The Woman in My Heart
The speakers switched to another song, a gentle male voice singing with a touch of complaint and resignation:
You’ll seek me out to cry with you,
Make me listen to your troubles all night through,
Always want my help choosing your clothes,
And I’m always by your side when you’re alone…
I know your favorite perfume,
The words you love to use,
Your habit of staying up late, and who you love the most,
But it doesn’t matter, we’re just friends,
Sometimes I share the weight of your sorrow,
Lend you my shoulder as your pillow,
Whenever you need me,
But it doesn’t matter, we’re just friends,
So there’s never a reason to part…
As the song came to an end, the two of them sat quietly, listening without a word. In the melody, Tang Yiyi felt as if she saw her own love—longed for yet unattainable, something she reached for but could never grasp.
“What’s this song?” she asked.
“It’s called ‘Had Enough Yet?’”
“‘Had Enough Yet?’ The song is beautiful, and the name is perfect.”
“It’s the truest portrayal of unrequited love.”
“Mutual affection is the most beautiful kind of love, but in reality, someone always gets hurt. Can we put it on repeat?”
Qin Baike set the song to play again. Tang Yiyi closed her eyes, listening quietly. As the male singer’s soft voice floated through the car, the vehicle rocked rhythmically, and before long, she drifted off to sleep.
Qin Baike reached out to lower the volume, and the song seemed to drift in from some faraway place.
The first time he heard this song, he’d been lost in thought for a long while. When he finally looked up the title, he could only smile wryly.
In the haze of music, time rewound thirteen years, back to the sixteen-year-old girl he’d met—a straight-A student who’d already run far ahead on the path of chasing her dreams, leaving him behind. He’d never dared confess his feelings to her.
She was just the daughter of the neighborhood cobbler, yet inside she was proud as a princess. The way she walked, her back always straight; her head held ever so slightly high. After she transferred to their school, she quickly and effortlessly secured first place in her year. When she looked at him, her eyes brimmed with disdain, her lips curled ever so subtly.
She wasn’t the model student teachers favored. She never agreed to help struggling classmates, even when the teachers insisted. “I don’t have time,” she would say.
She was the same kind of person as he was, and yet she felt impossibly out of reach. He couldn’t stand her arrogance; he was restless with the urge to conquer her, not even sure where that restlessness came from—only that it burned in his chest like wildfire.
He knew she had only one blue down jacket for winter, two sundresses for summer, and just two white shirts paired with a little floral skirt. Her backpack was always the same canvas one, patched and repatched by her father. Year-round, she owned just two pairs of shoes: sneakers and sandals.
He knew she woke every morning at six to study English, never missing a single day of the year. Her room’s light went out at midnight, right on schedule. Every time she brought food to her father, she made him wash his hands before giving him the bowl.
A poor, frail girl like her should have lived humbly or rebelliously—so why did she insist on living with such pride?
He wasn’t the only one who couldn’t stand her. Until that day, he overheard his friends mocking her name. He rushed to the wooded hill behind the school, where three crazed girls had already torn her white shirt and floral skirt to shreds.
She curled into a tight ball, arms over her head, taking their punches and kicks. From a distance, seeing her pale skin exposed and sullied, a fire blazed up in his chest.
If the three girls hadn’t run so quickly, he would have left them battered and broken.
He took off his shirt and draped it over her. She trembled gently. Stroking her hair, he spoke softly, “Don’t be afraid. They’re gone.”
It was a long time before she relaxed. She turned her head, eyes peering at him through tangled hair—her gaze distant, unfocused.
Seeing her like that, he suddenly wanted to cry. The girl he’d wanted to conquer shouldn’t have been reduced to this—she was supposed to be outstanding, proud.
He picked her up and held her close. “It’s over. I’ll protect you. Don’t worry—no one will dare bully you again.”
He was a troublemaker, a slacker; she was a top student. They were like two planets moving in separate orbits, with nothing connecting them. But from that day on, whether she was going to or from school, he was always a few paces behind her.
During breaks, he was nowhere to be seen. But if anyone tried to pick on her—even in the girls’ restroom—he would suddenly appear.
It didn’t take long for everyone to start saying she was his girl. Their second year of high school ended peacefully, yet he and “his girl” had never spoken a word to each other.
Not long after the third year began, one day after school, just before reaching the alley, she suddenly stopped and turned to him. He stopped as well, still separated by a few meters.
She walked toward him and handed him a workbook. “Your grades are terrible. Come by at seven tonight. I’ll make sure you do the exercises.” With that, she turned and walked on.
A year of tutoring followed. Most of the time she scolded him for being dumb; more often than not, he fell asleep to the sound of her explanations. During the college entrance exams, she was admitted to Beijing Media University, while he just managed to get into Yicheng Vocational College.
The night before she left for Beijing, they said their goodbyes by the river. She suddenly hugged him, burying her face in his chest. After a long while, she whispered, “Thank you. Without you, I couldn’t have made it through these two years. You helped me wipe away all the hatred in my heart.”
That embrace lasted a long time—long enough for her silent tears to soak through his shirt.
After she left, he—once a long-haired, flamboyant youth—finished his two years at vocational college and was forced by his mother to join the army.
“Had Enough Yet?” played on repeat. Strictly speaking, he and she had never truly been in a relationship, but in his heart, she was indeed his first love.