going home after collecting the clothes?"

Michael raised an eyebrow. What did she mean by "for now"?

He replied, "She's not home. I'll go back later. What about him?"

"He's taking a shower."

Emily hesitated, then walked to the door, peeking out. Hearing water running in the bathroom, she returned to the sink to text, "I'm seeing a lawyer tomorrow to confirm the agreement. I'll pack my things while he's at work. My brother and sister-in-law will come up the day after tomorrow, planning to talk to him in the evening."

"Alright, let me know before you talk to him. I'll try to coordinate with you."

Emily sent an "OK" emoji, unsure what else to say.

The "Typing..." indicator on the chat box remained illuminated for a long time, yet no new messages arrived.

She squinted across, perhaps the cigarette had burned out.

She zoomed the phone camera lens to its maximum.

The image blurred into an indistinct mass, nothing discernible.

At that moment, the sound of slippers dragging outside the kitchen, Emily quickly put away her phone.

Anderson walked in: "Hmm? Why are you still here in the kitchen?"

"Just finished checking the fridge," Emily raised the bottle of drink in her hand, "Only one bottle of Oolong tea left now. Have you been drinking a lot these days? When I left on Friday, there were still five or six bottles left in the fridge."

"Oh, right, these days it's been hot, so I've been taking one with me when I go out," Anderson replied nonchalantly.

"Do you think this brand tastes good? I'm going to the supermarket tomorrow. If you like it, I'll continue buying this brand."

"It's alright, buy it if you like," Anderson held the dirty clothes and walked towards the small balcony next to him, "Can I start the washing machine?"

"Yes, I've poured the detergent. Just start it."

Once her husband walked away, Emily took a deep breath, using this moment to delete the chat history with Michael from her messages.

She opened her phone, hesitating with her finger.

Michael had just sent a few voice messages.

Her husband was just on the small balcony next door, and could walk over at any time.

Her heart became a goldfish in a hot spring, wanting to jump out.

Reason could not stop impulse. Emily pressed "Play" on the voice messages and quickly placed the phone to her ear.

Michael's voice sounded deeper than usual through the phone.

He said he was truly sorry about the parking lot incident.

He said if she needed anything, she could call him anytime.

He said the weather forecast predicted rain tomorrow, so he had brought in the clothes from the balcony.

He said, "Emily, everything will go smoothly."

Emily listened to all of it, replaying the last sentence twice.

Michael stared for a long time, his eyes sore.

Suddenly, the warm yellow square dimmed, and he lost his target in an instant.

Fortunately, Emily received a message on her phone: "Wishing you smooth sailing too."