Wang Jie had never hosted an open mic night.
Not officially.
But when one of his regulars — a law student with a guitar and a voice full of ghosts — asked if he could "just try something" after closing, Wang said yes.
He didn't know why.
Maybe he was tired of the silence.
By 9:30 p.m., the Quiet House Café looked different.
The lights were softer. Chairs pushed aside. A single mic stand sat near the window, cables taped to the floor like spider legs. The espresso machine hummed like a nervous guest.
Wang stood behind the counter, arms crossed, watching as a dozen strangers slowly filled the space.
Some brought notebooks. Others brought instruments. Most brought nerves.
And a few — like Fox — just brought themselves.
She sat in the back, hoodie up, sketching in the dim light. A flyer she'd seen that morning said "Quiet House After Hours — stories welcome." That was all it took.
She didn't plan to speak.
Just listen.
First up was the law student — a soft ballad about leaving his hometown, laced with Mandarin slang and unexpected sadness. The room clapped gently. No one was pretending to be cool tonight.
Next came a woman who read poetry about her late grandmother.
Then a barista from the teahouse across the street who told a funny story about a squirrel stealing tips.
Wang made cappuccinos for anyone brave enough to perform.
It was the most alive his café had felt in months.
Halfway through, someone else slipped in — Liang Mei, exhausted from the studio, still holding her sketchpad. She hadn't planned to come, but the music drew her in as she walked past.
She ordered a warm milk tea and sat near Fox — neither recognizing the other.
Not yet.
Later, just as Wang thought the night was over, someone stepped toward the mic.
It was Fox.
She didn't say her name.
Just looked down at her paper and read:
"I painted a fox on a wall once.No one noticed it for weeks.Then one day, someone tagged over it.They didn't erase it.They just added their own tail,as if saying,'I was here, too.'
I think the city is listening.I just hope we're loud enough."
Silence followed.
Not because no one cared — but because no one wanted to break the spell.
Wang clapped first.
Then everyone else joined in.
When the night ended, Liang Mei left a note by the register:"Do this again. Please."
Wang smiled when he found it.
He didn't know who wrote it.
But he'd already made plans.