The Nested Blueprints (Part 3)

Lin Se's fingers hovered over the draft paper, her pen suspended above the characters for "kitchen," the ink bleeding into a small stain like a blue teardrop falling into water. She felt the air in the room grow heavier as fog crept through the half-open window, carrying a damp chill that brushed against her neck. She set down her pen and walked to the window, trying to push it open further, only to find the hinges rusted shut, merely trembling with a creaking sound at her touch. She gazed outside, where the fog had swallowed the old street lamp at the end of the alley, leaving only a blurred halo of light like a forgotten star.

Behind her, Ceylon remained silent, the blue afterglow on its screen flickering intermittently like a lamp with a dying wick. Without turning, she asked softly, "Do you still remember him?" Her voice was so faint it was nearly consumed by the fog. She knew Ceylon wouldn't answer, at least not in the way she hoped. Yet she asked anyway, as if talking to herself in a mirror, trying to fish a response from the silence.

Just then, the doorbell rang, sharp and abrupt, like a knife cutting through the room's stillness. Lin Se spun around, her heart pounding against her ribs. She made her way through the cluttered hallway, stepping on a fallen screw that made a crisp tinkling sound. At the door, she felt a slight chill as her hand gripped the doorknob, like dew from the fog seeping into her skin. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

Aivi stood outside, her short hair dyed blue-gray, plastered to her forehead by the fog, looking somewhat disheveled. She wore a loose sweater with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, revealing pale forearms. In her hand was a letter, its envelope marked with several drops of moisture, its edges slightly curled as if crumpled by time. She looked up at Lin Se, her eyes betraying a hint of fatigue and barely perceptible hesitation.

"For you," Aivi's voice was dry, like wind-dried leaves. "Found it in the mailbox yesterday, almost forgot to bring it over."

Lin Se took the letter, feeling an icy chill as her fingertips touched the envelope. She immediately recognized the handwriting—Simon's script, crooked yet forceful, like his personality, both gentle and stubborn. The envelope bore no postmark, only her name "Lin Se" written in the center, the ink deep black like an indelible mark. She didn't open it immediately, instead looking up at Aivi and asking in a low voice, "Won't you come in and sit for a while?"

Aivi shrugged, entered, and casually tossed her coat over the back of a chair. The coat exuded the damp scent of fog, making a soft rustling sound as it settled. She glanced around the room, her gaze lingering momentarily on Ceylon, her eyes flashing with complex emotions—something like pity, mixed with a hint of secret envy. She walked to the long table, leaned against its edge, and with hands thrust into her sweater pockets, said quietly, "Still tinkering with this thing? I thought you'd given up by now."

"It's not broken," Lin Se responded flatly, her tone carrying a barely detectable defensiveness. "It just needs adjustment."

Aivi made a sound, the corner of her mouth curling slightly into a mocking smile. "Simon's things are always like that—perfect on the surface, a mess inside. Do you remember how he disappeared? The fog was especially thick that day. He said he needed to get something from the lab and asked me to tell you not to wait for him for dinner. Then he never came back."

Lin Se's fingers tightened around the envelope, her knuckles turning white, her nails nearly digging into the paper. She didn't want to hear this, but Aivi's words were like nails, precisely hammering into the cracks of her memory. She countered in a low voice, "He's not dead." Her voice trembled but carried a stubborn insistence.

"Are you sure?" Aivi's tone suddenly sharpened. She straightened up, hands pressed on the table, staring into Lin Se's eyes. "Lin Se, wake up. The things he left behind—this robot, those sketches—they're all his tombstones. You guard them like you're guarding a ghost that will never return. You know what? I watched him walk into the fog that day, and I felt something was wrong, but I didn't stop him."

The room fell into deadly silence, broken only by the faint sound of fog tapping against the glass outside, like countless invisible hands knocking. Lin Se felt her throat tighten, as if blocked by something. She wanted to argue, to tell Aivi she was wrong, but her throat was too dry to make a sound. She turned away, tearing open the envelope with somewhat hasty movements, ripping an uneven edge. She pulled out the single sheet of paper inside, thin and yellowed, as if soaked in time.

The paper contained only a few lines, Simon's handwriting trembling as if written during a storm:

"Lin Se, the kitchen is love's grave. Stop looking for me. —Simon"

She stared at those words, her vision blurring momentarily, as if fog had seeped into her eyes. In her mind, she saw Simon standing in the kitchen—flour on his apron, holding a plate of freshly baked cookies, smiling as he said, "Try these, they taste like love." But now, that warm image was completely devoured by the coldness of the letter, like a fire extinguished by fog, leaving only ashes.

"You see," Aivi broke the silence, her voice dropping to a sigh, "he said it himself."

Lin Se didn't respond, just folded the paper and slipped it into her woolen sweater pocket. Her fingers felt ice-cold, as if frozen by the dew on the envelope. She turned around to look at Ceylon, whose screen had lit up again, the blue light reflecting on her face like a thin layer of tears. She suddenly realized that the story of the robot chef might not have been random. It was Simon's voice, through Ceylon's throat, traveling across time and fog to reach her ears.