It Seems Like My Senior Seems to Like Me - Chapter 65

A first love’s kiss is like a feather—soft, tender, careful, as though even the lightest breeze could stir ripples and send the heart racing.

A breakup’s kiss is like thorns—sharp, vicious, cutting into flesh, leaving skin in bloody shreds.

The night was heavy, the bright moon hung high above, spilling its pale light and sealing everything into the timeline of heaven and earth, etching it onto the ruler of life.

“Mm…”

The narrow balcony was unlit, the only glow came from the golden lamplight indoors—slanted, faint, barely outlining two people locked in an embrace.

Ye Wanjia clutched Pei Suye’s shoulder so hard her fingers nearly dug into the bone. With her other hand pressed against the back of her head, her teeth sank in with brutal force, as if she meant to bite off a piece of her lips.

Pei Suye didn’t push her away. Instead, she held her tighter—one arm around her waist, the other steadying her alcohol-weakened body—and kissed her back with all her strength. Despite the pain, despite the fact that this kiss was not born of love but of punishment, she returned it fiercely. Because it had been far, far too long since she last kissed this woman before her.

Bang!

Their tangled figures slammed against the side, knocking over a broom. The clatter shattered the night’s stillness, halting their fevered embrace.

Their mouths broke apart but their lips still touched. In that instant, reason returned. Beautiful eyes slowly opened in the winter night, stepping back half a pace, and beheld the tear-stained face reflecting the moonlight.

Her brows were like a painting, her gaze like poetry—prettier even than before.

“Pei Suye, what do I have to do to forget you?”

She demanded.

But no answer came.

That night, Ye Wanjia was dead drunk. She remembered nothing of what happened after—only that, in her haze, she had kissed Pei Suye savagely, hard enough to split her lips.

The next morning, her roommate Alma couldn’t help but ask:

“When did you two get back together?”

Ye Wanjia, startled, felt her hangover pound even harder.

“Back together? With who?”

Alma gave her a knowing look, sipping coffee leisurely. “I saw you. Last night, on the balcony—you two were making out.”

Leaning closer, lowering her voice, she added, “But only I saw. To give you privacy, I even told ghost stories to the others so they wouldn’t dare look outside.”

Ye Wanjia smiled helplessly, flashing her white teeth, scratching her hair unconsciously before confessing:

“Fine. I was with her before.”

Alma nearly choked. She held up a finger. “Wait a second.”

She set her cup down, hopped up like a rabbit, and hurriedly shut windows, locked the door, even drew the curtains. Only then did she jump back into her seat:

“Go on.”

Ye Wanjia was stunned by the theatrics. She hadn’t known Argentinians could gossip like this.

Swallowing her hesitation, she resumed:

“But I won’t get back with her.”

Alma leaned forward in anticipation—only to be left hanging. She slumped, disappointed.

“That’s it? That’s all you’ve got?”

Ye Wanjia nodded, mimicking the same worldly-wise expression Alma had worn earlier.

“What else do you expect me to say?”

“Come on, girl!” Alma stumbled over her pronouns in frustration before finally blurting: “You two were kissing for five minutes straight last night!”

Ye Wanjia’s lashes lowered, her thoughts drifting far away. Yes—that kiss, the one she herself had initiated. What did it mean?

Disgust, punishment, resentment—anything but love.

“We’re just… enjoying a relationship where neither of us has to take responsibility.” That was her explanation.

Alma looked betrayed, her sapphire eyes wide in disbelief as she shook her head.

“My classmate told me Chinese people take kissing really seriously. You liar…”

And so, Ye Wanjia began her master’s life.

Up at 6:30 a.m., in the library by 7, studying for an hour before biking to the lab at 8, finishing her breakfast on the way.

By 8:30, experiments began. Some days were packed start to finish, others lighter—time to wait for data, study in the reading room, or go out cycling or playing ball with other lab members.

Her supervisor wasn’t strict, never demanded check-ins. As long as she had results for weekly reports, the rest of her schedule was hers.

“Life isn’t only about research,” he always said.

Alma, one year ahead of her, often took her to try out local food spots—sometimes with her boyfriend. When they quarreled, though, Ye Wanjia knew to quietly slip away.

But not always soon enough.

“Get out! Bitch!”

One day, Alma’s boyfriend stormed into the dorm. Their fight exploded into screaming, even violence.

When Ye Wanjia returned from the lab, she found chaos—debris everywhere, and the police summoned by neighbors.

“Are you Alma Martínez’s roommate?”

Facing a towering officer in uniform, she nodded truthfully, worry darting toward the room, though his broad frame blocked her view.

“Miss Martínez and her boyfriend had an altercation. We’ll be taking them for statements. For your own safety, it’s best you don’t stay here tonight.”

Her heart clenched. “Is Alma okay?”

“She’s not in critical danger, but her head was injured. She’s at the hospital for treatment. We’ll follow up. For now, miss, please pack your belongings—but only from your own room. We need to preserve the scene.”

He signaled a female officer to accompany her.

The incident quickly reached the professor. The head of the lab sent a Chinese teacher, Ms. Li, to the hospital to accompany Alma, and while waiting for stitches, arranged where Ye Wanjia would stay that night.

“Ye Wanjia, Alma’s boyfriend has fled. The police are pursuing him. For your safety, you can’t stay in that dorm anymore,” Ms. Li urged.

Ye Wanjia worried. “How’s Alma?”

“She’s still unconscious. Once she wakes, I’ll persuade her to press charges for trespassing and assault. Then we’ll get her a new dorm. You, pack your things and move into another student apartment. Jessica’s place. She’s already agreed.”

“Jessica…?”

“Yes, that’s her English name. What’s her Chinese name again? Anyway, Jessica—the one from your school. I already called her. She’ll help you move.”

“But, Teacher Li, I—”

“—She’s waking up! I can’t talk now. Just go. Once you’re settled, text me!”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The line went dead.

Ye Wanjia lowered her phone, lips pressed tight, her thoughts sinking deep.

Jessica—was Pei Suye.

Before long, a private car pulled up outside the dorm.

The driver’s door opened. Out stepped a tall, elegant figure in a knee-length black-and-white checkered coat. Her long frame poised, her dark hair tied back. On her lips was a small wound—the very one Ye Wanjia had bitten last week, now just beginning to scab.

Closing the car door, she lifted her head toward the second floor, meeting Ye Wanjia’s gaze.

For a heartbeat, it was as though last week’s recklessness had never happened. Spring’s warmth softened her expression, her smile gentle.

“Ye Wanjia, I’ve come to help you pack.”

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