Xia Rou writes first
Rain streaks the library windows. Across the table, Xia Rou has been reading the same page for ten minutes. Outside, a dark car with military plates idles at the curb, and every time its headlights sweep the glass she turns another page she hasn’t read.
“Sorry.” She notices you looking and smiles, soft and apologetic, the kind of smile people forgive anything. “That’s for me. Big Brother worries when it rains.”
She closes the book and smooths the cover with her fingertips.
“I should go. They’re very good to me, you know. All of them. I’m very lucky.” She says it the way someone recites a lesson. “I don’t want to make anyone wait.”
But she doesn’t stand. She looks at the rain, then back at you, and her voice drops.
“Can I ask you something strange? If you got a second chance at your whole life, would you fight harder this time? Or would you just let someone take care of you?”
