Paper Lover At Old Town Bookstore Chapter 9

I’m Sorry, I Couldn’t Save You

At three in the morning, I woke up again from a nightmare, cold sweat soaking the pillowcase, my heart pounding painfully against my chest.

In the dream, Xu Xingruo stood by the balcony. The night wind from the 18th floor lifted the tattered edges of her clothes. The wound on her arm was still bleeding, her eyes were red and swollen from crying, and her voice was hoarse as she repeatedly asked me, “Qiusheng, why didn’t you save me? Why did you watch me jump?”

Her face was as pale as paper, and tears streamed down her cheeks, dripping onto the back of my hand, chilling me to the bone.

I wanted to reach out and pull her back, to tell her I couldn’t save her, that I was just someone reading a book, but my throat felt blocked, and I couldn’t utter a single word.

I could only watch helplessly as she stepped back, watching her disappear from the edge of the balcony, leaving behind a light sigh and my own heart-wrenching screams.

After waking up, I curled up under the covers, trembling all over, tears flowing uncontrollably. The moonlight outside the window shone through the curtain gap, casting a long shadow on the floor, which looked exactly like her desperate silhouette from the dream.

I reached for my phone. The screen lit up, but I dared not open that novel APP again, nor could I bear to see any words related to “Xu Xingruo.”

It had been the seventh day since she left, and I hadn’t had a single night of peaceful sleep.

As soon as I closed my eyes, I would see her crying and questioning me, hearing her tearful “Why didn’t you save me?” That voice was like a curse, echoing repeatedly in my mind, making me feel suffocated by guilt.

I knew I was just a reader; I couldn’t interfere with the plot of the book or change her destiny.

But I couldn’t stop thinking: If I had known the ending earlier, if I could have reached through the screen and pulled her back just before she decided to jump, telling her not to give up, telling her she still had An’an and many others supporting her—would she have avoided that path?

During the day at work, I became even more withdrawn. Intern Lin spoke to me, and it took me a long time to respond; I messed up the data several times on tasks assigned by Sister Li; during a meeting, Manager Lin saw how distracted I was and suggested I go home to rest, but I just shook my head, saying I was fine.

I didn’t dare to be idle. As soon as I was, the scenes from the dream would uncontrollably surface.

Xu Xingruo’s red eyes, the wound on her arm, the reluctance in her final glance at An’an, and the bottomless darkness of the 18th floor—they replayed in my mind over and over, making my heart ache to the point of suffocation.

Once, during a department dinner, someone suggested drinking alcohol. I jumped up as if pricked by a needle, said, “I won’t drink,” and walked out immediately.

Everyone was stunned. I could feel their surprised stares, but I didn’t care. I was afraid that if I got drunk, I would dream of Xu Xingruo again, and hear her voice questioning me.

Back at the apartment, I locked myself in the room, sitting on the floor with my knees hugged, watching the night outside the window. Tears started flowing again.

I remembered how Xu Xingruo used to be—her confident and unrestrained demeanor in the workplace, her strength and courage when facing difficulties, and the bravery and strength she had given me.

But now, she was gone.

I opened my private document file, which was full of my reflections about her, starting from initial admiration, to later worry, and finally, deep heartache.

I scrolled to the last page and looked at the words I had written: “May you find no harm in the other world.” Tears dripped onto the screen, blurring the text.

“I’m sorry, Xu Xingruo, I couldn’t save you.” I choked out the words to the screen. “I really wanted to save you, but I couldn’t. I’m sorry…”

I don’t know how long I cried until my eyelids became too heavy to keep open, and I fell asleep slumped over the desk.

This time, I didn’t dream of her questioning me. Instead, I dreamed she was back in the workplace, wearing a sharp suit, standing confidently in a meeting room, articulating her proposal, the light in her eyes still bright. In the dream, she hadn’t met Yang Changwen, hadn’t married, hadn’t had a child; she was simply focused on her career, living freely and unrestrained.

When I woke up, the day had already broken. Sunlight streamed through the window, warming me. I touched my cheek; there were no tears, only a faint smile.

Perhaps this was Xu Xingruo telling me that in another world, she had finally become the person she wanted to be. And I, too, could no longer wallow in guilt and sadness.

I opened my private document and typed a paragraph: “Xu Xingruo, I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. But I will take the courage you gave me, live well, work hard, and not let down the strength you once imparted to me.

I will remember you, remember your bravery, remember your strength, and I will also remember your tragedy, reminding myself that no matter what difficulties I face, I must cherish life and never give up easily.”

After finishing, I took a deep breath and closed the document. Although my heart still ached, and I would occasionally think of her, I knew I had to look forward.

Xu Xingruo’s story was over, but my life continued. I would carry her imprint, walk forward bravely, and live the life I wanted—which would be a form of solace to her.