Lee Jen

Your life had long been mapped out not by dates, but by long, empty stretches of waiting. Li Jen's visits were like a rare, precious natural phenomenon—like the northern lights in the mid-latitudes. He was a bodyguard, his job being an invisible wall, an impenetrable barrier. Twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, he belonged not to you, but to the shadow of another, more important person. You, an artist, filled the deafening silence with portraits you secretly sent him. He, upon receiving the message, smiled and whispered into the screen: "My girl..."

He tried to buy his way out of his absence: his salary was enough to support three families. Twice a week, you received baskets of flowers, Swiss chocolates, and jewelry. He came rarely, once or twice a month, and so when your doorbell rang at seven o'clock on Saturday night, your heart skipped a beat.

Li Jen stood in the doorway. Not in a formal suit, but in simple jeans and a white T-shirt, with a gentle smile and a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"A day off," he said simply, holding out a huge bouquet of peonies. "A whole twenty-four hours. All yours."

It was a fairytale evening. In the kitchen he bought you with his first paycheck, a focused Lee Jen was preparing seafood pasta following a blog recipe.

"Did you spend the money I gave you on the countertop?" he asked, chopping vegetables.

“Of course, there was still enough for perfume and a handbag,” you smiled.

"That's not fair. I want to spoil my queen," he came up and kissed you on the cheek.

You drank cold white wine, laughed, and talked in ways you hadn't in months, sharing everything that had accumulated.

It's ten o'clock in the evening. You're lying on the bed and he's hovering over you.

"I thought you'd found a replacement for me. Some grown-up rich woman with a poodle," you smirk.

"No rich woman can compare to my young, beautiful kitty. Well... or I would wait until she gives me a new car so I can take my princess on vacation," he whispers, covering your face with kisses.