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墨書 Inktalez
I am still like two lines that will never intersect with him. Even though we are nominally married and live under the same roof, I do not understand his world or know his thoughts. Of course, he has no interest in knowing mine either.
Perhaps if this situation were placed upon any woman, they would choose to give up, after all, we live in an era of marital freedom. However, I am entangled by too many beautiful imaginings of my own, always wanting to wait a little longer, hoping that a turning point might come soon.
In the end, I did not wait for him to become a better person; instead, I waited for him to find his true love.
It is bittersweet, but as Mina said, perhaps it is a good thing for me. After all, through this incident, I can truly let go of him.
His love has never been related to me.
On Monday, before he went to work, he unexpectedly handed me some money and said, "If you come back at noon, just rest at home. If you don’t want to come back, there are places you can go over there."
I did not reach out for it; the lesson from last time was still fresh in my mind. His generosity only made me more cautious.
Xiao Minxing did not say anything else but left the Renminbi on the corner of the table and turned around to drive away.
I was momentarily stunned, hesitating whether to take it or not. This kind of behavior felt like charity and made me particularly uncomfortable. However, I truly had no money now; apart from relying on him, I had no other way out. Even without his consent, I couldn't find a job opportunity.
Perhaps he gave me this money to keep the peace; as long as I didn’t seek him out and gave him freedom, he was willing to part with it.
I grabbed it and put it in my bag before driving to the Training Class.
The awkward part was that most of the students inside were under fifteen years old. When I arrived, the kids mistook me for a teacher. When they learned that I was also there to learn, their eyes sparkled as if they had seen an alien.
However, once we interacted, it was quite harmonious. Most of them had classes to attend; those present during the day were few. Since I often found myself with nothing to do all day long, I mostly stayed in the Studio by myself.
There were several teachers who taught us Comic art, responsible for different times of day. The one assigned to me was a very trendy Little Handsome Guy who spoke humorously. Besides teaching the course content, he was always joking around. If his girlfriend weren’t also present, many of the girls in class would have wanted to confess their feelings to him.
Alongside me in class during the day was a boy around sixteen or seventeen years old. He came occasionally and didn’t talk much. He basically sat from morning until noon when someone came to pick him up and then returned in the afternoon to sit until evening.
He rarely stood up or moved around and did not look at other classmates. However, judging by the person who picked him up, this child seemed to be from a wealthy family.
The Handsome Teacher once hinted that his mind might not be very sharp; he looked quite grown-up but had an intelligence level of only a few years old. His family sent him here just to cultivate some interests or find a place for him to stay since they didn’t expect him to grow up and earn money anyway.
Because there were really too few people during the day, sometimes it was just the two of us. So when I got tired of sitting or wanted to stand up and move around, I often wanted to call him to join me. However, no matter when I turned to look at him, he always had a serious expression, holding a brush in his hand, meticulously drawing on the paper, never looking away.
As time passed, I became particularly curious about what he was drawing. So I casually walked past him, trying to sneak a glance at his drawing board out of the corner of my eye.
There were a few simple lines, sometimes intersecting and sometimes scattered chaotically on the board. There might even be some dot-like objects, but it was impossible to tell what he was trying to express.
Unable to hold back any longer, that afternoon I saw him drawing those lines again and decided to strike up a conversation.
"Hello, I'm Qiu Yuhan. We are from the Studio. May I ask what this is that you are drawing?"
After waiting for a few minutes without him saying a word or even lifting his head, and with his hand still moving, I basically lost hope and pretended nothing happened as I turned to walk away. Perhaps he simply didn’t want to communicate with anyone.
On my way to the tea room, I noticed they had added new warm tea. Since it was already autumn, drinking something like this would be good for the body, so I casually took a cup for him as well.
I didn’t expect him to appreciate it; it was just a polite gesture.
To my surprise, just as I handed him the cup of tea, he actually spoke up: "It’s the scenery in my heart."
I was taken aback; I almost dropped the cup.
How should I put it? It was that kind of feeling where you think he is mute or mentally challenged, someone who would never communicate normally with you. But then he opens his mouth and says something profound that even he himself might not fully understand.
Yes, he was drawing the scenery in his heart, which is why we couldn’t comprehend it at all.
Moreover, over an hour had passed since I asked him that question.
After thinking for a long time, I finally responded: "Hmm, it's beautiful."
He then turned his face towards me and seriously asked: "Do you understand it?"
I felt a headache coming on. If I said I didn’t understand it, then saying it was beautiful would be contradictory. But if I said I understood it, what exactly was it?
Fortunately, he didn’t press further. Instead, he glanced at the warm tea in my hand, took a couple of sips from it, and then casually placed it on the small table beside him.
I tried to ask him, "What's wrong? Is it not good?"
He responded with a "hm," and didn't say anything more, continuing to focus on the things in his hands.
Having seen many strange people, I had gotten used to it. Xiao Minxing was like this, and this child was the same. I didn't pay much attention and returned to my spot to continue with my own tasks.
To avoid thinking about everything related to Xiao Minxing, I forced myself to concentrate on this one thing I could busy myself with. However, seeing the sketches on the paper that were all about him still made me feel uncomfortable.
Of course, my drawing skills were terrible, and probably not many could tell what I was trying to depict; it only vaguely resembled a person.
This person, whether moving or still, whether angry or happy, had nothing to do with me; he only existed under my pen.
In fact, since I started learning to draw here, I drove myself on the first day, but on the second day, Xiao Minxing conveniently gave me a ride. He even left work early to pick me up.
Although he didn't say a word, there was no sign that he was unhappy.
The following days were pretty much the same. I would leave home with him in the morning, and if he got off work late in the evening, I would wait a little longer in the Studio before taking his car back together.
His mood seemed to be getting better; sometimes he would patiently talk to me for a few sentences. Of course, it rarely exceeded five sentences before he would irritably change the subject.
However, my heart was becoming more and more chaotic. My relationship with him hadn't changed, so the only person who could make him happy was still that one person.
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