Chapter 32: “Birthday Gift – P” Part 2

“Look at that sky—it’s gorgeous. First time I’ve seen one this red up close—”

“Hey, look! Little birds over there!”

She pointed excitedly, fumbling to adjust the focus and zoom in on the flock streaking across the horizon.

The birds flew in a perfect V-formation, heading from west to east. Fu Tingli’s phone followed their trail west to east.

Once they vanished, the lens lingered on the empty expanse of sky.

Fu Tingli sounded wistful. “The little birds just flew off like that. Too bad—I didn’t even think to record a video.”

“Wasn’t seeing them enough?” The woman’s voice drifted from right beside her.

“Yeah, seeing them was enough.”

Nicole still hadn’t emerged, but Fu Tingli kept staring hopefully at the sky, as if another ruddy flock might appear.

For some inexplicable reason, those birds silhouetted against the rosy glow reminded her of the tattoo on the woman’s waist.

So she voiced it. “Kinda looks like that tattoo of yours. Pretty cool.”

No sooner had she spoken than a force twisted the phone. Amid the swirling blur of light,

The woman’s face slid into view from below: first her jawline, then those lips—not too full, not too thin, the ones she’d kissed countless times—followed by her sunlit nose bridge, and finally her clear, profound eyes and brows.

They filled the tiny screen completely, laid bare.

Fu Tingli froze and hit the shutter by reflex.

In the captured image, the woman’s sharp features lifted ever so slightly, as if on the verge of speaking.

“Hey, you two lovebirds! How about sparing us a glance?!”

Zhu Muzi’s voice rang out from behind. Since they hadn’t announced themselves, she’d dubbed them that.

A hand clapped Fu Tingli’s shoulder. She hastily pocketed her phone and turned to see Amanda and Zhu Muzi, as expected.

The pair still wore their leather jacket and hoodie, hands linked as they jostled through the rowdy crowd—one helmet in hand, the other lugging a guitar case on her back.

They arrived with a swagger, exuding that ready-to-ride-off-into-the-sunset vibe.

“What were you snapping pics of?” Zhu Muzi asked eagerly. “I called out a bunch of times—you didn’t hear?”

“Oh, the music must’ve been too loud.”

Only then did Fu Tingli glance down at the photo she’d frozen.

It framed the woman’s face, band-aid and all.

The horizon’s glow was blindingly bright, blurring the lens—and her eyes gazing straight into it.

Fu Tingli let out a quiet breath of relief. At least she’d caught her looking stunning.

By then, the fashion show had kicked off, the blaring music even more deafening. Zhu Muzi and Amanda whooped and waved for the first model striding onto the stage.

In the din, Fu Tingli stole a glance at the woman.

The woman met her eyes and offered a halfhearted smile, utterly indifferent to whether the photo flattered her or not.

After that unconcerned exchange,

Fu Tingli tucked her phone away, but a restless flutter stirred in her chest. This woman’s face was made for the silver screen. A single glance, a single smile—it seized you without mercy.

For an instant, stray thoughts crowded in: Once they reached Los Angeles, what to do with these photos on her phone? Hoard them all? Send them over and delete? Would the woman even save them…?

But the notion evaporated the next second—Nicole had stepped out.

By midday, Nicole’s exhibition wrapped up without a hitch.

The blond thugs who’d swaggered the night before stayed hidden in the daylight, steering clear of the venue.

This heart-pounding, uproarious stretch of road had reached its parting point.

As they emerged onto the lawn outside the venue, Amanda and Zhu Muzi climbed back onto their towering motorcycle.

Donning those helmets—one battered, one pristine—and slinging the guitar case for their vagabond life,

They waved exuberantly, calling out “until we meet again,” then flipped down their visors. Their vivid faces turned foggy.

The bike roared off like a thunderous plume of smoke, dissolving into the morning haze. Fu Tingli never saw them again after that.

They were journey acquaintances; a simple “until we meet again” made for the perfect goodbye.

Some things shifted once the trip ended. Better to seal the memories in the now—so later, when they resurfaced, they’d still shine pure and good.

Like these two, straight out of a nineties romance flick, tossing around “lovebirds” and “until we meet again.”

Life stretched too long ahead. Fu Tingli wanted no part of later updates revealing misfortunes, breeding awkward distance.

—She held this as her unbreakable travel creed.

Nicole parted ways too, boarding a train straight back to San Francisco.

To shield her from the blond thugs’ harassment, Fu Tingli escorted her aboard.

Before boarding, Nicole hugged her tightly, reluctant. “See you in San Francisco. Coming back for my birthday?”

The word “birthday” made Fu Tingli pause. She flicked a glance at the woman in the car.

The woman’s hand rested on the door frame, cheek propped in her palm, lost in thought—she probably hadn’t caught it.

Fu Tingli exhaled in relief.

She hugged Nicole back and murmured, “Not sure. Los Angeles is still half a day’s drive. If we hustle, we could make it back tomorrow night.”

Nicole nodded and let go, then eyed the car behind Fu Tingli. In halting Chinese, she called out, “Deal—next time, smokes are on me.”

The woman perked up at that, flashing a lazy smile before tossing back, “Next time I spot you, thumbs up from me.”

The explosive five-person odyssey dwindled at last, by midday on the second day, to their wordless duo once more.

Fu Tingli knew it wouldn’t hold. Los Angeles loomed, and the duo would split, each to their solitary path—leaving her utterly alone.

—That was likely the root of post-travel blues for so many.

But Fu Tingli had long grown accustomed. She figured her love for road trips stemmed from exactly this: the conviction that any wanderlust hangover would fuel her stormy life’s stories.

The car hit the road again, bound for Los Angeles.

The afternoon breeze blew hotter now, tasting of fire.

Fu Tingli tuned the radio dial, and a surging, upbeat male voice promptly filled the air with the endlessly looping strains of “California Dreamin’,” riding the waves of heat blasting through the open windows.

The woman leaned lazily against the headrest, her hair whipped into a wild tangle by the wind. She seemed lost in thought, who knew what about.

A bandage still clung to her face; she had changed the dressing before they left, but the wound beneath was healing slowly.

Her forearm was wrapped in gauze too—from last night, when it had scraped against the alley wall as Fu Tingli dragged her away.

Inside those oversized Martin boots, her ankles were rubbed raw and swollen.

And then there were her lips… bitten when she got drunk and tried to act tough.

On closer reflection, these past few days had somehow piled even more injuries on the woman ever since climbing into Fu Tingli’s car.

Was it because their fates clashed? Was being together destined to mean frantic escapes, burdens weighing them down, and wounds all over?

Fu Tingli mused whimsically.

The thought drew a laugh from her lips. She felt like ever since meeting this woman, her own mind had started veering toward melodramatic movie territory.

They weren’t some pair of doomed lovers, after all, where every step together meant blood and broken heads.

So what were they to each other?

Friends, Fu Tingli decided, amid California’s scorching winds that burned like fire—friends destined to part ways once they reached Los Angeles.

“It’s so hot today,” she sighed as another scorching gust rolled over them.

Her glance fell on the thermometer tossed carelessly onto the dashboard ahead. Thirty-eight-point-two degrees—clearly past the thirty-seven mark.

No wonder the woman had been so quiet.

Fu Tingli eased off the accelerator, hesitating before she asked, “Are you feeling unwell?”

The woman lifted her eyes just a fraction, replying with sluggish detachment, “No.”

Fu Tingli was sure she was. She wrinkled her nose slightly and peered around as she drove, her attention divided.

A sign caught her eye: “Outdoor Pool.” She drove past it halfheartedly, then slowly reversed back.

“Why don’t you go for a swim? It might make you feel better.”

“A swim?” The woman crossed her arms over her chest, her tone offhand. “I don’t know how to swim.”

“Oh?” Fu Tingli hadn’t expected that, but she nodded anyway and pulled the car forward again. “That’s a shame.”

“Do you like swimming?”

“Summers here in California get brutal. Whenever I’m too hot, I just slip into the water. A quick dip makes the whole body feel lighter.

If you knew how…

The next time the temperature climbs past thirty-seven degrees, you might actually feel a bit better.”

Fu Tingli answered breezily.

The woman listened in silence. When she turned to look at Fu Tingli, her hair was a wind-tossed mess.

“Turn around.”

“What?” The roar of the wind had drowned her out.

“Turn around,” the woman repeated patiently.

“But you said you can’t swim?”

Fu Tingli was puzzled but figured maybe the woman wanted to give it a try. They had already reached another intersection, so without overthinking it, she swung the car around and headed back.

She pulled up at the entrance to the outdoor pool.

Stalls lined the area outside, hawking swimsuits for sale or rent amid a lively bustle.

Fu Tingli climbed out of the car before remembering to ask, “Do you have a swimsuit?”

The woman smiled, as if the question amused her. “Of course not.”

She glanced idly at the swimsuits on the stall for a moment, then asked, “What about you? Did you bring one?”

Only then did it hit Fu Tingli that she’d met this woman with nothing to her name—no luggage, certainly no swimsuit. She laughed too, her eyes crinkling into happy slits.

“I didn’t pack one either. Forgot all about it.”

“Then let’s buy one.”

“Sure.” Fu Tingli tacked on airily, “You can pay me back once we get to Los Angeles.”

But the woman beat her to it. She strode up to the vendor in the straw hat and rattled off a string of rapid words. The vendor’s face twisted in suspicion.

The woman explained patiently for a good while. Then she fished the lighter from her pocket and set it down on the sun-bleached table.

The vendor stared at it for a long moment, surprise dawning. He snatched it up and examined it closely.

The woman let out a light, measured laugh.

She seemed utterly confident. Once the vendor nodded, she selected a swimsuit.

Deal sealed.

Fu Tingli waited as the woman strolled back, then wrinkled her nose and said, “I feel like you got ripped off. That vendor’s expression was all wrong—your lighter might be worth a fortune.”

She started toward the stall as she spoke.

“Let me buy it for you—”

She got only halfway before a yank pulled her back, hair flying. Cool fingers wrapped around her wrist, carrying the faint heat of blood beneath.

The sunlight blazed fierce, as if ready to burst. The woman’s grip tightened on her pulse point, tugging her inside.

Fu Tingli trailed behind, still reluctant. She glanced back at the vendor, who was poring over the lighter with the look of someone who’d struck gold.

But the woman’s hold on her wrist brooked no argument. Fu Tingli could only sigh. “It’s not a good deal. He made out like a bandit.”

“It is.”

Amid the woman’s slightly uneven footsteps, Fu Tingli heard her murmur close to her ear,

“Don’t you like swimming?”

“Liking to swim doesn’t make it worth that!”

The woman halted, swimsuit dangling from her hand. She turned back, her gaze soft with a quiet sigh.

Just like before.

She reached out, pressing lightly on the back of Fu Tingli’s head, and offered a faint, dismissive smile.

“Birthday gift. Worth it or not?”