We are all destined to be alone

He's the bad guy, right? At least kind of an enemy. Anyway, now that I'm holding Zhaozhao's hand, such a cold, and helpless hand. I had no choice but to push him across the room and forget about it as if he was a hungry bad guy-otherwise, what is this in front of me, anyway? He had a wide forehead, this stranger. It forced all five senses to pile up together. The eyes are quite large, which makes it even more difficult to know where to focus your eyes when you look at him - probably because I'm afraid to look him in the eye. What kind of expression should I use to look at him? Especially, I am not unaware that he might be brewing an attack; and because I am not unaware that he has so much pain in his heart.

No one spoke. In that silence, I vaguely realized that all the customers in the store had left except us. I imagined without reason a scene in which the waiters in the store were in cahoots with the strangers, and they would not hesitate at this moment to close the door and turn off the lights, making the illusion of closing. The roller shutter would boom in our ears with a cascade of applause, a ghostly ringing of the door.

Of course, none of this happened. The waiters went through the tables without expression as usual, and one, while mopping the floor with a mop, passed by a stranger who hesitantly approached us, clumsily tripped over the mop, and then whispered to the waiter, who had gone far away, "Excuse me." --This person who apologized for stepping on someone else's mop would kill Zhaozhao?

As he stood next to our table, I realized that I was far more embarrassed than scared. I wasn't that scared. For some reason, although my heart was racing and my hand was trembling slightly next to Zhaozhao's shoulder, there was still something sinking in my heart that made me feel there was no need to be afraid. Perhaps, since birth, I have lived by this inexplicable trust to this day, trust in what things? I can't say, maybe it's trusting that the movies the world puts on me are never that bad.

"Have a seat." My brother greeted him affectionately, as if he was not Zhaoge's enemy, but Zhaoge's shy little boyfriend.

Zhaoge's shoulders jerked violently beneath my palms, like she was in a hurry to break out of the ground, fresh plant-like, confusingly terrified yet overwhelmed. Just as she straightened up, I very tacitly removed my hand from hers - as she always does, thinking that standing up for herself in times of helplessness is the only way to protect herself.

She mumbled, "I'm sorry."

No one around me would have cared; I took a few steps backward slightly. I stared incredulously at my right hand hanging in the air, and I wanted to ask it why it had so logically given up on Zhaoge in the first place. Why was I so relieved when I moved it away? I also think Zhaoge should at least face the reality that is approaching in front of him. Isn't Zhaoxiao innocent? Or, do I feel that she deserves it a little? No, Zhaoge is not at fault, so am I jealous of her? --No, no, no, I've never really been jealous of anyone from the heart, even when I first heard that she was a young lady, I was only slapdash jealous for a moment, and then I forgot about it in a flash.

It's because I've always refused to admit that I didn't like Zhaozhao as much as I thought I did, right? I never even allowed myself to sneer as boldly as Shelby did and say, "I don't like her." She never returned the emotions I wished to exchange with her, or rather, rarely. To be precise, all her ways of dealing with people gave me no sign of "exchange". So I can only assume that she also does not like me much. The hidden power in her body was threatening everyone, and I had to tell myself "I'm a sister, so I have to be polite" to maintain a friendly situation with her - it was hard to finally admit it all.

In this second of openness to myself, I saw Akira's sculpture-like side face. Because the lines are clear, so much love on it is like a skilled craftsman quickly applied its cement, evenly enveloped, not a point thicker on the forehead, nor a point thinner at the tip of the nose, which is one of the reasons she makes me feel unapproachable, right? If she could allow her face or expression to be made undignified by grief at this point, I would be more sympathetic to her. Well, my heart is softening again. This is a no-good person ah.

My brother unhurriedly pulled out the chair that belonged to me and said to the stranger, "Sit down. Is there anything you want to eat, order it yourself?" The waiter's voice came from the corner with discontent: "The kitchen is closed." Then the brother gave Zhaoge another look, "No one said class again, who told you to stand up?"

The disgruntled waitress who couldn't get off work re-passed our table, the listless mop behind her like a no-good sitter. My brother looked at her blandly and said, "There's always beer, right?" Said the man, smiling a little. She gave her brother a look, turned around and picked up the empty glass from the table where the stranger had just gotten up, and placed it with us with certainty - with an expression that was almost like trying to flirt.

The sister blinked her hooded drunken eyes and said darkly, "Little hoof, if I work in my store, see how I can fix her."

After hearing this, the brother naturally patted the stranger's shoulder, "You know what? This child -" gaze turned to Zhaozhao, "this child she left plus escaped since the incident, or the coffee shop applied for a waitress, but," he looked at half of his sister who was lying on the table smiled, "people bosses do not want her."

The stranger never looked at Zhaoge's face but was brave enough to stare into his brother's eyes. The brother said, "I forgot to introduce myself, right? I am the class teacher of this child Zhaozhao. She ran away from home and has been threatened by you for her safety. So temporarily staying at our home ......"

"I know." The stranger suddenly said, his voice hoarse, as if he had not yet come out of the puberty of changing his voice, with a little bit of a Yongchuan accent that can still be detected by listening carefully, "I know that you are a teacher."

"I also know that you know." Brother gently smiled, "have followed so many days, with all due respect, you do not play professionally, I actually saw you a few times. In front of the school, the bus ...... has long been an acquaintance." I do not know if it is because of alcohol, always feel that my brother is a little different today, although the tone of voice as always, there is a rare vividness, that seems to be under his skin quietly blinking ripples. It made me feel that, at the moment, all his words were orders.

"Teacher." The stranger smiled sadly, "I'm sorry for your trouble."

"Come on, you're not much younger than me, don't always be you long and you short. Drink up." The older brother gave him a firm tap on the shoulder.

The stranger didn't drink, just squeezed the glass. It was as if the half glass of beer in it was frozen into ice, and he had to melt it with the temperature of his palm so hard.

"Buried in the rubble, what is your people?" My brother asked.

"My brother." The stranger said, "My father was also injured, his left arm was half blown off. He was still awake when he got into the ambulance, and before he had time to feel the pain, he looked down and realized he was missing an arm." He smiled.

The brother was smiling too, "probably because, after all, his hand is too familiar. Because it's always there, and suddenly it's gone, and it can't be noticed."

"Right." The stranger lifted the cup in front of him and seemed to hesitate, or took a very small sip, "My dad said he was trying to lift his hand to wipe the sweat from his left forehead before he realized it was gone. It's like when we sometimes try to reach for our wallets, only to find out they've been stolen - pretty much the same thing."

"Is your brother ...... still alive?" I asked timidly because I knew Zhaozhao wanted to ask this most of all, but she didn't dare. There was nothing I didn't dare to do, a favor I was willing to do.

"Alive." The stranger looked at me, he looked at me with an almost friendly expression, although in my memory, the vast majority of people who meet for the first time will gaze at me without malice, especially boys, his friendliness at the moment touched me. I have always believed that people who hate at first sight must be bad because no one would hate me. The stranger is not a bad person, or at least, not a terrible person.