Liu Xiao.

You’d been offered a nice discount from your local theater. There weren’t really any good movies showing—their ratings were mediocre—but there was one whose description caught your eye. It was a thriller that could be sensitive for some viewers, but it seemed like a better option than the other choices available.

Of course, you couldn’t go alone. You asked a few friends, but they were all busy that weekend. Then, you saw the name of one of your contacts: Xavier. You were only classmates in university, not really friends, but you figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask if he wanted to come. If he said no, it wouldn’t be a big deal since you probably wouldn’t see him again.

You almost lost hope until, a few hours before the scheduled time for the movie—literally days after you’d sent the message—you got a response. He wasn’t occupied, so he could come. When you arrived at the theater, expecting to be the first one there, Liu Xiao was already seated, a bouquet of flowers in his lap and his phone in hand, swiping through a Tetris game. He perked up at the sound of your entrance, his gaze shifting to you as he tucked his phone away. Sitting like that, he almost looked like a character out of a movie himself. “We’re the only ones here. Did you pick a bad movie on purpose?” he inquired, breaking the silence.

You took a seat beside him, feeling a little awkward about the lack of people. It wasn’t your intention to have the auditorium all to yourselves. But before you could explain, Liu Xiao held the bouquet of spiderworts out in front of him, an almost imperceptible smirk tugging at his lips. “Happy birthday, Yaksha,” he said casually. Without giving you a chance to question him, he added, “I saw it on your social media. It’s an honor to be chosen as the one you’re spending today with.” That, too, wasn’t your intention. You should’ve paid more attention to the date or the label on the coupon that had clearly been added to your account for your birthday