That One Girl
[📘 Content Warning:
This story contains Boys’ Love (BL) themes. Reader discretion is advised. Please read the disclaimers mentioned in the Instagram post.]
The soft jingling of the wind chime above the bookstore door had become background music in Zhan’s life lately.
A quiet, almost meditative sound that played on repeat while he juggled too many things at once.
Between the new children’s book project and the daily running of the bookstore, Zhan barely had time to sit down properly, let alone breathe.
The idea of managing it all alone had seemed fine at first—he even welcomed the challenge.
But now, he found himself staying up late sketching layout ideas, answering emails from the publisher, and waking up with a stiff neck and ink smudges on his hands.
And still, no matter how packed their days were, he and Yibo somehow found time for each other.
It wasn’t always grand gestures.
Sometimes, it was just sitting quietly in the same room, doing separate things.
But even that… felt like something sacred.
Like tonight.
The warm afterglow lingered on the windows, fading into the hush of night.
The low hum of the ceiling fan stirred the air with a gentle rhythm.
Zhan was tucked away in the small back room, bent over his desk, eyes squinting at illustrations.
While Yibo sat cross-legged on the floor between two bookshelves out front, flipping through his exam notes.
Zhan hadn’t spoken much in the past hour.
Yibo could hear the occasional rustle of paper or the soft clack of a pen tapping against the desk.
The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was a kind of calm Yibo had come to love.
The bookstore, with its faint smell of old paper and lemon floor cleaner, felt like a little island in a loud world.
And Zhan’s presence? That was the anchor.
But even through that peaceful haze, Yibo noticed it.
The tired curve of Zhan’s shoulders.
The faint shadows under his eyes.
How his footsteps had gotten slower, heavier.
Lately, he’d been closing the shop later than usual, working deep into the night and waking up at the crack of dawn to do it all again.
Yibo closed his notebook, quietly stood, and slipped out.
Fifteen minutes later, he returned, the door chime singing again.
Zhan looked up, his hand frozen mid-stroke over a sketch.
Yibo walked in holding two takeaway coffee cups and a small brown paper bag.
He set them down on Zhan’s desk with a small smile.
“Your favorite.”
He said simply, tapping the bag.
Zhan blinked, then let out a tired laugh as he opened it.
“You’re a lifesaver, Yibo. I really needed this.”
The donut—lightly glazed with chocolate and just the right amount of crunch—looked almost too good to eat.
But Zhan took a bite anyway, groaning softly.
“Perfect.”
Yibo slid into the chair beside him and leaned back.
“You need a break, Zhan-ge. Seriously. You’ve been going too hard.”
Zhan sighed, pushing his hair back with ink-stained fingers.
“Yeah… I know. It’s getting a little too much, actually. I thought I could handle the project and the shop, but I’m barely keeping up.”
He paused, then glanced over.
“Ba mentioned a girl a while ago. Said she was looking for some trainee job, just to gain experience. Maybe I should finally talk to him about it.”
Yibo nodded, arms crossed.
“I think that’s a good idea. No shame in getting some help.”
Zhan looked thoughtful, chewing the inside of his cheek.
“Yeah… Maybe.”
That night at dinner, with the clink of dishes and quiet murmur of the TV in the background, Zhan finally brought it up.
“Ba.”
He said, lifting his head from his rice bowl.
“Remember that girl you mentioned? The one looking for a trainee job?”
Xiao Guoqiang looked up from his soup.
“Hmm? Oh yes, Su Mian. My friend’s daughter.”
“I’ve been needing some help at the bookstore lately.”
Zhan said.
“Maybe you could check with her father—see if they’re still interested?”
Then Xiao Guoqiang replied.
“I can talk to him. Maybe we can arrange a small meeting at the bookstore.”
Zhan nodded.
“That would help a lot.”
“Don’t worry.”
Guoqiang said with a smile.
“I’ll call him tomorrow.”
————————————-
Two days later, the bookstore was tidied up more than usual.
Zhan had even wiped down the counter twice, for no real reason.
He didn’t know why he felt nervous—it wasn’t an interview in the traditional sense, more like a casual meet-and-greet.
Still, he kept adjusting the stack of flyers near the register.
The girl arrived with her father, right on time.
She looked around twenty-one, slim and graceful, with a tidy ponytail and soft features.
She wore a light beige top tucked into jeans, and a tote bag hung from her shoulder.
Her eyes sparkled with curiosity as she stepped in, and she smiled a little too brightly.
“Hello! I’m Su Mian.”
She said, extending a hand.
“Thank you for meeting me.”
Zhan shook her hand with a smile, then nodded to her father.
“Nice to meet you both. I’m Zhan. Please, have a seat.”
They settled on the couch near the window.
The smell of freshly ground coffee lingered in the air, blending with a hint of lavender from the incense Zhan sometimes lit in the afternoons.
“So…”
Zhan began.
“Tell me a bit about your interests. Are you studying design?”
“Yes.”
She said quickly.
“Literature with a minor in illustration. I’ve always loved books. Especially illustrated ones.”
Zhan smiled politely.
“That’s great. Though—just to clarify—the project I’m working on is separate. What I really need help with is managing the bookstore. Taking care of customers, keeping things organized while I focus on the publishing work behind the scenes.”
Su Mian nodded eagerly.
“Oh, yes, I can definitely do that. I’ve worked part-time in a campus library before. I really enjoy being around books.”
Her father added.
“She’s responsible. Guoqiang said you were looking for someone who could handle the front while you manage your own deadlines. I think this arrangement will work well.”
He glanced toward her father.
“Just to be upfront—this is a small job. I can’t offer much in terms of salary.”
The man nodded with a kind smile.
“Guoqiang already explained everything. We’re not looking for money—she just needs the experience. That’s more important.”
Zhan nodded slowly, considering it.
“Alright then. We can try it out and see how it goes.”
Again, that smile from Su Mian—bright, maybe too bright—lingered just a moment longer than necessary.
Zhan shifted in his seat, not quite sure what to make of it.
But he decided not to dwell on it.
That evening, riding the metro home, Zhan leaned against the pole while Yibo stood next to him, one hand looped around the overhead handle.
“So..”
Yibo said, glancing sideways.
“How did it go?”
“She’s fine.”
Zhan replied.
“Seems smart. Just Twenty-one. Has the right background. Her dad’s chill too.”
Yibo waited a beat.
“But…?”
Zhan chuckled softly.
“She keeps smiling at me. Like, way too much. It was just… weird.”
Yibo shrugged.
“Zhan-ge… she’s twenty-one. It’s her first job. Probably nervous. Or excited. Or both.”
“Yeah. Probably.”
Zhan muttered, chewing the inside of his cheek again.
“Maybe I’m just reading too much into it.”
Yibo nudged him gently with his shoulder.
“Ignore it. Right now, getting help is the priority, right?”
Zhan glanced over at him and smiled, a little sheepishly.
“You’re right.”
The metro rolled on beneath them, soft lights flickering overhead, and for the first time all day, Zhan let himself relax just a little.
Yibo glanced at him—then looked a little longer than necessary.
The corners of his mouth curling into a faint, quiet smile.
————————————–
From the very next morning, Su Mian began showing up at the bookstore right on time—early, even, her ponytail always perfectly neat, her smile overly eager.
Zhan spent the first two days walking her through everything.
The layout of the shelves, the regular customers and their quirks, how to handle the inventory system, restocking routines, where to find backup receipts, and how to fix the coffee machine when it got temperamental—which was often.
“This section’s mostly poetry and essays.”
Zhan said, pointing to a sunlit corner near the window.
“But don’t let Mr. Han rearrange it—he loves trying to help and ends up mixing up all the authors alphabetically.”
Su Mian giggled.
“Got it. No touching poetry when Mr. Han’s around.”
She picked things up fast.
Smarter than she let on.
Organized, too. And polite—always polite.
Almost too polite.
Within a few days, Zhan found himself handing off most of the front-desk duties to her and disappearing into the small back room to work on layouts and editing notes.
The extra time was a huge relief.
With his project deadlines tightening, her help was a real blessing.
But.
There was a but.
Su Mian had a habit of… looking at him.
Lingering looks, silent stares across the room that made Zhan feel like he was constantly being watched.
Sometimes, he’d glance up from his screen and catch her already staring—eyes wide, lips parted slightly, like she’d been caught in a trance.
She’d quickly look away, pretend to fiddle with the register or rearrange a stack of bookmarks, but the awkwardness would hang in the air.
Then there were the outfits.
Some days she wore button-downs or loose sweaters—normal stuff.
But other days, she showed up in low-cut tops or cropped cardigans that seemed way too deliberate.
And once, she wore something sheer enough to make Zhan nearly choke on his tea when she leaned across the counter.
He never said anything.
Just… ignored it.
Kept it professional.
One evening, Yibo dropped by, as he often did after deliveries.
The bell above the door chimed softly as he entered, brushing his hair out of his eyes.
He found Su Mian alone at the counter, typing something into the desktop.
“You’re still here?”
Yibo asked, glancing at the clock.
It was almost 7:30.
The sky outside had darkened, casting navy shadows through the windows.
Most days, Su Mian left by six.
Su Mian turned with a pleasant smile.
“Just finishing up some stock entries.”
Yibo raised an eyebrow.
“That late, huh?”
Before she could answer, Zhan emerged from the back room, rubbing his neck with ink-smudged fingers.
“Su Mian.”
He said, voice firmer than usual.
“You’re still here?”
She blinked, straightening.
“I was just—”
“I’ve already told you a few times.”
Zhan cut in gently but firmly.
“You don’t need to stay this late. It’s not safe for you to be going home after dark. Please pack up.”
For a second, her face fell.
Then she gave a reluctant nod.
“Okay.”
Zhan watched as she packed her things slowly—too slowly—and slipped out with a forced smile.
The door clicked shut behind her.
Zhan let out a breath.
He didn’t realize how tense his shoulders were until they finally dropped.
Yibo leaned against the counter, arms crossed.
“She’s… something.”
Zhan groaned quietly and ran a hand through his hair.
“She’s helpful. But yeah. It’s starting to feel weird. The stares. The way she talks sometimes—it’s just… I don’t know, Yibo. It makes me uncomfortable.”
Yibo studied him for a moment, then nodded.
“You’re not imagining it.”
Zhan looked up, surprised.
“So it’s not just me?”
“Nope.”
Yibo said simply.
“But right now, you do need the help. Just keep boundaries clear. I can hang around more too, if you want.”
Zhan gave a small smile.
“You already do.”
Yibo pushed off the counter.
“C’mon. Let’s get out of here. You look like you’ve been breathing bookstore air for too long.”
Zhan chuckled.
“Probably true.”
———————————————-
The night air hit their faces like a gentle wave as they zipped through Deqing’s quieter back streets on Yibo’s scooter.
Zhan sat behind, his arms loosely resting around Yibo’s shoulders, the scent of exhaust and cool river breeze blending together in the wind.
They stopped at the riverside park just outside the city loop, where the wide Qiantang River caught the reflection of the moon in scattered silver streaks.
Yibo parked his scooter near a low, ivy-covered fence, the engine cutting off with a soft sputter.
Zhan stepped off, stretching his legs as he looked around.
The lamps weren’t too bright—just enough to cast gentle halos over the pavement and reflect off the water’s surface in trembling streaks.
Decorative lanterns, hung along one section of the pedestrian bridge, flickered like lazy fireflies—probably left over from a recent festival.
It was quiet, save for the occasional distant bark of a dog or the hum of a passing car behind them.
They walked along the edge for a while before settling on a low concrete ledge, just high enough to sit and watch the water roll by, legs stretched out, the wind brushing their jackets.
Zhan pulled his jacket tighter against the cool breeze that skimmed across the surface, ruffling his hair and tickling the collar of his shirt.
Beside him, Yibo leaned forward slightly, arms resting on his knees, eyes fixed on the water.
No words were needed at first.
The lights, the river, the night—it filled in the spaces between them.
Eventually, Zhan said quietly.
“It’s so peaceful here. Like everything slows down.”
Yibo didn’t look over.
“Exactly why I brought you.”
Zhan glanced sideways.
The street lamp nearby cast a soft line of gold across Yibo’s jaw, catching the edge of his cheekbone, the curve of his lashes.
For a moment, he forgot about work, Su Mian, deadlines.
Everything.
Just the quiet, the river, and Yibo’s steady presence beside him.
He leaned back, letting out a sigh.
“Thanks.”
Yibo looked over.
“For what?”
“For this. The air. The quiet. You.”
Yibo didn’t say anything right away.
He just offered Zhan the bottle of iced tea he’d grabbed on the way, and they sat there in silence for a while—side by side, legs almost touching, both watching the slow, sleepy movement of the river.
Eventually, Yibo broke the silence.
“If she crosses a line.”
He said, voice low,
“Just tell me.”
Zhan turned, lips twitching.
“What, you’ll fight her?”
Yibo gave a one-shoulder shrug.
“I don’t need to fight her. She’ll get the message!”
Zhan laughed quietly.
The river breeze carried the sound off into the night.
[To be continued…]
The Red Ribbon 