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.

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.

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.”

I feel a hot stab of irritation. Who the hell works out at four in the morning? And who looks this good while doing it?

Years of careful observation have shown me that trying to hold Henry Li’s undivided attention is like trying to hold water in your hands.

“I remember everything,” Henry is saying. Then he clears his throat, some indecipherable emotion flickering over his face. “About everything, is what I mean. I just happen to have an excellent memory.”

He grins, amusement dancing in those night sky eyes, and the effect is striking. Disarming. My stomach dips as if coming off the high of a roller coaster.

And I consider strangling him. I probably would, if it weren’t for the fact that murder seems like a less-than-ideal way of starting a business partnership.

Clearly, this boy has overestimated my ability to read minds.

And more than once, I catch him looking at me too.

If he’s gone ahead and made the app for me, then we’re officially business partners now, meaning it’d be quite unprofessional to tell him to shove his phone up his—

“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.”

like a ghost getting ready for its first haunting.

It turns out that stalking people is much harder than I thought.

Even if that weren’t the case, I’d rather fail a midterm than have some creepy guy comment on my looks.

“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.

The idea of murdering him flits through my mind.

My parents didn’t work this hard for me to only get this far.

“What are you, the weatherman?”

I try to stab him to death with my eyes. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work.

“See, this is why I can’t stand people like you,” I seethe, jabbing a finger in his direction. “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?”

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

“Are you saying you find my presence distracting, Alice?”

“I’ll see you tomorrow night then.” For some reason, he sounds weirdly excited.

“I mean, I’m not saying I’d be thrilled to get involved in a toxic decade-long intercompany rivalry and kidnap a minor—” “That’s a really great way to start a sentence,” Henry says drily.

He looks really, infuriatingly good.

“Alice?” He says my name like a question. “You can see me?” I ask in surprise. “No. I sensed your presence.”

I’ve never known him to be this compliant before. Something’s definitely wrong.

“You even stumbled over your words when you were talking just now.” Horror clips his tone. “I did not.”

We’re sitting close, I realize. Too close. Not close enough.

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

It’s incredible how fast I can vacillate between wanting to kiss this guy and kill him.

I’m so used to seeing the side of Henry that laughs aloud, that teases me and challenges me and listens to Taylor Swift on repeat that I keep forgetting how distant he is with everyone else, even people he knows.

Wei Laoshi halts in his tracks and turns, fixing Chanel with a look that quite clearly implies: you uncultured swine.

I realize then that the whole time I was watching Peter and Wei Laoshi, Henry was watching me.

His lashes lower. His eyes flicker to my lips... I panic and blurt out the first thing I can think of: “Your dad.”

“You’re absolutely certain this is not part of some elaborate scheme to take unflattering photos of me sleeping and blackmail me with them?” “If I wanted to do that,” I point out, “I could literally just sneak into your bedroom when I’m invisible and snap as many photos of you as I want.” “That’s very comforting.”

“Well, what else are we supposed to do?” I snap. “Netflix and chill?” His brows rise higher. And suddenly my face is burning too. Hastily, I add, “I meant in the literal sense, of course.” “Of course.”

Some emotion I can’t name passes over his face. He reaches out, his fingers forming a warm circle around my wrist, and I stop walking. Stop everything. “Then tell me,” he says, very quietly. “What exactly do you feel toward me now?”

“Good god,” he says with a little laugh. Shakes his head. “For one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met, you can really be quite oblivious sometimes.” And maybe it’s the way he’s gazing up at me, somehow tormented and tender at the same time, or maybe it’s the weird half compliment, or maybe it’s every small, subtle moment I’ve missed along the way, now catching up to me in an adrenaline-induced burst of clarity, but all of a sudden— “Oh,” I breathe. Oh. Wow.

“Is this the part where you kiss me?” He leans closer, and even in the dim hotel lights, I can make out the silent laughter in his eyes. “That was not my intention.” A pause, teasing. “Why? Did you want me to?”

I can’t believe I ever wanted to push this boy off a stage.

Henry punched somebody. Henry punched somebody. Henry Li just punched somebody.

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

“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.”

“Would you prefer to hold an elaborate farewell party first? Take time to write out a touching eulogy?” Henry says drily, much more like his normal self. “Or perhaps wait until the tenth day of the Lunar calendar, when the sun and the moon align?”

“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.” I whip my head around so fast I hear my neck crack, my heart flying into a frenzy. No way. Henry meets my disbelieving gaze with a grin, and I don’t know if I want to strangle him or throw my arms around him. This is all very confusing.

“Yan Yan. Your face is very red.” “I... Thank you so much for pointing that out.”