Chapter 7

Gu Ye admitted he had been the first to notice no one was talking in the bigger group anymore. He had simply thought sending messages between two chats was too much trouble.

Lin Che admitted he had meant to pass things on to me several times, but had let it go when someone said, “Zhiyi’s busy.”

No one had suddenly become a bad person.

Each had merely done a little less, asked one fewer question, waited for me one fewer time.

Together, they had managed to make me disappear from their lives.

I didn’t go back to the relationships we had once had.

But I no longer needed to block everyone to prove I had moved on either.

Life in Hangzhou gradually settled down.

When my new colleagues invited me to dinner, they asked me directly, “What do you want to eat? And don’t say anything’s fine.”

The first time, I stood there stunned for a long while.

Later, I began answering properly.

“I want something spicy today.”

“I don’t want to go out this weekend. I want to sleep.”

“I don’t agree with this proposal. It needs changing.”

Speaking my mind wasn’t so difficult after all.

What truly wore you out was speaking and still never being heard.

Three months later, the new project I led launched ahead of schedule.

At the celebration, everyone in the department gathered for a photo.

The photographer asked where I wanted to stand.

Instinctively, I stepped toward the edge.

A colleague immediately pulled me back.

“You’re the project lead. Why are you hiding at the side? Get in the middle.”

For a moment, standing in the center, I didn’t even know what to do with my hands.

When the shutter clicked, I realized for the first time that I didn’t have to fight to be seen.

The next spring, my brother sent me a photograph of cherry blossoms.

I opened it while waiting for a car outside my office building.

It showed a street filled with blossoms. No people.

He had added one sentence.

[That trip we talked about last year—none of us went in the end. I passed through here for work today and saw this.]

I replied with an ordinary emoji.

I didn’t ask why they hadn’t gone.

Those answers no longer mattered.

Later, Wen Li changed jobs.

Occasionally, she still liked my posts.

Gu Ye and Lin Che sent a few greetings around the holidays.

Xia Chuan never came to Hangzhou again.

He only sent one message on my birthday.

[Happy birthday. I hope this year goes well for you too.]

He didn’t ask whether I was coming back.

I read it and simply thanked him.

When a relationship truly ended, you didn’t have to hate anyone.

Some people only walked beside you for part of the way.

Once you lost each other, you could stop there.

The next Mid-Autumn Festival, the company gave us three days off.

My brother asked two weeks in advance.

[Are you coming home this year? It’s up to you. I’m just asking ahead.]

I smiled slightly at his message.

Before, everyone had made decisions for me.

They assumed I didn’t mind. Assumed I had no time. Assumed anything would suit me.

Now, at last, he had learned to ask.

I replied:

[Not this year. I’ve made plans to go camping with friends.]

He only wrote:

[Okay. Have fun. Remember to look at the moon tonight.]

No questions. No persuasion.

That weekend, as we prepared to leave, a new colleague held up a camera and asked who would take photos of everyone.

I was about to reach for it out of habit when someone beside me took it first.

“You were hardly in any of the photos last time. Get in them this time, okay?”

I smiled and stood among everyone.

No one needed me to spend my life recording everybody else’s moments.

No one pushed me to the edge because I wasn’t accommodating enough.

That evening, we ate and drank around the fire.

My phone suddenly showed a notification from our old five-person group.

My brother had sent a picture of the moon.

Gu Ye followed:

[Happy Mid-Autumn.]

Then Lin Che:

[Zhiyi, don’t spend the whole camping trip taking pictures of everyone else again.]

I looked for a moment and sent them a photo of myself.

A friend had just taken it for me.

I stood in front of a tent, holding a skewer with a half-burned marshmallow and smiling a little foolishly.

After sending it, I didn’t wait for their replies.

I put my phone face down on the table again.

My friends were calling me over to play a game.

Someone had saved me a seat.

When I went over and sat down, it was right in the middle.

Nine years earlier, our group had been called *No One Left Behind*.

Later, I understood.

What had mattered all along wasn’t whether my name was in a group chat.