Lives Between Walls

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Scene 1: The Doorway

There you had been, Ichika, standing at my door that night, begging me to accommodate you. The doorway narrowed like a throat, reluctant to swallow you inside. Under the dim porch light, your face trembled between fear and fragility, streaked with what might have been tears. You wore black jeans, a white crop top jacket, and sneakers — the outfit made you look older, as though your clothes were complicit in hiding the truth of your years.

Even with my moral apprehensions about your age and my feelings, how could I have said no? I welcomed you in. My house groaned in its bones, beams shifting as if uneasy about harboring you.

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Scene 2: The Bedroom

“Duìbùqǐ. Excuse the mess,” I said, scrambling to gather the toy cars scattered across my son’s bedroom floor. They rattled away, rolling into shadows, like spies unwilling to witness what was about to unfold.

I felt your smile behind me warm the room, painting it with a glow the plaster hadn’t seen in years.

“You have kids?” you asked, after a silence. Your velvety feminal voice splashed the walls with hues of vivid colour — with just three words spoken.

“Yah, I got two.”

“Where are they?”

“They’re with their mom.” The ceiling sagged as if to acknowledge the somber reality of my failed marriage. You didn’t push further, as though you sensed the house itself couldn’t endure the telling of that sob story.

“What are their names?”

“My boy is Mingze, and the girl is Mia.”

I packed the toys into the Lightning McQueen box and gestured. “Here you go, Ichika, make yourself comfortable.”

You stepped past me, sneakers squeaking against the wooden floorboards. The slight brush of your arm against mine sent the hairs on my body into a standing ovation. Your woody, sweet labdanum scent spilled into the air, weaving itself into the curtains, into the sheets, and into walls themselves.

You laid your backpack on the bed and let your dainty hand glide across the blue Iron Man duvet. Your eyes moved slowly to the Wonder Woman and Superman posters above the cherry headboard — their glossy stares sharp, disapproving.

I teased, “So… not a fan of Marvel?”

You scrunched your nose, vehemently shaking your head. The edges of the posters seemed to recoil in offence.

“I also detest it,” I said, leaning against the wooden doorframe that now held me like a confessional booth. “But my son forced me to watch it. Now… it’s starting to grow on me.”

My words lingered too long, heavy as smoke. The silence between us thickened. You looked at me, emerald eyes catching mine and holding — just a second too long. The air grew tight, as though the room itself leaned grew weary of the silence.

“I guess it’s amazing how the things we like can sometimes be shaped by the love we have for another person.” I replied, eager to fill the void.

But the comment spilled cryptic and raw. I winced at my own voice.

You turned, gaze thoughtful, unreadable. “I just realised I didn’t get your name.”

“Mingze.”

“Oh, xiàng nǐ érzi yīyàng?”

“Yes, like my son.”

You turned back to your bag, pulling clothes and stacking them neatly. The room shrank with each garment you revealed, pressing me tighter against the frame. My eyes clung to you. You moved with a quiet precision — every flick of your wrist, every tuck of fabric into a pile felt like choreography I wasn’t meant to see.

Then came your pyjamas. And then, your underwear.

“Oh! Duìbùqǐ!” I covered my eyes, heat flushing my neck. “I should let you be now.”

But you spun, hair tossing like silk caught in a sudden draft. “No wait.”

You dug deeper and pulled out a stack of yuan — roughly 3,000. Under the lightbulb, the bills looked ghostly, foreign in a child’s room.

You pressed them toward me. I waved my hands. “No, Ichika. Keep it.”

“Please take it,” you whispered. Your emerald eyes locked onto mine, pinning me like prey. For a breath, the room dissolved, and I was standing in the lush, green forest located within your emerald eyes.

I took the money, not out of need but for you. Our palms met. The walls seemed to lean in, greedy for the moment.

Questions burned in me — about  your past, whether you remembered that day you and friends had danced on my front lawn when the sprinklers went off. But the charged silence strangled me.

“Alright then,” I yawned, dragging myself from the moment. The beams overhead groaned in disappointment at my retreat. “Bathroom’s there. You can help yourself to some roasted duck in the fridge if you’re hungry.”

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Scene 3: The Sleepless Night

That night, I lay awake. The ceiling cracked and whispered. Pipes groaned. The house would not sleep, and neither would I. Insomnia is for men whose dreams step into reality and lie just down the hall.

I thought of checking on you — just to see if you were alright, just to steal one more glance. But the hallway stretched too long in my mind, like a tunnel of judgment. My body refused to rise. Mingze, no.

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Scene 4: The Factory Courtyard

The next day, most workers filled the cafeteria. I sat outside instead, on the cold concrete benches that felt like interrogation slabs.

Julia, one of our colleagues stood against the wall, smoking her life away. Her cigarette ash clung to the bricks like stains of regret.

I opened my lunch box. The warmth of Ma Po Tofu made war with the cold of the concrete table.

“Mind if I sit with you today, gē men?” Tao’s shadow stretched over the table before his body did.

The bench creaked, resenting his weight. His eyes were tired, the lines across his forehead deep doors into his soul.

He leaned close, whispering as though the walls might overhear. “See, it’s my daughter… she ran away last night.”

The words froze me. A surge of fear gripped my knees, sweat dampened my shirt. The factory walls pressed tighter, their windows glaring like unblinking eyes.

Please. Not her.

“C’come again?” My words cracked, scraping against the courtyard’s silence.

Tao rubbed his forehead, despair carved into his skin. “My daughter has gone missing, Mingze.”

The confession reverberated off the walls, louder than the machines, louder than my breath. The courtyard caged me in, and the architecture itself seemed eager to watch me unravel.