If You Could See the Sun

by Ann Liang

Manage to nod and smile as Mama lingers to offer me her usual parting words of advice: Don’t sleep later than eleven or you die, don’t drink cold water or you die, watch out for child molesters on your way to school, eat ginger, lot of ginger, remember check air quality index every day...

Then I make a quick to-do list in my head. It’s what works best whenever I’m overwhelmed or frustrated. Short-term goals. Small hurdles. Things within my control.

It’s sort of like what they say about kissing the person you love (not that I would really know): each time is like the very first.

There aren’t any wild cheers, not like with Rainie, but at least they’re looking. At least they can see me.

whispers so only I can hear— “Congratulations, Alice. I was afraid you wouldn’t make it this year.”

Most international schoolkids end up with some watered-down version of an American accent, but Henry’s accent has a distinct British lilt to it.

(Mama always says there are no ugly women, only lazy women—but from what I’ve gathered, it’s more like there are no ugly women, only broke women);

Like you have a special bond with her even if you’ve never exchanged more than a few sentences before. It’s a rare talent, the kind you can’t acquire through sheer determination and hard work.

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

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

“It’s not really about your mum though, right?” I say slowly. “I mean, if even Beyoncé was cheated on—”

First there was Chanel’s cheating father, and now this. If nothing else, these couple of days have served as a great reminder of why I’m glad to be single.

For some reason, the first feeling that pools into my stomach is...disappointment. But of course it’s about the latest task. Why else would he be calling?

“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?”

But here’s the thing about living in a place full of people who don’t look like you—whenever shit like this happens, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been singled out for a reason.

“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?”

Without thinking, I grab his face in one hand and tilt it up to the moonlight, inspecting the injury. It looks swollen. Painful. “Holy crap, Henry,” I say, no longer laughing. “You didn’t have to go that far—I mean, I’m grateful, obviously—so grateful—but... Does it—does it hurt?” He doesn’t answer me, but his eyes widen slightly. Flicker to the point of contact between us, where my hand is still cupping his cheek.

“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 want to get good grades. Graduate. Get a job in whichever field my strengths lie.” His brows furrow, like he doesn’t quite believe me. “Not what you’re passionate about?” he asks delicately. I lift my chin. “I’m passionate about being good at things.”

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,

I hate when people justify a clearly inhumane process and use it as some kind of model for success just because the results are to their liking—”

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

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.

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?”

Imagining this with the accent and OMG

It makes me almost dizzy, thinking about the stark differences in realities, what will be and what could’ve been. But that’s the kind of difference wealth creates.

Do not turn around. Do not fucking turn arou— I turn around.

Bruh

“They—they took Peter—” I finally manage, my voice a dry croak. “We have to—save him—” I wait for the barrage of questions, the moment of disbelief, but Henry doesn’t even look surprised at this dramatic turn of events. He simply rolls up his sleeves and says, “Okay. Let’s go.” I can’t believe I ever wanted to push this boy off a stage.

I remember thinking a month ago about how much I hated him, how I couldn’t bear to even be in the same room as him. Now I can’t bear the few inches of distance between us.

There’s a slight chance that he’s better at this than I am. Just this once, I’ll let him have it.

“Oh.” A small, surprised laugh escapes my lips. In what now feels like another lifetime, the ceremony alone would’ve been the highlight of my day. Maybe even one of the highlights of my life. “I guess I forgot.”

I don’t think I’ll ever get used to his proximity, or the way he’s currently looking at me, like he’s in as much awe as I am that we can just do this now. Just sit and hold hands in the near dark and say what we mean.

I want to be smarter and richer and stronger and just...better. But honestly? I also want to be happy.

“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.”