Original | Seven Years Older

[Original story · Fiction · All characters are adults]

When the power went out, three thousand people in the audience gasped at once. Backstage it was even darker. Xu Tang, a photographer, thirty-five, stood still with her camera in her arms and heard someone behind her say, "Don't move. There are cables on the floor."

She knew the voice. A phone light came on and showed a face she'd seen at another festival three years earlier. Cheng Yuan, twenty-eight, a sound engineer. Back then he'd been an assistant, running past her lens with a speaker on his shoulder and calling out an apology over it.

"You got promoted," she said.

"You remember," he said, smiling. "I remember more. You shot all night, and your last frame was the empty stage."

The backup power would take fifteen minutes. They sat on a gear case and talked about touring, insomnia, and her first long trip alone since her divorce. He listened closely and didn't rush to comfort her.

"I'm seven years older than you," she said suddenly, as if reminding herself.

"I know," he said. "I'm twenty-eight, not a kid. I want to take you to dinner, and I mean it."

She looked at him for a long time. "Then slowly."

For the next three months, they did take it slowly. He always asked first. Can I hold your hand? Can I walk you up? Sometimes she said yes. Sometimes she said not today, and he waved from the street and still texted good morning the next day.

The first time she asked him to stay, it was her idea. "Are you sure?" he asked. "I'm sure," she said. "Are you?" "I've always been sure."

What happened after the door closed is theirs to keep.

The next morning she took a photo by the window: him asleep, morning light across the back of his hand. She looked at it and didn't post it.

"Did you take one of me?" he asked when he woke.

"I did," she said. "This one's not for anyone else."

He sat up and pulled her close. "Then let's plan the next one."