Chapter 68: Can You Accompany Me for a While?

Shen Jia Yan took leave and followed her parents back to Star City to handle Grandma’s affairs.

Over the next few days, she helped her parents sort through Grandma’s belongings, received relatives and friends, and arranged every detail of the funeral.

She was no longer the little girl who only knew how to hide in Grandma’s arms and cry.

She had become the adult who had to bid Grandma a proper farewell on her behalf.

While tidying up Grandma’s room, she found a small box tucked away in the deepest part of the bedside table.

She gently opened it.

Inside were photos of her from childhood to adulthood, neatly arranged.

There was a photo of her as a newborn, held in Grandma’s arms as Grandma smiled with boundless affection; one of her first day of school, wearing a little skirt and backpack, standing shyly at the door; one from elementary school when she received an award, with Grandma standing beside her, eyes full of pride; and one from her high school graduation, in the courtyard with Grandma, sunlight perfect, her smile sweet as Grandma gently hugged her…

On the back of every photo, Grandma had written the date, location, and her age in her unskilled but careful handwriting, stroke by stroke.

Shen Jia Yan’s fingers gently traced those words, and tears silently slid down her cheeks.

She flipped through them one by one, as if leafing through her own life, with Grandma’s love inscribed stroke by stroke on the back of every page.

She suddenly understood that Grandma had been earnestly and quietly recording every moment of her growth.

She had never grown up alone.

She had always been deeply loved by the gentlest person.

Tears dropped one by one onto the photos. She gently hugged them to her chest, just like when she was sick as a child and Grandma held her.

She leaned against the bed, closed her eyes, and whispered, “Grandma, thank you.”

Thank you for remembering all my forms.

Thank you for catching me in my darkest moments.

Thank you for telling me, when I feared the world had abandoned me, that I had done nothing wrong.

She lowered her head, ready to put the photos back, when she suddenly noticed a letter in the box, addressed to: To Yan Yan.

Shen Jia Yan’s hands trembled slightly as she gently opened the envelope and unfolded the paper.

Grandma wasn’t highly educated and rarely wrote.

Seeing a full page of writing, she imagined how long it must have taken Grandma to write this letter.

She could almost see that night: Grandma wearing her reading glasses, sitting under the lamp, one hand steadying the paper, the other gripping the pen, pausing to catch her breath after a few words, then continuing.

Not knowing many characters, she used the simplest words and clumsiest sentences to piece together the words from her heart.

Yan Yan: By the time you read this letter, Grandma might no longer be by your side.

I know you have many words left unsaid and many things left undone.

But that’s okay. You still have a long road ahead and many sights to see.

Whether you like girls or boys, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that you bravely be yourself.

Grandma is proud of you.

Remember, liking someone isn’t wrong, and being brave isn’t wrong.

You deserve to be loved, and loved earnestly.

Grandma is gone, but my love will always be with you.

Love yourself well, and love others well too.

Yan Yan, thank you for always loving Grandma so much.

Grandma will always love you.

As Shen Jia Yan read, tears fell silently, dripping onto the paper and blurring a small patch of ink.

This was the last letter Grandma wrote, and the most precious one she ever received.

It wasn’t written with flowery words, but every character brimmed with all of Grandma’s tenderness, a love written for her.

She carefully folded the letter and slipped it into her shirt pocket, as if tucking Grandma’s love right next to her heart.

She softly said, “Grandma, I received it. I’ll carry this letter on a long, long journey. I’ll love well, and be loved well.”

Outside the window, the wind gently blew, rustling the leaves, as if Grandma was softly responding.

All the affairs were settled, and Shen Jia Yan prepared to return to school.

Jiang Jing looked at her, eyes full of worry.

These past days, though she hadn’t cried loudly or broken down, she seemed eerily quiet, like a hollow shell.

Knowing her daughter was forcing herself to hold on, she hesitated before softly saying, “Yan Yan, why don’t you rest at home a few more days?”

Shen Jia Yan shook her head lightly, forcing a smile at the corners of her mouth to seem okay. “It’s fine, Mom. I need to go back and prepare for going abroad.”

Shen Yan stood nearby, silently watching his daughter, his heartache plain in his eyes.

He didn’t say much, just stepped forward and patted her shoulder gently. “We’ll take you.”

Shen Jia Yan looked up at him. “No need, Dad.” She smiled, though it carried fatigue. “You’ve both been exhausted these days and need rest. I can manage.”

She said it casually, as if comforting them and convincing herself.

She didn’t want her parents worrying about her anymore.

Grandma’s passing had already worn them out, and she needed to learn to shoulder it all alone.

Shen Yan didn’t insist, just stood there watching her back as she turned to pack her luggage.

He understood her.

But he knew too well that some growth had to be walked alone.

Jiang Jing stood by, watching the silent father-daughter exchange, her eyes reddening.

She wanted to say something but ended up just sighing softly and zipping up her daughter’s backpack. “Then be careful on the road, and call us when you get to school.”

Shen Jia Yan nodded and slung the backpack over her shoulder. “Okay, I know.”

Though high-speed rail was open for travel, she chose the bus instead.

Backpack on, ticket in hand, she found her seat, stowed her luggage overhead with practiced ease, just like before.

But as she sat by the window, a piece of her heart felt empty.

The familiar motions, but no familiar person beside her.

The bus slowly pulled into the station and arrived in North City.

Shen Jia Yan shouldered her bag, ticket in hand, and numbly followed the crowd out of the station.

The subway entrance was nearby. She swiped her card, entered, transferred lines with mechanical familiarity.

The car wasn’t crowded. She leaned in a corner, watching lights flash by outside, her thoughts stretching like a taut line between past and present.

Forty minutes later, the subway arrived.

The words “Jingbei University” came into view. She froze for a moment, realizing where she was.

But she didn’t turn back or hesitate. She followed the flow of people out of the station.

Sunlight fell on her face, carrying a familiar warmth.

She stood at the subway exit, gazing at the distant school gate. The wind lifted her hair, as if sighing softly for her.

She didn’t know why she had come, but she walked toward that gate anyway.

She slowed on the tree-lined path before the academic building.

She reached the stone bench where she once waited for Wen Wan Ning after class and sat down.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling her with light like fragments of time on her shoulders, hands, knees—gentle enough to blur reality.

She pulled out her phone and opened her contacts.

There was the unchanged name at the top: Wen Wan Ning.

She stared at it for a long time, until the wind blew again and the leaves rustled once more.

Then, she gently pressed the call button.

One ring, two, three…

Her heartbeat quickened with each one.

Until a familiar yet distant voice came through: “Hello?”

Shen Jia Yan froze, throat choked, unable to speak.

A pause on the other end, then Wen Wan Ning softly asked, “Jia Yan?”

Shen Jia Yan closed her eyes, a faint smile lifting her lips. “Wan Ning, do you have time? Can you accompany me for a bit?”

She wasn’t begging for a response or trying to rekindle a doomed romance.

She was just tired.

One blow after another piled on her heart.

The rejection from the person she loved was like a dull knife slowly scraping her; Grandma’s death took her last support.

The grievances, repression, and pain of unrequited love hidden deep inside surged up, suffocating her.

She just wanted someone to be with her for a while.

Even just sitting quietly, even just looking at her without speaking.

Even if that person was the one she shouldn’t approach again.

Silence stretched.

Shen Jia Yan looked up and saw Wen Wan Ning emerge from the academic building.

She wore that familiar beige coat, a corner of her long hair lifted by the wind, still as gentle as the softest part of her memories.

She saw her raise her left hand, index finger to her lips, shushing her roommates beside her.

Then, the phone spoke softly: “Sorry, Jia Yan, I’m about to head to the academic building for a meeting, so maybe…”

“No time to accompany you.” The tone tried to explain, yet carefully dodged something.

Shen Jia Yan’s grip tightened on the phone, knuckles whitening.

She didn’t speak, just listened quietly to that familiar voice from the phone, so distant.

“It’s okay,” she said.

Then, gently hung up.

The wind blew softly. She stood there, watching Wen Wan Ning and her roommates walk away, as if her last shred of hope was tossed into the breeze.

She looked down at her phone screen, still showing “Call Ended.”

She closed her eyes gently, a faint, bitter smile on her lips.

She finally understood: some people were only meant to walk a segment of the road with you.

And she hadn’t even finished that segment.

She didn’t blame Wen Wan Ning.

She just felt a little sorry for herself.

Sorry for the version of herself who was so cautious, afraid to express, approach, or leave in front of her.

Sorry for the self who loved her so much yet asked “Accompany me for a bit” so humbly.

She picked up her phone again and deleted all of Wen Wan Ning’s contact info.

It was time to truly let go.