The factory
It was busy at the candle factory that morning, as it always was in the weeks leading up to Chinese New Year. Wax and smoke, the scent of melted paraffin and faint lavender, clung to our skin and clothes. Candles in China were more than commodities — they were offerings at shrines, companions for rituals, tokens of love, or simple vessels of warmth in the home. Lotus Lux supplied them all, and behind its polished gates and high, glassy façade, it was whispered to be one of the largest exporters in the province.
Our secretary, Shua, had once bragged that she overheard the boss on the phone, saying the company had crossed a billion in exports that year. She told everyone, of course. In Wusu, secrets didn’t stay locked inside boardrooms — they spilled into narrow alleys, were carried on the breeze, and tucked themselves into the cracks of the old factory walls. Still, we all kept our heads down. Work in this small town was scarce, and no one wanted to end up like Jade, who once dared to demand fair wages and was quietly discarded, her desk left behind like a tombstone to a forgotten rebellion.
Eric, our boss, was a sharp man, his office perched high above the factory floor like a watchtower. You never wanted to catch his eye. The building itself seemed to embody him: the reflective glass windows concealing more than they revealed, the rigid steel frames declaring permanence, authority. Architecture here was not passive — it pressed down on us, demanded silence, compliance.
The Park Incident
That morning, I had hoped to see Tao, to tell him about what had happened yesterday at the park. Not the whole truth — not about the way your lips had lingered on mine — but about the man with the camera.
I could still feel the echo of my heart hammering as I turned and saw him, a shadow with a lens. Click. His flash had cut through us like lightning, leaving afterimages on my eyes and fear in my chest. You turned your face away, trembling, while I lunged forward, desperate to snatch the camera and crush it underfoot. But he was gone in a second, a blur with dark hair and a Nike backpack, his footsteps swallowed by the city.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
You shook your head slowly, but your hands betrayed you — knuckles pale, fingers locked tight together. I cupped them both in my hand, as though I could anchor you to calm. But in my mind, storms gathered. Who was he? A reporter? A spy? Someone sent to blackmail me?
My thoughts spiraled darker. What if this wasn’t random at all? What if you and Tao had planned this — moving from town to town, setting traps for men like me, your father pulling strings behind the scenes? The house of trust I had been building with you cracked at its foundation. The shadows of old alleyways in Wusu seemed to lean closer, listening.
When you asked, “Are you okay, Mingze?” your voice was soft, concerned, and your hand brushed against me as we walked to the car. But I could barely breathe. Even Mia’s whining in the back seat sounded like a warning siren. By the time I snapped at her, my own voice was unrecognizable to me.
On the silent drive home, suspicion lay between us like an invisible wall.
The Bedroom Shrine
Later that night, you came into my room.
It was the room I hadn’t touched since Hua left. Her taste lingered in every detail: the suede headboard, the white linen sheets, the delicate floral curtains. The walls carried photographs of our happier years, like mourners holding vigil. The room was a shrine, and I was its reluctant caretaker.
When you stepped across the threshold, it felt sacrilegious. Yet the space itself shifted around you, as if Hua’s domain was being overwritten. You sat on the edge of my bed, your laughter lighting the dim air as you retold Mia’s outburst about “animal noises.”
“What did she say exactly?” I asked, bracing myself.
You grinned, shaking your head in disbelief. “She said — and I quote — ‘Papa and Mama used to sound like pigs and wolves fighting at night.’ Then she imitated you. Loudly. In surround sound.”
I groaned, covering my face with my palm. “Oh God. She didn’t.”
“She did! And then little Mingze asked if you two were wrestling. And Mia said: No, Papa was definitely the pig.”
You dissolved into laughter, the sound bubbling over like champagne. I couldn’t help it — I laughed too, until my stomach ached.
“Animal noises,” I muttered. “We traumatized them. Thought they were deep sleepers. Turns out they were keeping score.”
“Guess you’ll need soundproofing next time,” you teased, brushing your hair back from your glowing face.
“Soundproofing… or celibacy.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you said, a sly smile tugging at your lips. “Your kids are only here one weekend a month. That leaves you plenty of time to be whatever animal you want.”
The air between us thickened, your words echoing in the room as if the walls themselves were listening.
The Confession
After the laughter faded, silence pressed in again.
“Hey,” I said softly, “I shouldn’t have kissed you at the park. I’m sorry.”
You paused. Your eyes shimmered with defiance, desire. “Well, I’m not.”
The house seemed to exhale at that moment. The walls, the bed, the very air between us conspired to erase Hua’s ghost and claim a new memory. Our lips moved closer — two fugitives from reason, about to desecrate a sacred space.
And then Mia burst in, her small frame filling the doorway like a sentinel.
“No noise from the two of you tonight! Please!” she demanded, wagging her finger.
The spell shattered. You and I exchanged a glance, then broke into guilty laughter, while the house — this house of ghosts, children, and forbidden longings — seemed to laugh with us.
Absence
Days passed, and Tao remained absent. His silence lengthened into absence, his absence into mystery. The architecture of Lotus Lux loomed heavier with each shift I worked, its industrial steel ribs echoing like the ribcage of some great beast watching me. At night, my own house whispered with shifting allegiances — Hua’s ghost, your laughter, Mia’s interruptions.
And in the cracks of it all, in the shadows between the walls, I felt the story of us tightening like a noose.
Lives Between Walls 
What do you think about this?