Qiao Nanchu's place had a special room for her, but ever since she became aware of the proprieties between men and women, she never stayed over again. The room still looked the same, with an old-fashioned phonograph on the balcony table and neatly stacked records beside it.
He had once given her a portable music player. It seemed like he never minded whether she could hear it or not. He didn't deliberately avoid the subject, and he even learned sign language only to tell her after he had mastered it.
He said he learned it casually.
His phone vibrated in his pocket.
Qiao Nanchu: "I'm outside the door."
She couldn't hear the knocking, so he always texted her.
She replied, "You can come in."
The door was unlocked, and Qiao Nanchu entered with a bag, "Why are you standing?"
She had been standing all this time, next to the sofa, her gaze shy and embarrassed, and she signed, "Afraid I'll dirty the sofa."
Silly!
