Shen Che was discharged from the hospital.
Lin Zhou picked him up. They were silent the entire way, the atmosphere so awkward it felt tangible.
Back at the apartment building, Lin Zhou helped him carry his things up to the sixth floor. When he opened the door, the room was as cold and desolate as ever.
"Get some rest," Lin Zhou said, putting his things down, ready to leave.
"Zhou Zhou," Shen Che called after her. "Thank you. The medical bills... I'll find a way to pay you back."
Lin Zhou's steps faltered. Without turning back, she said, "Don't bother. Just consider it... the price of admission for my three-year-long one-woman show."
She closed the door behind her.
From that day on, a new, strange "neighborly relationship" formed between them.
Lin Zhou never brought up their relationship, but she couldn't bring herself to ignore him completely. She would time it right every day, cooking light and nutritious meals for him, putting them in a thermal container, and leaving it at his door. Then she would send him a text: "Food's at the door. Remember to eat."
She would take his laundry down, wash it with her own, dry it, fold it neatly, and bring it back up.
She was like a dutiful caregiver, yet also a distant friend. She took care of his daily needs but never spoke of love.
Shen Che silently accepted all her kindness. He knew this was the only way she could bear to interact with him right now. He didn't dare ask for more.
Every day, when he ate the food she made, when he put on the clean clothes that smelled of sunshine, his heart was filled with gratitude and endless guilt.
Upstairs, downstairs, separated by a single ceiling. They were so close, yet their hearts felt a world apart.