Chapter 41
After their coffee and their exchange of contact information via the wishing box, Song Jingmo and Xie Zhang returned to the guesthouse.
This time, Song Jingmo retrieved his violin case from Xie Zhang’s car.
He’d played for Xie Zhang several times during their two-week stay—not formal performances, just casual playing.
Sometimes because the sunlight was nice, sometimes because the breeze was gentle, sometimes because inspiration struck.
Having grown up surrounded by love and encouragement, Song Jingmo, unlike the reserved Xie Zhang, wasn’t self-conscious about being the center of attention. He thrived in it.
Initially, Xie Zhang’s gaze had been just one among many.
But gradually, Song Jingmo had become acutely aware of his gaze, singling it out from the crowd.
He’d sometimes open his eyes mid-performance, catching Xie Zhang’s eye, giving him a playful wink.
Xie Zhang would smile back, then give him an awkward thumbs-up.
Song Jingmo declined Xie Zhang’s offer to drive him to the airport, standing at the guesthouse entrance, watching as the familiar SUV disappeared down the road, towards the horizon where the mountains met the sea.
Back in the guesthouse, he emailed his brother, confessing his impulsive act of discarding his phone.
As expected, his brother immediately replied with a flight confirmation.
Song Jingmo sat on the sofa in the reading area, bathed in sunlight, a SpongeBob SquarePants plushie in his lap, his chin resting on his hand, staring out the window.
An hour later, he heard the notification sound from his laptop. It was a screenshot of his flight ticket from his brother.
A flight scheduled for 5 pm the next day.
A morning flight would have been more efficient, so Song Chengyan had probably deliberately chosen a later flight, wanting to talk to his runaway brother.
Song Jingmo sat at the laptop, clicking the mouse absently.
Half an hour passed.
An hour passed.
Two hours passed.
The sky outside began to darken, the colors of dusk painting the horizon.
Song Jingmo suddenly stood up and rushed out of the guesthouse.
…
Climbing the hill towards the café for the second time that day, he leaned against his knees, gasping for breath.
The café owner, about to bring in the wishing box before it rained, opened the door and saw Song Jingmo standing there, slightly disheveled.
“Ah, you’re…”
He recognized the handsome young man.
He was an older man, his hair streaked with grey, running the café not just for the love of coffee but also for the stories his customers brought with them.
Although the café was always busy during tourist season, and being a popular spot, he often chatted with his customers, he remembered the two young men from that morning.
Two such handsome young men, their air filled with a romantic tension, were a rare sight.
And he remembered them writing their wishes and placing them in the box.
He raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile in his eyes.
Song Jingmo straightened up, clasping his hands together, pleading: “Sir, could I… retrieve a card from the box? Please, please!”
The owner feigned reluctance: “But that’s against the rules.”
Song Jingmo’s eyes lit up: “I can work here tomorrow! I can make coffee, play the piano, anything—if I’m an employee, I can retrieve a card, right?”
The owner chuckled, then, seeing Song Jingmo’s confused expression, burst into laughter.
Song Jingmo: “?”
“Is that not allowed?” He tugged on his shirt, still hopeful. “I’m a good barista! And a good musician! I can play anything!”
The owner, catching his breath, picked up the wishing box.
The slips of paper inside rustled as he gestured towards the café.
“Well, I just remembered… pfft! I mean, of course, we could use a musician.”
“Come in, it’s chilly outside.”
“What instruments do you play? We only have a piano… but I can—”
“I play everything! I have my own violin, if that’s what you need!”
Song Jingmo wasn’t a spoiled brat. He’d worked part-time jobs abroad, not for the money, but for the practice, to desensitize himself to performing in different environments.
Seeing the owner struggling with the wishing box, he rushed over and held the door open for him.
The café was almost empty, closing up for the night. Being in a remote location, it wasn’t safe to stay open late.
A lone waiter, his back mostly hidden by a large potted plant, was cleaning, his movements efficient and precise.
Song Jingmo’s gaze lingered on the waiter’s long legs.
They looked… familiar… And he hadn’t seen a waiter during the day, had he?
The owner placed the wishing box on the counter, leaning against a barstool. Seeing Song Jingmo looking towards the waiter, he smiled knowingly: “Oh, you two are so cute.”
Hm?
You… two?
Song Jingmo paused.
Just then, the waiter approached, holding something in his hand.
“Sir, I think a customer left this…”
Xie Zhang, dressed in a waiter’s uniform, a café logo embroidered on his apron, stopped mid-sentence, looking at Song Jingmo standing by the counter, his lips moving soundlessly before he finally finished:
“…behind.”
Song Jingmo stared at Xie Zhang’s blushing ears, a knowing smile on his face.
The owner, watching them, covered his mouth to hide his amusement, then said: “You’re both starting tomorrow, one as a waiter, the other as a musician. You can get acquainted now.”
His tone was playful.
“Oh, just leave the lost item on the counter. Someone might come looking for it.”
“I’ll clean the back room. The wishing box is here; please sort through the notes for tonight’s live draw.”
“Thanks!”
Xie Zhang placed the item on a tray by the counter.
Song Jingmo suddenly leaned closer to him, their faces almost touching, Xie Zhang’s breath hitching.
He straightened Xie Zhang’s collar, which had been crumpled by the apron, then nodded approvingly: “This uniform suits you. I’ll look good in it too.”
He examined the apron strings, then said to Xie Zhang: “You tied this wrong; it’ll become a knot. A bow is more secure.”
Xie Zhang, used to Song Jingmo’s occasional quirks, turned around, raising his arms slightly, tilting his head: “Then I’ll have to rely on our talented musician’s expertise.”
Song Jingmo chuckled, untying the apron strings and quickly tying a perfect bow.
“Perfect!”
He clapped his hands.
Xie Zhang turned around.
They looked at each other for a moment, neither of them questioning the other’s presence.
“We…”
“We…”
They spoke simultaneously again.
Song Jingmo’s earlier hesitation vanished.
He liked this man.
And he wasn’t afraid to find out where this… connection… would lead.
He tilted his chin up, extending the invitation: “Shall we sort through the wishes?”
Xie Zhang smiled, his eyes soft: “Okay.”
…
They sat down, and before Xie Zhang could figure out how to open the wishing box, Song Jingmo had already opened the small door at the back, a smug look on his face.
“Wow, so many—let’s see, this one wishes for career success… this one for good health… hmm… this one is a bit… difficult to fulfill…”
“This isn’t a valid wish; put it in the discard pile.”
“And this one! ‘The owner’s coffee beans are amazing, can I have the owner as a gift?’ …I think this counts as a valid wish, right?”
“I… guess? It might not be chosen, but let’s keep it…”
Soft music played in the background, the café’s warm lighting creating an intimate atmosphere, the wind chimes tinkling occasionally.
The scent of coffee filled the air, swirling around them, reaching the twinkling fairy lights above.
The owner, who had been cleaning the back room, peeked out through the window, then took a picture with his Polaroid camera.
After the whirring sound, he shook the developing photo, looked at it, smiling, then tucked it away.
As he walked back inside, he overheard the two young men discussing a wish about… the owner… and classifying it as “valid.”
His expression shifted, and he changed his mind about giving them the photo, instead pinning it to the photo wall on the wishing box.
