Paper Lover At Old Town Bookstore Chapter 13

I Have Arrived

The steam in the apartment bathroom hadn’t completely dissipated, and the aromatherapy diffuser by the white porcelain tub was still slowly emitting smoke. As I wrapped myself in a bathrobe and lay down on the bed, I thought about how empty this two-hundred-square-meter apartment felt, even the echo carried a cold, clear quality.

I had climbed too fast this year, moving from a small rented apartment to a River View Luxury Apartment, transforming from the “pretty boy” people used to tease into the respected Director Song. My status had flipped several times, but only I knew that the corner of my heart belonging to Xu Xingruo had never been filled.

Perhaps I was too tired; I fell asleep the moment I touched the bed. There were no dreams, no tearful accusations from her, only a rare peace.

Until a jarring phone ring dragged me awake.

I snapped my eyes open. What greeted me was not the familiar crystal chandelier, but a yellowed ceiling, with a few slightly childish celebrity posters stuck in the corner of the wall.

The air carried a faint scent of laundry detergent, mixed with a subtle, elusive fragrance of gardenias—the scent of the body wash Xu Xingruo often used.

My heart suddenly constricted. I stiffly turned my head and found myself lying on a single bed. The surrounding furnishings were strange and eerie: the desk was piled with several introductory workplace books, the covers of which were versions I had read years ago; a dark blue suit jacket was draped over the chair, a style so familiar it made my breathing hitch—it was the one Xu Xingruo wore when she first entered the workplace.

The ringing persisted, coming from the phone beside the pillow. I reached out a trembling hand and picked up the somewhat old-looking smartphone. The moment the screen lit up, the three characters “Xu Xingruo” exploded before my eyes like a thunderclap.

Not a dream?

I stared at the pulsing name on the screen, my fingertips numb, my mind blank.

The emotions I had deliberately suppressed over the past year instantly surged up—the heartache, the guilt, the regret, and her determined gaze during our cross-dimensional conversation—all intertwined, making it difficult for me to hold the phone steady.

It wasn’t until the third ring that I finally pressed the answer button, feeling as if all my strength had been drained away.

“Qiusheng! What’s wrong with you today?” A familiar voice came from the other end of the line, clear, cheerful, and slightly hurried. There was none of the pitiful vulnerability from the dream, nor the despair from the ending. “Did you take leave? The department had a project meeting this morning, and Brother Zhang even asked about you! I called you several times, but no one answered. Are you okay?”

It was her voice. It really was her.

I opened my mouth, but my throat felt blocked, and I couldn’t utter a single word. Tears welled up without warning, rolling down my cheeks and dripping onto the phone screen.

This wasn’t a dream. Her voice was so real, carrying a hint of reproach, exactly like the Xu Xingruo I loved most in the novel—spirited, with light in her eyes, before she experienced betrayal, before life wore down her edges.

“Qiusheng? Say something!” Xu Xingruo on the other end sounded anxious. “Are you sick? Or did something happen? If you’re not feeling well, just rest. I’ll tell Brother Zhang about the project meeting.”

“Xingruo…” I finally found my voice, hoarse and unrecognizable, thick with a nasal tone.

“Hey, I’m here!” she immediately responded, her voice softening. “What is it? You sound strange.”

I closed my eyes, letting the tears flow. Countless images flashed through my mind: the ending where she jumped from the 18th floor, my near-death haze in the bathtub, her firm “live well” in the cross-dimensional dialogue, and every day I had grit my teeth and persevered this past year.

It turned out that some obsessions truly could cross time and space, and some regrets truly could be mended.

“I’m fine,” I took a deep breath, trying to calm my voice, but my fingertips were still trembling. “It’s just… I had a very long dream.”

“A dream?” Xu Xingruo laughed, her voice as clear as a wind chime. “What kind of dream makes you ignore your phone? Don’t tell me you stayed up late reading novels again? How many times have I told you not to stay up late? It’s bad for your health.”

The familiar nagging, the familiar concern, made my nose sting, and I cried even harder.

“Hey, hey, hey, why are you crying?” Xu Xingruo panicked. “Did you dream about something bad? Don’t be afraid, don’t be afraid, it was just a dream. Where are you right now? Do you want me to come over and check on you?”

“I’m at…” I looked around and finally realized that this was likely the apartment Xu Xingruo rented, and I, for some reason, had traveled back to a time before she met Yang Changwen and before she experienced those tragedies. “I’m at your place.”

“My place?” Xu Xingruo paused, then suddenly understood. “Oh, right! You said yesterday that the pipes in your rented apartment broke and you needed to stay here for a night. I completely forgot! Look at my memory.”

Pipes broke? Staying for a night?

The plot instantly filled in my mind—this was our “past,” a time I had never seen in the novel, a time that belonged only to Xu Xingruo and me.

“Qiusheng, what exactly is wrong?” Xu Xingruo’s voice was filled with worry. “Are you feeling unwell somewhere? If you’re really uncomfortable, don’t go to work today. I’ll help you call in sick.”

I wiped away my tears, a smile unconsciously spreading across my lips—a genuine, relaxed smile.

“No need,” I looked at her photo on the desk. In the picture, she was smiling, her eyes curved, full of sunshine. “I’m fine now. I’ll get up right away and go to work with you.”

Xu Xingruo on the other end sighed in relief: “That’s good! I’ll wait for you at the breakfast shop downstairs. The usual, soy milk and fried dough sticks?”

“Yes,” I replied softly, my voice filled with uncontrollable tenderness.

After hanging up, I stared blankly at the phone screen, which was still on the call history page for “Xu Xingruo.” Sunlight streamed through the gap in the curtains, falling on my face, warm enough to make me want to cry.

It turned out that the best ending wasn’t the perfect conclusion in the novel, but a cross-dimensional reunion.

Xu Xingruo, this time, I won’t leave you alone again. This time, I will stay by your side, protect you, ensure you always live in the sunshine, and always remain that spirited girl with light in her eyes.

I threw back the covers and got out of bed, walking to the desk and picking up the photo. She was smiling so brightly in the picture. I reached out and gently stroked her cheek on the photo, whispering, “I have arrived.”