Chapter 8 — Icebergs Also Know Red Eyes

It's not that my stomach can't hold it, it's that something keeps choking in my heart, every time I swallow a piece of meat it feels wrong. I put down my chopsticks.

“To Nghien.”

“Um.”

“The last text message from To Niem, said that from the first day you had—”

“It's nonsense.” He interrupted, his rhythm a little faster.

“It hasn't finished texting yet.”

“There's no need to finish the message.”

“Then say it yourself.”

He turned the last piece of meat on the grill, not looking at me.

“Say what?”

“Why did you agree to go on a date with me?”

“That said, it's to help you.”

“Help me lose weight?”

“Yes.”

“That's all?”

He picked up a piece of meat and put it on my plate.

“That's all.”

“Then why were your eyes red just now in the cafeteria?”

His movements stopped. The chopsticks stopped in mid-air, then dropped three seconds later.

“Smoked by smoke.”

“There's no smoke in the canteen.”

“Grease smoke.”

“To Nghien.”

“Eat my meat.”

He didn't look at me anymore, bowed his head and neatly arranged mushrooms and corn on the grill. I stared at him, his ears turned red again. I suddenly made a decision.

“I won't break up anymore.”

His hand stopped.

“No separation for now,” I added, “Weight loss plan continues.”

He raised his head and looked at me. Something flashed in his eyes, too fast, I couldn't catch it.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Sure, but there are conditions.”

“Say it.”

“We can eat grilled meat once a week.”

He looked at me for exactly three seconds.

“Every two weeks.”

“Once a week.”

“Ten days.”

“Latch.”

The corner of his mouth twitched slightly — the amplitude was so small that it was almost invisible, but I saw it. He laughed. Very faint, in the blink of an eye it was gone. I stuffed the last piece of pork belly into my mouth, pretending nothing happened. 08 The second day after making peace, everything seemed to be restored to its original state. Jogging in the morning, eating lunch, and going to the library in the afternoon. But it's not quite the same as before. For example, when jogging, his speed slows down. Not much, about ten percent slower. Just the threshold I can reluctantly follow. For example, when eating rice, his lunch box has a small compartment containing a few apricot candies.

“Low calories,” he said, “You can take one whenever you want.”

For example, at the library, the distance he sat next to me was a little closer. So close that every now and then my elbow would touch his hand. I don't dodge. These changes are so small, so small that if I weren't always observing, they would be absolutely unrecognizable. But I realized. Every time I realize it, my heart beats a beat faster. On the afternoon of the ninth day, at the library, I was doing an advanced math assignment when I got stuck halfway through.

“How to solve this problem?” I pushed the notebook over.

He glanced at me, picked up a pen and wrote a few steps in the margin of my notebook. As he wrote, my eyes fell on his hands - very long fingers, beautiful pen grip, clear bones and joints.

“Understood?” He pushed the notebook back.

“Yes.” I don't understand. Just now I was busy looking at your hand.

It seemed he also realized something, tilting his head slightly to glance at me. I quickly bowed my head and pretended to pay attention to the solution. Phone vibrates. To Niem: *Sisters, come here for a moment, I have something to say.* I told To Nghien to go to the bathroom, then walked out the library door. To Niem was standing on the steps, his face confused.

“What's going on?”

“Lam Thi Vu,” To Niem Biting her lip, "Today she went around gossiping around the department, saying my brother was only dating you to help you lose weight, not a real relationship."

I was stunned for a second.

“How does she know?”

"No, sometimes I guessed it myself, sometimes I heard it somewhere. In short, she told me everywhere, telling him that I was being stalked by you, that the two of us weren't real lovers, that she still had a chance."

I leaned my back against the wall, saying nothing. To Niem examined my expression: "What are you reacting like?"

“What type is it?”

“Aren't you angry?”