If You Could See the Sun

by Ann Liang

God, I hate him. I hate him and his flawless, porcelain skin and immaculate uniform and his composure, as untouchable and unfailing as his ever-growing list of achievements. I hate the way people look at him and see him, even if he’s completely silent, head down and working at his desk.

“You once printed out a picture of the school logo and spent an entire afternoon stabbing it with your pen.”

I’m friendly with everybody...but I’m friends with nobody.

I sneak a peek at his Spotify playlist, half certain it’ll be all just white noise or classic orchestral music, only to find Taylor Swift’s latest album playing instead.

I’m about to make a comment on it, but then my eyes fall on the laminated photo taped to his desk, and the significance of Henry Li secretly jamming out to Tay Tay pales in comparison. It’s a photo of us.

“Everything’s a form of power,” he says simply.

Once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence. Thrice is a pattern.

Descartes was wrong when he said “To live well, you must live unseen”; Trust me, actually being invisible isn’t anywhere near as fun as y’all think.

Sometimes the universe offers us the things we think we want, but which turn out to be a curse,”

“And sometimes the universe grants us the things we don’t know we need, which turn out to be a gift.”

“Another author also said that the self and society are like the sea and the sky—a change in one reflects a change in the other.”

“Everything is temporary, Yan Yan. And all the more reason to seize whatever’s in front of you while it’s still there.”

Douyin

“Well?” Henry leans forward. His dark eyes are alight, his chin angled up a few degrees, the sure, sharp lines of his body tense with something like anticipation. I realize he’s waiting for me to give my opinion—no, for me to compliment him, like some kid proudly holding up his artwork for a class show-and-tell. My lips twitch. “I didn’t know you had such a praise kink.”

But I know all too well that the universe doesn’t always work the way it should.

But Henry’s lips tug up at the corners as if I’ve just paid him the biggest compliment in the world, and says, “Well, of course I’m a great actor. It’s one of my many strengths.” “Is humility one of them, too?” I say dryly. “Naturally.”

“You know,” I muse out loud, “if it weren’t for the fact that we hated each other’s guts, we’d probably make an impressive power duo.” I expect Henry to raise his eyebrows at me as usual or make a cutting remark, but his footsteps suddenly slow beside me. “Wait. We hate each other?”

Yes, is the obvious answer. I do hate you. I hate everything about you. I hate you so much that whenever I’m around you, I can barely think straight. I can barely even breathe.

“If I’m not first, I’m nothing.”

“It doesn’t matter what people think—” “Bullshit,” I say hotly. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. Perception is everything. Money would just be colored paper if we didn’t all think it was important.”

“But trust me, he cares a lot more than he lets on.” She arches an eyebrow at me. “He cares about you a lot more than he lets on.”

“I highly doubt they would expel us. We’re the best students they have,” Henry says. States it, just like that, as if it’s an indisputable fact. My heart snags on the we, the casual compliment in those words, but I push on.

“You think that just because you’re all smart and wealthy and attractive you can just do whatever the hell you want—” “Wait.” Something shifts in the black depths of his eyes. “You think I’m attractive?”

“Just—whatever.” I clear my throat. “Anyway. What was I saying?” Henry cocks his head to the side, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “You were telling me how much you hate me.”

Confusion bubbles inside me. “How—how do you know that?” “I notice,” he says simply.

“Talent isn’t the same as genius,”

“I won’t be able to focus with you there,” I blurt out, then realize exactly how that sounds. His lips twitch. It’s the same half-suppressed smile he wears when he’s making his grand closing statement in a debate tournament, or when he knows the answer to a particularly hard question in class, or when he’s making an impressive business pitch. It’s the smile he wears when he’s about to get what he wants. “Are you saying you find my presence distracting, Alice?”

“I’m passionate about being good at things.”

His eyes are kind, almost sad when he looks at me. “Even if it doesn’t feel that way now, you’re still only a kid.” He shakes his head. “You’re too young to be this...hardened by the world. You should be free to dream. To hope.”

I guess that’s the thing: I’ve spent my whole life longing to be seen, but I’ve also come to realize that when people look too closely, they inevitably notice the ugly parts too, like how the tiny cracks on a polished vase only become visible under scrutiny.

“I’d rather be the villain who lives to the end than the hero who winds up dead.”

“Alice,” he says, and his accent— God, his accent. His voice. Him.

I would rather spend the rest of this train ride fighting with him than let him be trapped alone with his thoughts and fears again.

Both of you. King Henry and the Study Machine. Our perfect model students.”

“Hi, Alice,” he says, his voice overwhelmingly soft. “Bye,” I blurt out.

I stare at him. “Henry... Did you just admit that I’m smarter than you?” He shoots me a half exasperated, half affectionate look. “Don’t make me say it again.”

“Are you...dating my daughter?” Oh. God. I definitely should’ve made Henry hide under the bed. “No, no, of course not,” I hurry to tell Baba, the same time Henry says, “Yes.”

“You know what?” I step between them, piercing a chunk of apple with a toothpick and stuffing it into Henry’s mouth. “Maybe we should just eat first. And...you know. Not talk for the next three hours. Or ever.”

She sighs. “Well, at least now we do. Henry and I have both been worried as hell about you, you know.” She pauses and nudges Henry, who pointedly looks away. “Especially Henry. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him so distracted in class before. He even answered wrong to a basic chemistry question that I knew.” I raise my brows, a slow smile rising to my face. “Really?” Henry makes a low, noncommittal noise with the back of his throat. Busies himself adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves.

“Descartes was wrong, you know, when he said, ‘To live well, you must live unseen.’ To live well, you must learn to see yourself first.

“Be the nation’s greatest power couple?” he offers. “I was going to say conquer the world,” I admit. “But sure. I guess we can start small.”

He laughs, and the sound is like bottled magic. Like birdsong.