22 Early Morning in California

Gemma's POV.

The snow is still falling.

Finally, a taxi pulls over to the side of the road. Without looking back, I open the door and get into the back seat.

Luke grabs the door, "Where are you going?"

"None of your business."

I reach out to close the door, but Luke places his left hand on the doorframe.

"Let go," I say.

Snow covers his hair and eyelashes. "No. Gemma, listen to me. Please."

"Let go." I don't want to make a scene on the street with him.

The driver glances at me through the rearview mirror, a bit impatient, "Miss, are you going or not?"

He's already started the meter.

"Of course," I reply.

Luke is still standing there, stubborn, his voice hoarse. "Gemma..."

I use both hands to pull the door with all my strength.

*Thud.*

After a dull sound, I hear Luke groan in pain. I turn my head and only see the top of his head. The pain makes him crouch down.

But it worked—he pulled his hand away.

I close the door, fasten my seatbelt, and smile at the driver. "To the airport. Thank you."

The driver glances at me in the mirror, his expression changing from shock to alarm. His tone suddenly becomes unusually respectful, "We'll be there shortly."

It's the early afternoon rush hour, and the taxi weaves through the traffic. Perhaps the driver is too frightened; we actually arrive ten minutes earlier than expected.

I get out, immediately head to the counter, and buy a ticket to check in.

The flight from New York to California takes nearly six hours. Afterward, I take a taxi home.

California is still the same. Compared to the hustle and bustle of New York, the pace here is much more relaxed. But today, it's raining.

I stand at the doorstep of my house, the lights inside are on, and I feel a strange emotion I can't quite describe.

The rain falls harder, water droplets constantly dripping from the eaves, and the air is filled with the damp smell of rain. As I step onto the porch, the slick surface squeaks under my feet.

I knock on the door, and when my mom answers, she's momentarily stunned. "you are back?"

Then, she tightly hugs me, soaked from the rain.

Dad is cooking in the kitchen. Hearing the noise, he lifts the curtain and says that he caught a big fish today. "Perfect timing, now that you're home. We can all eat it together."

Suddenly, I realize I came back empty-handed, without bringing any gifts.

Mom says that me being home is the best gift, and nothing could make them happier.

I nearly shed tears into my bowl.

After dinner, I return to my room.

The rain outside grows heavier, and cold air seeps in through the window cracks. I turn on the heater, and the warmth mixes with the moisture, making the room feel both warm and stuffy.

I wake up several times during the night, and each time, the first thing I see is the window. There are curtains, but from where I lie, I can see through the gap to the deserted tree-lined street outside.

California's rainy nights are eerily quiet, like an old, apocalyptic movie, where everything is dark and all traces of humanity have vanished, leaving only the sound of my breathing.

I reach out, and the warmth from the heater has completely dissipated.

I feel a headache coming on. After a short nap, I wake up feeling too hot, so I turn off the heater.

Cold air slowly fills the room. In the deep sleep that follows, I start having a series of bizarre dreams, waking up every few hours—or sometimes just minutes.

In one dream, I go to watch a movie but end up in the wrong hall. When the movie starts, I realize it doesn't match the name on my ticket. I walk out and try another hall, but it's still not the right one.

In the end, there's no screening room in the whole cinema showing the movie I came to see.

After waking up for what feels like the hundredth time, I open my eyes and check my phone.

Suddenly, I remember I never asked for day off. I contact my supervisor in the logistics department, and to my surprise, she says, "Didn't you ask the boss yourself? He approved it."

I thank her and check my call log—there are more than fifty missed calls, all from Luke.

Realizing I'm not answering, he switched to texting, saying he hopes we can meet and talk.

I stare at his handsome profile picture in the message thread.

This time, I reach out and drag the message bar to delete the conversation.

The phone screen is blindingly bright.

I keep scrolling down.

I also receive a message from Mr. Ramos: "Gemma, we're leaving the U.S. This baby is a blessing from above, and we're planning to settle in Australia, to start a new life."

I muster the energy to reply, "That's wonderful. I'm sorry I'm not in New York right now and can't see you off. Hope the baby arrives safely, and that everything goes well for you in Australia."

I can't face them right now.

I close my eyes and try to go back to sleep, but my phone rings again.

It's Dmitri calling.

My finger hovers over the decline button for a moment before I switch and press the green answer button.

"Hello?" I think I need to let my emotions out.

Dmitri seems surprised that I answered. After a few seconds of silence, his voice, tinged with disbelief, says, "Gemma?"

"What do you want?"

"...Where are you right now, Gemma?" he asks quietly, "Are you with that man?"

"You don't know?" I respond in the most polite tone, laced with sarcasm, "Aren't you great at tracking my whereabouts? How could you not find me?"

Dmitri's facade of gentleness shatters completely. He raises his voice, "Gemma!"

But then it grows quiet again.

A few seconds later, Dmitri takes a deep breath and speaks in a low voice, "Come back. I won't hold anything against you for what you did before or who you were with. Gemma... come back to me. Let's get together again. Can we?"

I struggle to keep my breathing steady, my voice catching slightly, "We can get together again. No problem."

"As long as you can return the cornea I lost, we'll be together."

Then I hang up the phone decisively and lie back down.

During the Christmas holiday, my sleep schedule is completely thrown off.

Every night, I have dreams, and when I wake up, it's still the middle of the night, my body drenched in sweat.

I'm exhausted, but I hover between wakefulness and sleep, my heart racing as if I'm on the verge of sudden death.

I get up, take a shower, and head to the hospital.

At the end of the elevator hall, there's a floor directory, and above me, a green sign with an arrow clearly pointing to "Neurology."

The doctors on duty at this hour are those working the night shift. After I register, I see a young female doctor sitting in the consultation room. She smiles at me and nods, "Hello."

I return the greeting and ask if she can prescribe me some sleeping pills, as I haven't been able to sleep for a week.

After hearing my symptoms, the doctor gives me a form. "Sleeping pills are prescription-only, so I can't just give them to you. First, you'll need to get some blood work done to check your endocrine levels and brain function. Then come back to see me."

I hesitate, feeling it's a hassle, but I take the form and thank her.

It's five in the morning, a time when most of the city is still asleep.

As I walk out, I fold the form in my hand. After two folds, I gently tear it into pieces and throw it into the trash bin before leaving the hospital.

At six in the morning, I head to the 24-hour McDonald's near my house.

I'm a little hungry and want some high-calorie fried chicken wings, but the cashier regretfully tells me they're sold out. "Would you like McNuggets instead?"

I agree.

However, the McNuggets are undercooked, with only a crispy golden shell. The meat inside is cold, soft, and slightly pink.

I throw them into the trash and push open the glass door of McDonald's.

In the next moment, I see Luke.

He's wearing a trench coat, and the morning breeze ruffles his bangs slightly.

I blink—it's him. His hands hang by his sides, and his left hand, which had been caught in the car door, is wrapped in bandages.

My first instinct is to run.

I sprint all the way home, where my parents are still asleep, and the house is completely quiet.

Holding my breath, I tiptoe into my bedroom.

I change into my pajamas, lie back down in bed, and still can't sleep. So I get up, go to the living room, and rummage through the medicine cabinet until I find a box of cold medicine. The side effects listed include drowsiness.

I pour myself a glass of water, swallow one pill, and return to bed, waiting for sleep to come.

The desire to sleep overwhelms all my rational thoughts.

As the antihistamines slowly enter my bloodstream and nervous system, my cortisol begins to suppress neuron regeneration in my hippocampus.

I gradually close my eyes.

As I drift into sleep, I feel as though I might have cried. I'm not entirely sure, but in my hazy state, I think I can feel someone gently wiping my cheeks with a handkerchief.