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墨書 Inktalez
The Restorers were two elderly Italian gentlemen with gray hair, their movements skilled and their expressions focused. They meticulously examined the stains before taking out various professional tools, beginning to work on the fabric with utmost care. The entire process resembled a delicate surgical operation.
I, along with Ran and a few core assistants, held our breath as we watched intently from the side. Time ticked by slowly. The backstage was still bustling with activity, but our little corner was unusually quiet. Occasionally, I would glance up and catch Ran's gaze, only for him to immediately look away or nod slightly in acknowledgment. That deliberate avoidance only made his intentions more transparent.
A small seed of doubt began to grow in my mind like creeping vines.
Five hours later, when the Restorers straightened up and announced that they were finished, everyone let out a collective sigh of relief. The white velvet suit looked as good as new, showing no signs of having been ravaged by coffee. It was nothing short of a miracle!
I expressed my gratitude repeatedly, excitement bubbling within me. Ran approached the two elderly gentlemen, conversing with them in Italian for a moment before signaling Linda to handle the follow-up tasks. With the crisis averted, the atmosphere backstage finally lightened a bit.
Ke Lin rushed over, dramatically patting my shoulder. "Xia Wan! You really are lucky! Lance is just incredible!"
I managed a weak smile. Yes, he was incredible—so incredible that I found myself understanding him less and less.
After sending off the Restorers, only one final rehearsal for positioning remained backstage. Ran changed into the restored show-stopping suit. The white fabric accentuated his cool elegance, making him resemble a Vampire Count stepping out of a medieval oil painting. As he walked towards the runway, all eyes were drawn to him—including mine.
I stood in the shadows at the side stage, watching him step confidently into the spotlight, each stride measured and assured.
His steps were steady, with a strong sense of rhythm; every turn and every stop was precise, as if measured with a ruler. He was not merely showcasing the clothing; he was infusing it with soul. I had to admit, when it came to his professional skills, he was indeed top-notch.
As the rehearsal concluded, the models began to leave one by one. Ran was also preparing to go. When he passed by me, his footsteps paused for a moment.
"The suit fits you well," he said.
I was taken aback for a moment before realizing he was referring to the suit I was wearing.
"…Thank you," I replied, though my mind wandered: What exactly was I thanking him for? For having someone fix the suit? Or for looking good in it?
He didn’t say anything more; he simply glanced at me before turning to leave. I watched his figure disappear at the exit, and that elusive feeling returned once again. It felt as if there were a thick layer of frosted glass between us. I could see the blurred outline but not the true form.
Xiao Ya walked over and handed me a coat. "Sister Xia, it's late. You should head back and rest; we have to get up early tomorrow."
I nodded and took the coat, putting it on. I was indeed very tired—physically exhausted, but even more so emotionally. Every interaction with Ran felt like it drained a significant amount of my energy.
As I stepped out of the show venue, the cold wind of Paris at midnight hit my face, bringing me back to my senses. I took out my phone to call a taxi back to the hotel. The screen lit up, revealing an unread message from an unfamiliar number.
"Are you asleep?"
Three words without context. I frowned, thinking it might be a spam message, ready to delete it.
Before my fingers even touched the delete key, another message came in.
It was from the same number.
"I'm Ran."
I froze instantly.
He... sent me a message?
How did he know my number?
No, that's not the point.
The point is, what does he want?
I stared at those few words on the screen, my heart racing uncontrollably.
After hesitating for a few seconds, I replied with two words.
"Not sleeping."
Almost the moment I sent the message, my phone rang.
The name flashing on the screen was that same number that had just messaged me.
He... called directly?
I watched the name blink incessantly, feeling sweat forming in my palms.
Should I answer or not?
What would this call be about?
Would it be an accusation? Or... something else?
In the end, I took a deep breath and pressed the answer button.
"Hello?" My voice felt a bit tight.
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then his deep voice came through, tinged with a husky quality unique to the night.
"About what happened three years ago,"
he paused, as if choosing his words carefully.
"I can explain."
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