Cocoon (Lily ABO) - Chapter 15

Realizing she had overreacted, Ling Yu stood frozen in place, feeling utterly lost. Her lips moved slightly before pressing tightly together. The fingers covering her face arched weakly before curling into a fist, sliding down from her cheek to rest in her palm.

Suppressing the sour ache in her chest, Han Jingman stepped forward and pressed a towel into Ling Yu’s hands. Her tone was neutral as she said, “You’re soaked. Dry your hair first.”

A “thank you” stuck in Ling Yu’s throat—she couldn’t force it out, yet she couldn’t swallow it down. She stared blankly at Han Jingman for a moment before lowering her eyes, unfolding the towel and draping it over her head.

The only sound in the living room was the rustle of the towel rubbing against hair. Outside, the rain fell in torrential pillars, a relentless downpour lashing against the balcony’s floor-to-ceiling windows, bringing a chill into the air.

“A-choo!”

In the silence of the room, Ling Yu sneezed. The echo through her bones made her ears ring slightly, and the corners of her eyes grew moist.

Han Jingman frowned. Just as she was hesitating over whether to let Ling Yu stay to shower and change, her phone rang at an inopportune moment.

The sharp ringtone sliced through the stagnant air, pushing the atmosphere between them into a dead silence. Han Jingman’s eyelashes trembled; her thoughts were a mess. The phone in her hand felt like a hot potato. She wanted to let it ring until it stopped, but the person on the other end was persistent.

Ling Yu looked away, her voice carrying a slight nasal quality. “Answer it.”

After a pause, Han Jingman pressed accept. “Hello, Yiwei.”

Even though she had already guessed who it was, hearing Han Jingman say that name made Ling Yu’s tears fall betrayingly once again. She hurriedly used the towel to scrub her face and head haphazardly, using the motion to wipe away the tears.

Han Jingman moved the phone slightly away from her face, covering the receiver with her hand as she motioned for Ling Yu to go to the bathroom. Then, returning to the call, she said, “Yes, I just landed. The rain is very heavy. Okay, I’ll be careful…” She began walking toward her own bedroom.

Ling Yu watched blankly as Han Jingman entered the bedroom while talking. Tears she could no longer hold back streamed down her face. Snapping back to reality, she wiped them away, folded the towel neatly on the low wooden coffee table, and then quietly closed the apartment door. She turned and headed downstairs.

Chen Yiwei’s feelings were somewhat complicated. His girlfriend had left him a voicemail last weekend saying she would be away on a business trip and might not be in contact for a while. After four years, he thought he understood Han Jingman to some extent. The reality, however, was that whenever he tried to get closer or take a deeper step, she would consciously avoid him.

He had chosen to develop his career on the West Coast, while Han Jingman accepted an offer to teach at an university in the East. He had tried to suggest—albeit subtly—that she join him out West. After all, they had faced separation shortly after establishing their relationship; few normal couples would accept a long-distance relationship across such a vast span.

But Han Jingman had stated that she respected his choice and hoped he would respect her life in return. She told him that if he couldn’t handle the distance, he was free to break up with her at any time. Chen Yiwei knew how much effort he had spent to get this “Inaccessible Flower” to accept his pursuit. He couldn’t let go easily. Distance was just distance; he had confidence in their feelings.

By now, however, Chen Yiwei couldn’t help but wonder if his initial decision was wrong. He realized that Han Jingman always treated him with nothing but supreme politeness. There were no intimate gestures, nor even the basic reliance typical of a couple. Even her friends seemed far closer to her than he was.

By all accounts, Han Jingman was a perfect girlfriend. She was smart, beautiful, gentle, and generous. She was elegant, she cooked for him, and she always replied to his messages promptly. Even from so far away, she regularly reminded him to exercise and sent postcards and local specialties from her travels. When he was busy with work, she considerately told him to prioritize his career.

But rather than saying they were in love, it was more like he was the only one enjoying the illusion of her working hard to play the role of his “ideal girlfriend.”

On the other end of the line was Han Jingman’s usual gentle voice, but to Chen Yiwei today, it sounded inexplicably unsettling. He composed himself and asked tentatively, “Jingman, what would you think about me moving back to the East Coast for work?”

He felt the person on the other end catch her breath, and his own heart hung in suspense.

Han Jingman’s eyes wavered with an unreadable emotion. She replied softly, “What’s wrong? Isn’t the West Coast going well? Why the sudden urge to come back?”

Chen Yiwei grew anxious, stating his intentions bluntly. “Jingman, I want to go back. we can’t be long-distance forever. I’m tired of only seeing you through phone and video calls. I want to be able to touch the real you every day. I want to eat dinner you made with your own hands every day, and I want to hold you every night. Since you don’t want to come here, then I’ll be the one to go back. I want to marry you.”

Han Jingman’s body shuddered. She heard the word “marry.”

Chen Yiwei had poured out everything in his heart in one breath. He could wait, and he had the patience. But every time, Han Jingman made him feel like his affection was hitting cotton—soft, sinking in, but never bouncing back.

Holding the phone, Han Jingman stood by the bedroom window, watching the rain strike the glass and shatter instantly. Vast patches of wetness blurred the window, devoid of any beauty.

Han Jingman reached out, grabbed the curtain, and pulled it shut, hiding the pitch-black dampness.

“I’m sorry.”

Chen Yiwei had been waiting with a bated breath, only to receive a calm “I’m sorry.” He couldn’t stop himself from pacing back and forth in his study. “Why are you saying sorry, Jingman? Is there something I haven’t done well enough?”

Han Jingman hadn’t expected these words to be easier to say than she imagined. “Yiwei, it’s not that you aren’t good enough. It’s that I am not suitable.” She paused, biting her lip to steady herself, then continued firmly. “You must have realized by now—I am not a competent girlfriend. I can’t give you what you want. I once thought that mutual respect and politeness were the best state for us, but that truly isn’t what you want, nor was it my original intention. Perhaps we shouldn’t have been together in the first place. I was too reckless. I’m sorry.”

The words hit Chen Yiwei like a bolt from the blue, making his hands shake. Han Jingman was breaking up with him.

“Jingman, I didn’t mean that. I wasn’t trying to pressure you. I was just too impatient,” Chen Yiwei said, clearly panicking.

Han Jingman gazed at the bedroom door, her eyes devoid of any ripples. “Yiwei, it’s not your fault. In this relationship, it is I who failed to meet our expectations. I know it’s despicable of me to bring up a breakup now, but I truly don’t want to keep dragging this out. It would only hurt us both more. You deserve someone better, and I sincerely hope you find happiness. So, let’s… cut our losses while we can.”

“No, there is no one better than you. Jingman, I won’t break up. Please, just think about it again. We’ve been together for four years; feelings don’t just vanish. Let’s both take some time to cool down. I won’t pressure you, and we won’t talk about this for now. It’s late; get some rest. I’m hanging up.”

Chen Yiwei hung up the phone in a panic, sitting slumped in his chair with his head in his hands, unable to believe what had happened.

Han Jingman knew it would be difficult for Chen Yiwei to accept her decision all at once. Since her mind was made up, the separation was only a matter of time; giving him some space to process it was for the best.

She put away her phone and walked out of the bedroom, but Ling Yu was nowhere to be seen. The towel was left on the coffee table, and she wasn’t in the bathroom. Han Jingman felt a dull ache in her chest. She leaned over to pick up the towel and slowly sat on the sofa, hugging her knees. Her long linen skirt was tucked under her thighs; she looked poised and quiet.

Rain drummed against the car body, and the whistling wind howled at the windows. Ling Yu reclined her seat and pillowed her arms behind her neck. She gazed quietly at the sunroof, watching the vertically falling rain strike the small square pane with a rhythmic pitter-patter.

The heater and the fan slowly dried her clothes. The car’s audio played an old CD automatically; Eason Chan’s songs played one after another until:

“Ten years later, we are friends, we can still greet each other, but that kind of tenderness… can no longer find a reason to embrace…”

Ling Yu closed her eyes. Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes and merged into her hair, resting cold against her temples.