They had known each other for less than twelve hours.
But she didn’t call her a travel companion or a stranger. She didn’t ask her name. Instead, she declared openly to others,
“Of course she’s a friend.”
Everything about this woman resembled that hazy name:
Bertha.
Was she really named Bertha? Or had Kong Liyuan misunderstood? But the distant voice that had shattered the eggshell felt too faint now to tell for sure.
Kong Liyuan thought as much. And so the golden hair that had lingered in her palm slipped away in an instant.
It was as soft as she had imagined, yet a touch more resilient.
In the brief moment she zoned out, it slid swiftly from her grasp.
The young woman herself seemed oblivious to it. Nicole noticed first that she had woken up.
She looked as if she wanted to ask something more, but upon seeing her awake, she held her tongue.
The young woman followed Nicole’s gaze. With her back to the nearly setting sun, she turned sideways, smiled at her, and said,
“You’re awake? Nicole’s about to head off on her own. She stuck around just for you to wake up so she could say goodbye.”
Nicole frowned slightly at the words, clearly displeased with the phrasing.
Kong Liyuan gathered her wits and extended her hand a little farther over the edge of the car door.
“Goodbye, Nicole.”
She smiled as she said it, even though they would never cross paths again after this.
Nicole pursed her lips. She glanced at the young woman, then back at Kong Liyuan, who was still smiling.
At last, she reached out and clasped her hand. In halting Chinese, she said,
“If you see my competition post on Instagram someday, remember to give it a like—or even better, a vote.”
It was an oddly charming farewell.
The young woman laughed beside them and chimed in with an easy “Sure thing.” Kong Liyuan noted how her speech always carried that soft, lingering tail.
Nicole departed. Under the golden sunset, her figure grew smaller and smaller, while her shadow stretched ever longer.
Kong Liyuan leaned idly against the car, squinting lazily at the rush of traffic and pedestrians beyond the open door.
She watched the young woman waving enthusiastically overhead, not lowering her arm until Nicole had vanished completely. Only then did she relent, a touch wistful.
She picked up the soda can from the hood and took a hearty swig.
It was soda, from the look of it.
Standing so close, Kong Liyuan could almost hear the bubbles coursing through the young woman’s body—bursting slowly, then fading away.
“Is she heading to the exhibition alone?” Kong Liyuan asked abruptly.
The young woman jolted in surprise, springing away from the car for a second. Spotting her, she laughed it off and settled back against the vehicle.
She offered the can.
“Yeah, she came all the way from San Francisco. There’s a fashion show in this town, and she’s a special invited model.”
Kong Liyuan accepted the can and took a casual gulp. The lukewarm fizz flooded her body, soothing the restlessness beneath.
“She’s a brave one.”
“Of course. The show’s not huge, but she’s the bravest Down syndrome kid I’ve ever met.” The young woman didn’t tiptoe around Nicole’s condition.
“She earned the spot herself, talked the organizers into it. She knew the backlash she’d face, the roadblocks ahead. But she came anyway—solo, from San Francisco right here, for what amounts to a small gig.”
“So…”
“So what?” Kong Liyuan tilted her head lazily. She half-expected the young woman to suggest they go cheer Nicole on.
But Bertha just gazed at her. She retrieved the can from Kong Liyuan’s hand and drank.
She swept back the golden strands draping her shoulder and tugged her baseball cap over them. The brim shadowed her upper face, while sunset light like melted butter poured from her eyes.
“So yeah—if you spot her on Instagram down the line, hit that like button.”
“After all, we shared the road for a bit.” Bertha tilted her head with a smile.
“Right?”
Kong Liyuan gave a noncommittal smile and snagged the can again for another lazy sip.
Bertha didn’t press when Kong Liyuan stayed silent. She waited patiently, then took the soda back as naturally as before. Leaning against the car, she sipped it slowly.
Two strangers, acquainted for less than a day—one lounging inside the car, the other against its side—quietly drained the can between them, one sip at a time.
Golden winds blew as they killed time. The sun sank fully below the horizon, leaving the can bone-dry.
Bertha leaned in suddenly, wrinkling her nose. “Your Band-Aid’s peeling at the edges. You should probably redo the wound.”
“Oh?” Kong Liyuan ripped it off without a second thought.
The sting didn’t faze her, but Bertha gasped in alarm.
Kong Liyuan found it endearing. She watched Bertha dart around to the other side of the car, fetching a first-aid kit stocked with iodine, ointment, cotton swabs, and Buzz Lightyear Band-Aids.
Separated only by the car door, Bertha meticulously cleaned the wound and applied medicine.
“It might sting a little,” Bertha said gently, her eyes locking onto Kong Liyuan’s.
“But I figure you’re not the type to mind.”
Her breath mingled with Kong Liyuan’s, laced with the cloying sweetness of iced soda. The iodine-dipped swab glided over the cut, delivering a sharp, pinpoint ache.
That very pain steadied Kong Liyuan’s breathing. She met those nearby eyes and smiled.
“If you’re so sure I don’t mind pain, why handle it so delicately?”
“Eh?” Bertha blinked, caught off guard. After a beat, she answered forthrightly,
“Because I’m the one who’d hate for you to hurt.”
It unfolded exactly as Kong Liyuan had anticipated—no surprises. She reflected calmly.
As Bertha unwrapped a fresh Buzz Lightyear Band-Aid, those golden strands brushed Kong Liyuan’s palm once more.
So she asked on impulse, “Are we friends?”
Bertha didn’t falter. She tore off the backing in one smooth motion, leaned in, bent at the waist, and lowered her head.
“You overheard me with Nicole, huh? But why wouldn’t we be?”
She pressed the Band-Aid into place, her soft fingertip lingering lightly on the edges. No pressure, yet the wound throbbed faintly.
It stirred a slower, more insidious itch around the injury.
Kong Liyuan reclined against the headrest, gazing upward at Bertha’s face.
Her eyes traced the smooth line of her pale jaw, the straight, elegant bridge of her nose, and the deep contours of her eyes.
Before Bertha could pull away, Kong Liyuan narrowed hers and repeated,
“So we’re friends now? Then should we go ahead and do it?”
The second time around, the question was unmistakable—though her tone stayed offhand.
Perhaps the first interruption had left her inner turmoil unresolved.
Bertha surely grasped her meaning. She surely knew the answer.
Kong Liyuan didn’t fixate on the response. Propping her cheek, she idly watched car after car stream past.
She avoided Bertha’s expression. Instead, she heard the rustle of items being stowed in the kit. Heard Bertha ask casually,
“You won’t tell me your name? Won’t ask mine?”
A car crept closer, its headlights swaying on the slick street as the summer night steamed up. The glaring yellow beams yanked Kong Liyuan’s wandering gaze back.
She turned.
She watched Bertha tuck the kit inside the car, circle back around, and lean against the door once more.
Arms outstretched, she let the night breeze caress them, tousling her wild golden hair.
Kong Liyuan hadn’t seen it coming. Surprised, she said, “You want to know my name?”
In this bizarre, alien land, she could easily invent a pseudonym for their fleeting road companion.
But it wasn’t necessary.
“Not especially.”
Bertha’s hand rested on the door, tapping its edge idly.
She gazed down the open road ahead, at the sunken golden sun. Suddenly, her eyes crinkled in a grin.
“Okay. Let’s do it.”
Kong Liyuan didn’t process it at first. Dazed, she watched the golden strands glide over her palm.
From then on, every time she ran her fingers through Bertha’s golden hair, the thought would loop endlessly:
She had misjudged her entirely.
Bertha possessed a fierce, vibrant wildness—untamed yet yielding.
She bared her desire without shame, her eyes brimming with boundless honesty.
She thrived in the everyday world without a hint of fragility.
Afterward, Bertha bent forward, palms braced on the car door between them.
She drew very close, her breath and hair teasing Kong Liyuan’s nose, her hazel eyes reflecting her image.
After studying her intently for a moment, Bertha murmured softly, “The first time you asked, I wanted to question why—to see if you’d gotten the wrong idea.”
“But the second time? I have to be straight with you.”
She drew closer to her lips, pausing just ten centimeters away—like a kiss held hostage.
In that instant, a light rail train lumbered past behind them, its low rumble echoing through the air.
A powerful gust whipped the world into a frenzy, stirring the soft, sun-warmed scent clinging to the young woman’s skin.
“What’s the truth?”
“Haven’t we been traveling the same road all this time, right up until Los Angeles?”
She leaned down. She tilted her head up. Their gazes locked, lips nearly brushing, yet they were already like two sober prisoners.
“So what about tonight?” It was far more intriguing than she’d imagined. But Kong Liyuan always required a clear-cut answer.
She edged closer to the train window, their breaths mingling even nearer. The chill mist had seeped into their bodies, yet in this moment, it strangely fused between them.
“If we don’t make it to Los Angeles tonight, we’ll still be on the same road.”
The young woman’s eyes curved beneath the brim of her hat.
She had a pair of frank, honest eyes, now fixed on hers.
“Should we start with a kiss, then?”
Kong Liyuan couldn’t recall who had initiated the kiss.
She only remembered the train barreling through streaks of yellow-green light and shadow, the thirteenth hour of their shared journey, when their lips finally met for the first time.
Later, whenever she passed a street like this, the thought always crossed her mind:
Such beautiful eyes.
If she’d known from the start that Liyuan was deceiving her, what emotions would they betray?
