Graduation confession

When Barlen called, Zoey was in the midst of a confession. The noise around her was so loud that the ringtone of her phone was drowned out, unheard by her.

The call continued. Barlen, listening to his phone, opened the door to a dark and empty home.

After setting down his suitcase, he lightly touched a few sensors near the entrance. Instantly, the room lit up and the curtains drew close.

On the phone, the music stopped. Zoey didn’t answer.

Barlen, with his left hand on his collar, began absentmindedly unbuttoning his shirt, staring at his phone screen for a few seconds before texting Zoey: Asleep?

Zoey, completely unaware of her phone’s ringtone, also missed the text notification.

Suddenly being confessed to, she was caught off guard.

"Bob, Bob," someone whispered.

Bob didn't respond.

A classmate, impatient, couldn't resist kicking him. Bob, unsteady on his knee, nearly fell over in his nervousness, turning around abruptly in annoyance.

His classmate gestured and whispered, "The flowers, the flowers."

Bob smacked his forehead in frustration. He had been so focused on confessing that he forgot about the flowers. He held out the bouquet to Zoey: "126 flowers, your favorite number."

It was her birthday.

"What’s happening?" Jesse pulled a classmate aside to ask. The crowd was thick, making it hard to see.

"Bob is confessing," the classmate, unable to see the excitement, stood on a chair.

Jesse was stunned. She had only been to the restroom for a few minutes after having a bit too much to drink. How had things escalated so quickly?

"Confessing to whom?"

The classmate craned her neck to see, not hearing Jesse.

Jesse tapped her: "Who is Bob confessing to?"

"Of course, Zoey. We're all leaving school in a few days; who knows when we'll see each other again. If I were a guy, I’d confess to her too."

Jesse: "..."

They were having their senior year journalism department dinner at the restaurant, and it was almost over. Jesse couldn't have imagined Bob confessing to Zoey.

Bob was still kneeling, Zoey staring at him for almost half a minute, not saying a word.

He was too nervous to look at her.

He couldn’t wait any longer. Each second felt like a slow cut. It was torture.

He decided Zoey might not have heard him clearly. Looking up at her again, he said, “Zoey, I’ve liked you for almost four years..." He swallowed nervously, finding the second confession harder than the first.

The banquet hall was as quiet as a final exam room. The onlookers, equally tense, were curious about what would happen next.

Bob's voice trembled slightly: "Zoey, be my girlfriend. I've decided not to go abroad or pursue further studies. I’ll stay here and strive with you. Wherever you go, I'll follow."

His voice was tight with nerves, his palms sweaty. After speaking, he didn't dare to look at Zoey.

A clumsily kicked beer bottle rolled across the marble floor, its clanging noise jarring in the silence.

Bob gripped the bouquet tightly, unsure and embarrassed.

"Zoey, give Bob an answer. If you don’t speak up, we teachers might need to visit the cardiology department," joked the class teacher from a nearby table, with other teachers chuckling along.

In their eyes, this pair was perfectly matched.

Only then did Zoey come to her senses, meeting Bob’s gaze.

"I'm sorry, we're not suitable," she finally spoke.

There was a collective murmur of surprise.

The onlookers exchanged glances.

The campus heartthrob had been rejected.

The tense silence was broken by the soft ring of a cellphone. Zoey, recognizing the ringtone, knew it was Barlen without checking. She reached into her bag and silenced the phone.

"Bob, you're really foolish. Get up. She’s been with rich and influential men in society. She wouldn't look at you," a drunk girl nearby, leaning on one hand with red eyes and a disdainful look, said to Bob.

Zoey stared directly at the girl.

Whispers started around her, but she didn’t care.

Zoey had a nickname at school, the Ice Queen. Even when smiling, her eyes were distant, let alone in a situation like this.

The temperature in the banquet hall seemed to drop several degrees.

Zoey looked thoughtfully at the girl. Even her roommates didn’t know about her and Barlen, how did she?

Facing various sarcastic and complex gazes, Zoey remained calm, not bothering to explain.

"You all seem drunk. It’s late, let's not make a scene. Everyone should head back to the dorms to rest," the class teacher said, feeling the awkwardness and stepping in to defuse the situation.

Meanwhile, Bob stood there, still in a daze, gazing at Zoey.

The gossip among the female classmates grew louder. Zoey had always been the pride of her teachers and leaders, frequently representing the school in various national college competitions and achieving remarkable results.

Last year, she even accompanied the school's leaders to an Ivy League university for academic exchanges, serving as the translator throughout the event. Her standard American accent received unanimous praise.

She was also a consistent recipient of the national scholarship and was named an outstanding graduate. Any scandal linking her to wealthy men in society would be a disgrace to both her department and the school.

"Enough, stop with the wild guesses," spoke Jesse, usually silent and reticent. Her academic performance was on par with Zoey and Bob, which made her words carry extra weight and credibility.

Even Zoey turned to look at her, curious about what she would say.

Jesse, clearly frustrated, defended: "What's wrong with dating a senior in your freshman year? He's been working for three years now, mature and affluent. Why can't you all just be happy for others?"

Jesse and Zoey had a neutral relationship, often compared to one another. At this crucial moment, Jesse's words took on significant weight and trust.

Zoey herself was momentarily dazed, not expecting Jesse to come to her rescue. She frowned, thinking, ”Barlen is over thirty, and she's talking about a graduate of three years ago?“

Without much time to ponder, she sent a grateful look to Jesse.

Bob stood up, his lips curving into a warm smile: "This is the first time I've given flowers to a girl. If not love, we still have over three years of friendship, right?"

He had changed his major for Zoey.

The dinner ended.

Zoey took a taxi back to school. It was past eleven at night, and the campus was much quieter than during the day. She walked along the riverside path to her dorm.

The night was filled with the sounds of unnamed insects, occasionally hitting her face.

Zoey rubbed her head, Bob's words still echoing in her ears.

She looked down at the roses in her hand. Under the dim streetlights, they still appeared vibrant and fresh.

Barlen also liked to give her roses, usually ninety-nine.

In the beginning, he would bring them every time they met. Even after they were together, he insisted on it. Over time, she became indifferent to flowers.

But the bouquet in her hand was different, embodying a boy's entire, pure affection.

Her dormitory was mixed, with students from different departments and years. When she returned, the junior roommate was already asleep.

Her other roommates hadn't come back yet. Without turning on the light, she placed the flowers on the table in the light from the window and stared into the night.

Her phone lit up. It was still on silent mode. Zoey picked it up. It was Bob: If you're available, can we meet? I won't take much of your time. I have some things I want to explain in person.

She had things to say too and replied: Sure, where should we meet?

Bob: How about the riverbank by the east gate of the dormitory?

After sending the message, Bob took a deep breath. He had drunk quite a bit of liquor and beer that night, and now his head ached severely.

He stared at his phone for a few seconds before sending another message: Uncle, I've decided. I'll work at your company.

His uncle Henry replied quickly: Ha, did you get kicked in the head?

Bob: I'm serious. I'll start next month.

Henry called immediately, and Bob heard the flick of a Zippo lighter through the phone.

"Uncle."

"Hmm," Henry paused, exhaling smoke before speaking sarcastically: "Having a drunken fit in the middle of the night? Weren’t you determined to be a journalist?"

Bob, subdued: "I confessed to the girl I like tonight."

Henry laughed, already guessing: "Got rejected?"

"Yes."

"That's the spirit!"

Bob licked his teeth, silent for a long time, then decided to be honest with his uncle: "She wants to be a financial journalist. If I enter the financial sector, I can provide her with connections and protect her from others."

Henry choked on his cigarette, coughing and swearing: "Bob, can you act a bit more like a man?!"

Bob, emboldened by alcohol, challenged: "Uncle, you're not exactly the epitome of manliness. What about my aunt?"

Henry laughed in exasperation: "I can find you several aunts right now."

Bob: "That's not love."

Henry was taken aback, then mocked him: "Bob, how did your parents raise you to be such a naive idealist?"

Bob didn't want to discuss the beauty of love with a cynic, changing the subject: "Uncle, remember, I’m starting work next month."

Before Henry could respond, another voice interjected over the phone: "Brother, Barlen isn't coming over tonight. He's tired from the flight. He'll come tomorrow night."

Henry replied: "Alright, let's all hang out tomorrow night then."

The conversation on the other end ended.

Curious, Bob asked: "Uncle, I heard from my dad that you and Barlen are business rivals?"

Henry replied, "Yeah, what about it?"

"You still hang out together?"

Henry: "I'll explain more when you start working. Just don’t bring up your love life in front of me anymore." All that childish play-acting, it's irritating, gives me goosebumps.

Under the influence of alcohol, Bob became more talkative: "Uncle, she's really great. So great that I want to give her the best things in the world so she doesn't have to struggle. Uncle, I'll arrange for her to interview you one day. You'll see, she's different from other girls."

Henry chuckled, speechless, "Are you ever going to stop? Hanging up now."

"Bob?" Zoey called out to him from not far away.

"Over here, Zoey." Bob pocketed his phone.

As Zoey approached, the smell of alcohol was strong, indistinguishable whether it came from her or him.

Bob, still nervous, immediately apologized: "I'm sorry, I didn't know you had a boyfriend. About tonight… I'm really sorry."

Although Jesse had defended her, everyone preferred the more sensational version of the gossip: like some vain girls, she was with a rich older man for his money.

No matter what others said, Bob didn't believe it. She was too outstanding and hardworking to need any man to survive.

He comforted her: "Zoey, don’t take those words to heart. You know how people love to gossip and speculate."

As he spoke, he couldn't help but blame himself: "It's all my fault for confessing. None of this would have happened otherwise."

Zoey looked at him: "I should be the one apologizing. I didn't mean to leave you hanging at the banquet hall, I was just taken aback and didn't react."

"It's okay, Zoey. Anyone would have reacted the same in your place. We've always been so close, almost like best buddies."

Zoey didn't respond.

Silence fell around them.

Bob, usually articulate, found himself at a loss for words in front of Zoey.

As Zoey stared at him, making him restless, Bob turned his face towards the night-shrouded river.

"Bob, don’t give up going abroad for me. I'm not what you think. I'm vulgar and greedy. When looking for a boyfriend, the first thing I consider is whether he is rich and influential. Nothing else matters."

Bob felt suffocated, whether from the alcohol or the stifling June heat. He said: "Zoey, don’t belittle yourself, you..."

Zoey interrupted him: "You don't understand me."

Just as she finished speaking, her phone screen lit up again.

She glanced down at it.

Bob also instinctively looked at her phone. The caller ID 'Bb' was clear on the large screen. Seeing that name, he looked away, assuming it was a roommate or close friend.

What Bob didn’t know was that Bb was a nickname for Barlen, a name Zoey had casually given him.

The screen kept flashing, Barlen's third call that night, unusually patient for him. Usually, he would call no more than twice.

Zoey hesitated, then swiped to answer.

Barlen's voice, magnetic yet slightly weary, came through: "Asleep?"

Zoey: "No, still outside."

Barlen didn't comment, and she added: "It was noisy earlier, I didn’t hear your calls."

"Hmm." Barlen didn’t delve into whether she truly didn’t hear or chose not to. He asked: "Want to come back and stay? I can help you sober up."

"You're back from your business trip?"

Barlen paused a few seconds before replying in a heavy tone: "Didn’t I tell you before?"

There was a hint of discontent in his voice.

Zoey squinted her eyes. Caught up in her work and onboarding procedures these past days, she had completely forgotten his words. She made an excuse: "I drank too much tonight, a bit muddled."

"Then come back, I’ll help you sober up," he emphasized.

"..."

"I'll be there in twenty minutes."

The call ended. Bob had guessed who the caller was. There was no need for further words. He simply told Zoey that he would be staying in Beijing and they should keep in touch as old classmates.

Zoey nodded.

As Bob turned to leave, his heart ached more than when he was rejected. It was unbearable.

Zoey watched his retreating figure, advising: "Bob, you're too good to let a meaningless youthful romance derail your future. It’s not worth it."

Her words were logical yet devoid of empathy.

Bob didn't look back or respond, just waved his hand at her.

Zoey stood by the river for a few minutes. The summer wind did nothing to dispel the alcohol fumes, only adding to the heat.

Remembering Barlen would be arriving soon, she started walking towards the campus gate.