Chapter 6 Dislocation · The Unopened Letter
Autumn arrived in Lin Guang Middle School like a sigh, the air sharp with the scent of fallen leaves and distant sea salt. Lin Yan noticed Su Wantang's smiles had grown thinner, her debate club trophies gathering dust on her desk. One afternoon, he saw her scribbling "visit 3:00 PM" on her wrist with a blue pen, the ink bleeding slightly into her skin.
"Late-night cram session?" Chen Ye tossed a basketball at Lin Yan during PE, but his gaze lingered on Su Wantang's retreating figure as she shouldered her bag and hurried through the school gates.
Lin Yan dodged the ball. "She's hiding something."
"Yeah, well, we all are." Chen Ye caught the ball one-handed, his tone too casual. "Ever notice how she always smells like lily-of-the-valley lately? Not her usual lemon shampoo."
It was a Thursday when Lin Yan followed her. He didn't mean to—he'd just wanted to return her lost physics notes—but she'd practically fled the classroom, nearly colliding with a startled freshman. Now he trailed her through the hospital's antiseptic halls, past wards labeled Neurology and Memory Care Unit.
He found her in Room 412, leaning over a frail woman in a pink hospital gown. "Mom, look," she said softly, holding up a faded photo. "It's your wedding day. See? Dad's tie is crooked, just like always."
The woman squinted at the photo, her brow furrowing. "Xiao... Xiao Tang?"
Su Wantang's breath hitched. "Yes, Mom. It's me, Xiaotang."
Lin Yan's chest ached. So that's why she'd asked about time so often—why she clung to old things. He remembered the iris gear in his pocket, the way her mother's name had trembled on her lips during the storm.
He stepped back, bumping into a metal cart. Su Wantang whirled around, her face paling. "Lin Yan... how long have you—"
"I'm sorry." He held out the notes, his throat tight. "I didn't mean to—"
"It's fine." She took the papers, her voice steady but her hands trembling. "She has Alzheimer's. Sometimes... sometimes she doesn't know me."
He didn't know what to say. So he did the only thing he could think of: he pulled the mechanical watch from his pocket, popped open the back, and removed a tiny gear. "Here," he said, placing it in her palm. "For luck."
She stared at the gear, then laughed wetly. "You're giving me parts now?"
"Works better than lucky charms." He smiled faintly. "Trust me."
That night, Lin Yan lay awake, staring at the ceiling. His phone lit up with a message from Chen Ye: Saw you at the hospital. You gonna tell her, or should I?
He frowned. Tell her what?
That you stayed until visiting hours ended. Dude, just talk to her.
Before he could reply, another message came: a photo of Su Wantang asleep in a hospital chair, her head pillowed on a stack of debate folders, a familiar gear clutched in her hand. The caption read: She deserves to know someone's watching over her.
The next day, Lin Yan skipped physics to sit with Su Wantang's mother. "Mrs. Su," he said, awkward but determined, "do you like clocks?"
She tilted her head, confused. But when he pulled out a broken pocket watch—one he'd found in the lab—her eyes lit up. "My husband gave me one like that," she murmured, tracing the engraved case. "1998. May 20th."
Lin Yan froze. The date matched the one in the observatory notebook. So that's why Su Wantang went there.
He spent the afternoon repairing the watch, his fingers steady despite the lump in his throat. When it ticked back to life, Mrs. Su clapped her hands like a child. "Xiao Tang!" she called, seeing her daughter in the doorway. "Look! My time is back!"
Su Wantang stood motionless, tears pooling in her eyes. Lin Yan slipped past her, but she caught his wrist. "Why..." Her voice broke. "Why would you do this?"
He looked at the watch in her mother's hands, the gears turning steadily. "Because time shouldn't be something we lose," he said quietly. "Sometimes it just needs a little help to keep going."
That weekend, Chen Ye dragged them to an abandoned clock tower on the cliffs. "For science," he claimed, though his camera was slung over his shoulder, lens cap off.
"More like for your comic," Su Wantang teased, but her smile was brighter than it had been in weeks. She leaned against the tower's crumbling wall, the pocket watch chained to her belt, its new gears glinting in the sun.
Lin Yan pretended not to notice how Chen Ye angled his shots to include her profile, or how the artist's pencil hesitated when drawing the watch. He focused on the rusted pendulum, calculating how to fix it, until Su Wantang nudged him with her foot.
"Penny for your thoughts?" she said.
He handed her a cleaned gear, etched with a tiny lily-of-the-valley. "Just thinking... maybe broken things aren't meant to stay that way."
She turned the gear over, sunlight catching the engraving. "Or maybe they're just waiting for someone to see their potential."
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world narrowed