“距离你的飞机起飞还剩十个小时。现在坐火车去找他，吃晚饭、聊天，明天凌晨直接出发……火车，火车而已，不到一个小时，不到一百公里，但明天之后，就是一万公里。
“一万公里……你知道那是什么距离吗？
“我知道对你来说有点难，但你今天还不做这件事，你知道你会多么遗憾吗？
“Rimpianto.”
腥苦的海水从她耳朵灌进来，深呼吸的刹那，她才惊觉，根本没有什么海水，只是下雨了而已。
雨，穿透夜晚霓虹的彩色，一滴滴从遮阳棚边缘滴落。
那些冰凉从她手背滑走，坠入地面泥泞的深坑。
她记不清是第几次摇头，只是摇头，只是拒绝，只是说：NO。
她身体弯折，垂头，指尖扣着膝盖，直到指尖泛白，而膝盖处的布料拉出长而深的沟壑。
“好吧，我刚刚说我不想知道对方是谁，但现在你必须告诉我，他的名字……我应该知道是谁，我们班里……”
“不，不是。”
比任何一句都干脆的回答。她的声音扬高，又在抬头的瞬间攥紧拳头，垂眼。
她从不打算说。即使现在，依然不打算。
但这种抗拒在逐渐密集的逼问里，变成了一下下沉重的心跳，心跳越来越快，在胸腔、在喉头，在撕扯她的舌根。
“我只是不理解，为什么不说？这很奇怪，你为什么不告诉他？你应该说，你必须说。两年啊，我不理解，你现在给他打电话。”
“不。”她没有动摇，她只是深呼吸，将掌心的汗与滴下来的雨水一同抹去，又扯出一个微笑，“因为很冒犯、很逾矩。我做不到，也从来没有想过要做到，我不会联系他，不会让他听闻我这个人。”
因为一切都太清晰了。她知道自己在做什么，她知道自己为何，而这一切，对于她来说都是可被理性解释的。
她在脑海里迅速给它找了一个词。
一个足够干净、足够安全，甚至相当专业的词。
这样一来，一切都可以解释了，也就不需要再发生什么了。
她松了口气。
连人际关系都不算啊。
是自恋的游戏，是自我的冲突，是自己的玩乐……种种。
她默默点头，将事情放回原位。
……但心跳并没有。
反而——愈演愈烈。
在那数分钟的拉锯战里，她所擅长的思考、逻辑、洞察，什么物理学、心理学、社会学、哲学、群体动力学、文学，全在大脑里竖起无数尖锐的刺，而每一根刺，都足够刺破那名为“喜欢”的幻觉。
她太擅长解构了，解构人的心理，也解构自己。
所以，告诉他什么？
“告诉他这件事。”
屏幕微弱的光完全吞没在路过的人的谈笑里，电话打出去一个，又一个。
她屏着呼吸愣在原地。
等一下……
“NO！！”
她想去抢对方的手机，但对方没有给她机会，用那副依然觉得不可理喻的口吻说：“我还有办法。”
他打开了通讯，开始一个字一个字往屏幕上敲打。
“无论你觉得多困难，你都应该告诉他，如果你不知道他在哪间教室，我们就去学校喊他的名字，直到把他叫出来。”
她的心脏几乎脱离身体。
“信息怎么写呢？你好，我现在和一个漂亮女孩在一起……”
忽然间，她的呼吸断断续续从肺里挤出，那些压至极限的胆怯变成了裹着潮湿的心跳，心脏跳一下，呼吸才敢跟一次。
每次呼吸，便每次窒息。
为什么会那么紧张？紧张得好像全身都在颤抖，而呼吸哽在喉头，再也发不出音节。
说话的勇气也没有，阻止的勇气也没有。
“……她喜欢你，但从来没有勇气告诉你……”
那一瞬间，她想到了很多事情，想到自己曾经站在演讲台上居高临下的眼神，信手拈来的措辞；想到自己置于舞台中央时，完全轻松地展示；想到鞠躬时瀑布落下般的喝彩，抬头随意一笑的淡然。
想到自己总说“没什么难的”。
不知道为什么会想到这些，但她听到了掌声，这一生里获得的，无数掌声与惊叹，在记忆里随着这场瓢泼一起落下来，砸进石板路的缝隙。
“……如果你在，请……”
而这些荣耀现在全被雨水吞没、撕裂。
撕裂的声音越来越大、越来越吵，直到最后变成尖锐的啸叫，在耳膜上划出灰白的刮痕。
不要发……不要发给他。
不要让他知道。
不要做那些毫无意义、荒谬的事。
“那我发咯？”对方问，清浅一个眼神，云淡风轻。
她抬头，迷茫看着对方。
他在说什么？
雨忽然变大了，她没听清，好像是……没听懂？
对方的眼睛下垂，垂在她握紧的双手，他抬眼说：“你在发抖？你在害怕？”
“我不知道。”
可能是空白。
比当众演讲、比舞台上演出更让人惊惧的空白。
她看见对方的手指悬置在“发送”键上。她紧紧盯着，看那两毫米、看那一万公里、看那个按键的形状，看那些……已经具象化的、磨碎的秘密。
她再次深呼吸，又慢慢吐出。
好像是高空气流拉出无限延伸的尾气，飞机掠过深蓝的穹顶，而尾气在一段时间后弥散成瓢泼的混乱。
那股混乱的巨大轰鸣、那声微不可察的叹息，与信息发送成功的声音重叠了。
——
“There are ten hours left until your flight departs. Take the train to see him now, grab dinner, talk, and head out straight from there early tomorrow morning… A train, it is just a train ride—less than an hour, less than a hundred kilometers. But after tomorrow, it becomes ten thousand kilometers.
“Ten thousand kilometers… Do you have any idea what kind of distance that is?
“I know it is a little hard for you, but if you still do not do this today, do you realize how much you will regret it?
“Rimpianto.”
The brackish, bitter seawater flooded her ears. In the exact fraction of a second she took a deep breath, she was jolted awake—there was no seawater at all; it was merely raining.
The rain, piercing through the vibrant neon of the night, dripped drop by drop from the edge of the awning.
The icy chill slipped from the back of her hand, plunging into the deep, muddy craters on the ground.
She had lost count of how many times she had shaken her head. She just shook it, just refused, just said: NO.
Her body was bent double, her head bowed, fingertips digging into her knees until her knuckles turned pale, dragging the fabric there into long, deep creases.
“Alright, I know I just said I didn’t want to know who it is, but now you must tell me his name… I ought to know who it is, someone in our class…”
“No, he’s not.”
An answer more absolute than any other. Her voice rose, yet in the instant she looked up, she clenched her fists and lowered her eyes once more.
She had never intended to tell. Even now, she still didn’t.
But under the increasingly relentless interrogation, this resistance mutated into heavy, rhythmic heartbeats. Her heart raced faster and faster—pounding in her chest, in her throat, tearing at the root of her tongue.
“I just don’t understand, why not say it? It makes no sense. Why don’t you tell him? You should say it, you must say it. Two years—I just don’t get it. Call him right now.”
“No.” She did not waver. She merely took a deep breath, wiped away the sweat on her palms along with the dripping rain, and forced a smile. “Because it is highly offensive, completely out of line. I cannot do it, and I have never even entertained the thought of doing it. I will not contact him, nor will I let him hear a word about my existence.”
Because everything was far too lucid. She knew exactly what she was doing, she knew exactly why, and all of this, to her, could be completely rationalized.
She swiftly scoured her mind for a word for it.
A word clean enough, safe enough—even quite clinical.
This way, everything could be justified, and nothing further would need to happen.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
It couldn’t even be classified as an interpersonal relationship.
It was a narcissistic game, a conflict of the ego, a solitary amusement… and so on.
She nodded silently, putting everything back in its proper place.
…But her heartbeat did not.
Instead—it escalated violently.
In that minutes-long psychological tug-of-war, the intellect, logic, and insight she so prided herself on—be it physics, psychology, sociology, philosophy, group dynamics, or literature—erected countless razor-sharp thorns in her mind. And every single thorn was lethal enough to puncture the illusion called “liking someone.”
She was far too adept at deconstruction—deconstructing human psychology, and deconstructing herself.
So, tell him what?
“Tell him about this.”
The faint glow of the screen was entirely swallowed by the chatter and laughter of passersby, as phone calls were dialed out, one after another.
She stood frozen, holding her breath.
Wait…
“NO!!”
She lunged to snatch his phone, but he gave her no opening, stating in a tone that still found her utterly baffling: “I have another way.”
He opened a messaging app and began tapping on the screen, word by word.
“No matter how agonizing you find it, you should tell him. If you don’t know which classroom he’s in, we’ll go to the school and shout his name until we call him out.”
Her heart practically vaulted out of her chest.
“How should the message go? Hello, I am currently with a beautiful girl…”
Suddenly, her breath squeezed out of her lungs in fractured gasps. That cowardice, compressed to its absolute limit, transmuted into damp, suffocating heartbeats. Her heart would pound once, and only then did her breath dare to follow.
With every breath came a wave of suffocation.
Why was she so terrified? So terrified that her entire frame seemed to tremble, her breath choking in her throat, unable to articulate another syllable.
Bereft of the courage to speak, bereft of the courage to stop it.
”…She likes you, but she’s never had the courage to tell you…”
In a flash, a multitude of memories surged through her: her commanding gaze from the podium, her effortless rhetoric; her absolute ease and poise when standing center stage; the cascading, waterfall-like applause when she bowed, and the sheer nonchalance of her casual smile when she looked back up.
She thought of how she used to always say, “It’s nothing difficult.”
She didn’t know why these thoughts surfaced, but she heard applause. The countless ovations and gasps of awe she had garnered in her lifetime rained down in her memory alongside this torrential downpour, smashing into the crevices of the cobblestone street.
”…If you are there, please…”
Yet now, all of this glory was being swallowed and shredded by the rain.
The sound of the shredding grew louder, more deafening, until it ultimately warped into a piercing shriek, carving ashen scratches into her eardrums.
Don’t send it… don’t send it to him.
Don’t let him know.
Don’t do these meaningless, absurd things.
“Shall I send it then?” the other person asked, tossing her a shallow glance, breezy and unbothered.
She looked up, staring at him in utter bewilderment.
What was he saying?
The rain suddenly grew heavier. She didn’t hear it clearly; it felt like… she didn’t understand it?
His gaze dropped, landing on her tightly clenched hands. He looked back up and said, “Are you shivering? Are you scared?”
“I don’t know.”
It was perhaps a total blankness.
A blankness far more terrifying than public speaking, far more dreadful than performing on stage.
She saw his finger hovering over the “Send” button. She stared intently—staring at those two millimeters, staring at those ten thousand kilometers, staring at the shape of that button, staring at those… materialized, pulverized secrets.
She took one more deep breath, and slowly exhaled.
It was like the slipstream of a high-altitude aircraft dragging out an infinitely extending contrail—a plane skimming across the deep blue canopy, while its contrail, moments later, dissipated into a torrential chaos.
The colossal roar of that chaos, and that imperceptible sigh, perfectly overlapped with the chime of a successfully sent message.