The Puppet Strings

Night falls across the windowsills of an old apartment building. Lately, it seems someone has been secretly treating me well. My name is Li Yue. I’m worn down by constant overtime and squeezed into a shabby, cheap rental. My days are dull and exhausting. I used to think my life would be an endless loop of work, overtime, and sleep. But at some point, all kinds of little acts of warmth began quietly taking place around me. I wake up to find my messy room clean and tidy. The clutter scattered across my desk at night is neatly put away by the next day. Sometimes, when I’m half asleep, I feel a faint coolness brush my cheek, as if someone is gently moving the loose strands of hair from in front of my eyes. I never see anyone, but traces of his presence are everywhere. I’ve never been in love, but a vague little hope has begun to stir in my heart. Could there be someone invisible who secretly likes me? He never shows himself or says a word. He expresses his kindness through little things: tidying my room, or tucking the blankets around me on cold nights. I often talk softly to the empty room, imagining him quietly listening nearby. Sometimes I blush when no one is looking, wondering what he might look like. Is he cool and handsome, or gentle and reserved? The days drift by like this. I endure the misery of work while secretly cherishing this hidden, unspoken intimacy that no one else knows about.