Under The Sunset, She Kissed Me. - Chapter 2

Chapter 2

When Y and I went on a trip to Tibet, we tried horseback riding. Y didn’t hold on tight and fell off. On the way to the hospital, Y was still giggling, telling me that young people heal quickly from falls. The scatterbrained Y, with one arm immobilized, still found the energy to touch my face with her other hand and told me to stop crying. Only then did I realize that I had been shedding tears without knowing it. Love is truly strange; I used to be such a strong person, but after meeting Y, I have cried more times than I did in the first fifteen years of my life combined.

We have been together for many years now. We’ve had a few arguments along the way, but except for the most serious one, our fights are actually quite fun. For instance, we use matching profile pictures. If we get into an argument, she changes hers and edits a sentence in the middle of the image. Once I see it, I change mine and edit a reply. We don’t talk in the chat box; we talk through our profile pictures. When we’re done and the issue is resolved, we make up, and Y excitedly sends me a few sets of new matching avatars. How can she be so cute, my Y?

Once we had some financial stability, we started traveling together every six months. Before we leave, she makes an itinerary and I make one. Right before departure, we crumple them into balls and pick one at random. We follow whichever plan we pick. This avoids us fighting over logistics—no more her complaining my plans are too rigid, or me complaining her plans lack structure. It all comes down to luck, which completely eliminates arguments about the itinerary.

Both Y and I are what people call “good students.” We both look the part, too. After we got together, I discovered that Y loves smoking and drinking, while I love tattoos and piercings. Well, what can I say? We are truly a perfect little couple, haha.

Y is sometimes very childish. Once, we went out together and I went to the restroom while she waited outside. When I came out, I didn’t see her and wondered where she’d gone. Suddenly, she let out a loud shout and jumped out, scaring the daylights out of me. My darling, precious Y, if you scared me to death, you wouldn’t have a wife anymore!

Our relationship is a secret from our families. First of all, our hometowns are in underdeveloped small cities where acceptance is low. Secondly, neither of us has the courage to come out to our families. Neither of our families is patriarchal—in fact, they are very good to both of us—which is exactly why we are afraid to tell them; we don’t want to hurt them. Our plan is to hide it as long as we can, and if we ever can’t, we’ll go home and confess together. No matter what happens, we will always face everything side by side.

After dinner, Y and I usually sit for a while before doing the dishes. Y leans against me on the sofa, her palm resting on my lower abdomen. Suddenly, she pats my belly, thump-thump-thump, and says, “Ruru baby, does this sound like there’s a watermelon growing inside you?” I roll my eyes and say, “Then stop touching it, take your greasy paws off me.” “No way! Even if you were growing a durian in there, I’d still want to touch it, hehe.”

Sometimes when we don’t want to cook at home, I’ll message Y two hours before she gets off work to ask if she wants to eat out. Every time, she agrees happily. In the evenings, we eat our fill, walk holding hands, and our days pass by warmly and comfortably.

Y once bought me a purple jacket, but I didn’t think it suited me, so I didn’t wear it much. Later, while cleaning up, I found it. Y told me to put it on to see if it still fit. After I put it on, Y said, “Ruru baby, why is your fashion sense so flashy?” Don’t turn the tables on me! You bought this for me! “No way, my taste couldn’t possibly be that bad. I…” Sigh.

To love someone is to love their rounded belly, their dark circles from staying up late, their haggard complexion, the scars on their skin, and their unstable emotions. To accept and embrace everything they are—that is what it means to love them. I have done this, and Y has too. We are just the happiest little couple.

I am a writer, a freelancer with a flexible schedule. Y works in a company with strict office hours. Every time she has to get up early for work, she complains to me before heading out, so I always give her a kiss to appease her.

Y is an animation visual effects artist. There was a period when she was very busy and had to work overtime at night, so I would bring her food. The office building would be brightly lit, but it couldn’t hold a candle to the radiant charm of my wife.

After she finishes her projects, the company gives her about a week off. She usually comes home and sleeps for three days and three nights straight. The house has to be absolutely quiet; anyone who disturbs her sleep gets blocked. I have always found this trait of hers especially cute—cold and adorable, just like a little cat.

By the time she wakes up, it’s usually seven or eight in the evening, and I have dinner ready. What I cook depends entirely on what she told me she wanted to eat the night before. Since she always wants to feast after a big project, our fridge is always stocked with meat.

Sometimes I am busy, too, and have to travel to meet with publishers, staying away for over a month. When I’m busy at night, she’ll cry and say she doesn’t know how to cook and that the food from restaurants nearby tastes bad, and she wants me to come home early to cook for her. In reality, it’s not that she just wants my food; she just misses me.

Before meeting Y, I was used to doing everything alone. Even if I got hurt, I would just endure it. By the time I finished my work and remembered the pain, the wound would have mostly healed. Since being with Y, even if I just get stepped on, I run into her arms and whine, often getting teased by her for being the real “delicate little one.”

Y and I went to the same high school but were in different classes, not even on the same floor. Luckily, we were both day students, so our brief morning and evening arrivals at the school gate became our precious moments together. I would bike to her house in the morning to pick her up, and in the evening, she would bike me home. I loved sitting on the back seat at night, holding her waist, leaning close to her back, and smelling the faint scent of laundry detergent on her, which wiped away the stress of the day.

Y’s health isn’t actually that good. She grew up in a poor environment, which made her sensitive to certain scents; inhaling pungent odors easily makes her cough or vomit. After we started earning money, the first thing I did was take her for a full medical checkup. The doctor said she had arrhythmia and bronchial asthma. I asked how to treat it, and the doctor said there is no permanent cure, just to avoid allergic triggers. At the time, Y was still giggling, not taking it seriously at all. As we left the hospital, she teased me, saying my face looked as if I’d just lost my wife. I rolled my eyes and said, “Aren’t you my wife?” She smiled broadly, gave me a big hug, and said, “Your Ruru baby is still alive; how could I bear to go first?” We held each other silently until a car honked behind us, reminding us we were still at the hospital. My wife then preemptively pushed me away, saying, “Oh, you’re so mushy!” Truly, the guilty party acting as if they were the victim!

Being in different universities was much harder than being in different high school classes. At least in high school, we could see each other in the morning and evening, and maybe even bump into each other during lunch. In university, we could only express our feelings through video calls.

It was okay at first, but by the third month, Y hadn’t cried yet, but I broke down first.

One night, as Y was organizing her notes and telling me about her day, I didn’t respond for a long time. She looked up and saw me crying on the screen, tears flowing like a broken faucet.

I told her I missed her so much. My voice was shaky. Seeing me cry, she stopped organizing her notes and started comforting me, asking what was wrong and telling me we could meet in the summer. I said I didn’t want to wait for summer; I wanted to see her right now.

My emotions just overflowed for no reason. No matter how she tried to coax me, it didn’t work. I cried until 11 PM. I didn’t hear a word she said until I finally fell asleep, exhausted. When I woke up the next morning, the video call was still running, and I saw her sleeping on the screen. I hung up and went to class.

After hanging up, I messaged her, saying I had to go to class and that my emotions had been unstable, hoping she wouldn’t mind. I didn’t check my phone until lunch, when I saw she had replied with a simple “It’s okay,” and nothing more.

At that moment, I had a strange feeling that she was coming to see me. Sure enough, at 7 PM, she texted me saying she was at the school gate. The moment I saw her, I noticed she had lost weight but looked even more beautiful. Seeing me, she opened her arms wide from a distance. I ran over and hugged her tight, tears already falling before I could say a word. She stroked my hair and teased me for being a crybaby who couldn’t live without her.

That night, I took leave from my advisor and got a room outside with her. After washing up and lying in bed, listening to her talk, I wrapped one arm around her waist and curled up in her arms like a scalded shrimp.

She asked how school and my roommates were. I didn’t want to talk about that, so I just kissed her while she spoke. She realized I didn’t want to answer, so she pinched my nose and called me a nuisance. I fell asleep in her arms without knowing when.

When I woke up, the bed was already cold. On the table were breakfast and a note from her. The breakfast had gone cold. The note read: “I only had a day and a half of leave from my advisor, so I have to go back quickly.” It was signed: “Your Y, who loves Ruru baby the most.” Looking at the note, tears fell for no reason again. I’ve never been one to cry easily, but since meeting Y, my tears have turned into an entire Pacific Ocean.