Page 15 of From Beijing, With Love

“I’m headed in the same—”

“Thank you,” Daniel said, holding out his hand in a parting handshake.

Yang took his hand and let it linger. “I guess this is it, then. Have a good rest of the trip.”

A weight settled in Daniel’s chest. It felt a whole lot like longing, like missing something, like not wanting to let go.

“I have nothing planned for the next week,” Daniel said before he could stop himself. “If that code is still giving you problems, maybe I can help. It’s kind of my day job. And like you said, I’m not your customer anymore, so this isn’t weird.”

Before he could overthink it, he let go of Yang’s hand and strode down the pedestrian bridge, leaving Yang standing there by himself.

CHAPTER SEVENYang

Each and every mattress spring groaned with discontent as Yang tossed and turned in bed. Whenever he closed his eyes, he was haunted by those red lines on the screen, the sleep he so desperately needed nowhere to be found.

After Daniel had left him on top of the pedestrian bridge in the most Daniel way possible, Yang had gotten back to his dorm and continued his battle with the code. At first, each error was a personal challenge, and when they multiplied, a taunt. He was certain his hours of work only made it worse. It was three o’clock in the morning when he finally allowed himself to give up. He would look at it again in the morning after a rest, if only his brain would shut off. Like a negative feedback loop, the more annoyed he became, the more sleep eluded him—fueling his annoyance even further.

The laptop screen chose that moment to light up, basking the dark room in blue light. Tossing the blanket aside, Yang pushed himself up in bed. Letting out a sigh, he gave up the pretense of sleeping and dragged himself to his desk.

Rather than a miraculous cure to his programming woes, a calendar invite greeted him with the subject line “Meiwen’s quarter-life soirée.” The rest of the invitation was in Chinese, with the occasional “soirée” dotted throughout in all its accented glory. The birthday party was this coming Saturday in Sanlitun.

As far as Beijing neighborhoods went, Sanlitun was one of the ritziest. Designer, expensive, and very much Meiwen. He wouldn’t be surprised if Meiwen had just stumbled back to her dorm from a night out at one of Sanlitun’s trendy clubs.

After hovering over “Decline” for a beat, Yang accepted the invite.

He was unapologetically anti-partying, but Meiwen was one of his oldest friends. Since we were babies, she would always say. They had known each other since elementary school, before they grew up and found themselves at Tsinghua University together, a biologist and a biophysicist. Behind the stack of books on his desk was a framed photo of the two of them as kids, sitting on a checkered blanket with their moms. Back when they still both had their moms.

Now that Yang was in front of his laptop again, he reran the program, like it would somehow run without errors this time around. When it inevitably failed again, and again, he ran a hand down his face. A cruel realization dawned on him.

He might actually have to do the one thing he hated: ask for help.

It’s kind of my day job. Daniel’s words played in his ears.

Every small piece of himself Daniel chose to share always came as a surprise—some more than others. Daniel was a book whose pages didn’t quite match the cover.

As Yang stared at the unrelenting error messages swimming in front of him, his head throbbed. Would it be all that bad if he took Daniel up on his offer?

Yang slammed his laptop shut before the temptation can take hold. He must be losing his mind if he was even entertaining the idea of asking a complete stranger for help. Before he could change his mind—and he somehow knew that he might, if given the chance—he deleted Daniel’s number from his phone.

Yang woke up covered in sweat, the high sun drenching the room. The air was stifling, as the air conditioning was there in name only. He didn’t know when he had dozed off, but at least he’d fallen asleep in bed instead of at his desk, like he’d done so many times before.

After a cold shower, he got back to work. Three cups of black coffees later, he was at least certain that the calculation portion of the code was correct. However, the rest of the program still read like a book with missing pages.

When he finally allowed himself to get up from his desk, it was seven o’clock in the evening. The day was gone, and he wasn’t much closer to figuring it out. At least he wasn’t leaving for Xi’an until Monday, which gave him the rest of the week to solve the problem.

He went down to the cafeteria, relishing its emptiness. He didn’t like small talk on the good days, and today was far from good.

Two bites into his dinner—mantou with a side of pickled radishes—his phone lit up with a text. Something fluttered in his chest as he saw the unfamiliar +31 country code.

Daniel: Hey, it’s Daniel. From the tour, and also the bar, if you remember.

There was something very Daniel about the text. Yang pictured him saying all of that in one breath, and his lips curled into a half smile.

How could I forget? he typed out, then deleted it. He didn’t want to give the impression that he had been thinking about Daniel, because he hadn’t. Not that much, anyway.

Yang: I remember. How can I help?

Daniel: You said something about a photo book? I don’t think it came.