Starting Off By Confessing To My Classmate's Mother

The stillness of the late-night hotel room enveloped them, broken only by the occasional hum of the air conditioning.

For a moment, Li Zhiyan froze. Fang Zhiya's soft utterance of "husband" was like a thunderclap in the silence, shaking him to his core.

He blinked, the implications hitting him harder than he anticipated.

Meanwhile, Fang Zhiya's entire face burned crimson, her cheeks so red it felt like they could melt. She had just called her son's classmate "husband."

Her mind spun in panic. What have I done?

Her thoughts spiraled further. The touch of her real husband's hands never held the same firm gentleness, never brought such immediate relief. But this…this was different.

Shame consumed her, and she instinctively slumped back on the couch, attempting to pretend as though nothing had happened. She convinced herself it was the fatigue, the pain, and the oddly soothing massage.

Yet her body betrayed her, remaining limp and unable to regain composure as Zhiyan continued his work on her ankle.

---

Zhiyan, swallowing hard, tried to focus. Fang Auntie's feet were beautiful—fair, smooth, with no imperfections to speak of. They were the very definition of "jade toes."

But he scolded himself for the inappropriate thoughts. He was merely helping. His goal was purely to assist her with her injury, nothing more.

"Fang Auntie," he said, breaking the tense silence, "are you missing Uncle?"

The question snapped Fang Zhiya out of her spiraling thoughts, her heart tightening.

"Yes," she replied softly, her voice shaky but sincere. "But he'll…he'll come home eventually."

There was a heaviness to her words, as if she wasn't entirely certain herself. Her husband's return was still months away, leaving her to weather this storm alone.

"Don't worry," Zhiyan said with a reassuring smile. "Things will get better. Uncle will come back, and everything will stabilize."

Fang Zhiya gave a soft hum in acknowledgment, though the heat in her face refused to subside.

---

Changing the subject, she asked, "What's the name of your internet café, Zhiyan?"

"Brothers' Internet Café," he replied as his hands continued their precise movements. "It's not too far from here, so if you're free, you can come by anytime. I'm usually there before school starts again."

Her lips quirked into a faint smile. "Alright… Auntie will come visit sometime."

Even as she spoke, her thoughts were in turmoil. His hands continued to knead and press, working magic on her injured ankle.

The sensation was surreal—comforting, calming, but also strangely intimate. The lingering pain was quickly melting away, leaving her feeling like a puddle of softness under his care.

It wasn't long before her thoughts wandered again. Her heightened sensitivity wasn't helping; she swore she could feel every bit of strength in his hands, each motion a testament to his meticulous skill.

Her breath hitched slightly, and before she could stop herself, a soft sound escaped her lips:

"Mm…"

The sound, so quiet yet so full of vulnerability, made Zhiyan pause for a brief moment.

He glanced at her face—her eyes were shut tight, and her rosy cheeks were flushed deeper than before. Her hand involuntarily reached out, brushing against his arm.

"Your hands…" she murmured faintly, almost dreamily. "So strong… it feels so good…"

Zhiyan nearly choked on air, snapping his gaze back down to her foot. Focus! Just focus!

"Alright, Fang Auntie," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "I'm nearly done. Does it still hurt?"

Fang Zhiya slowly opened her eyes, her strength beginning to return. The sensation of weakness that had overtaken her earlier was finally subsiding.

"It's much better now," she said softly, a hint of awe in her tone. "Zhiyan, your massage skills… they're incredible. Thank you."

Her praise warmed his heart, and he smiled. "I'm glad I could help, Aunt Fang."

---

Standing up, he glanced at the clock. "It's getting late. You should rest, Aunt Fang. I'll head home now."

Fang Zhiya hesitated. She wanted to repay his kindness but knew it wasn't the time to insist. "Wait, Zhiyan," she said quickly, "let me cover the cost of this room."

"There's no need for that, Aunt Fang," he replied with a grin. "If you really want to thank me, maybe you can cook for me sometime. I've been craving home-cooked meals lately."

Her lips curled into a shy smile. "Alright, deal. Auntie owes you a meal or two."

---

As Zhiyan stood to leave, he felt a rush of heat through his body. He bent slightly as he walked toward the door, attempting to hide the evidence of his youthful vitality.

What he didn't realize was how the overhead light cast his shadow against the wall, making his movements far too noticeable.

Fang Zhiya caught sight of it, her eyes widening in disbelief.

The door clicked shut behind him, and the room fell silent. But the flush in her cheeks refused to fade. She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to calm her racing heart.

"That shadow…" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Her feet slid to the floor, and she stared down at her now pain-free ankle. The memory of his hands, his touch, lingered in her mind like an imprint.

Her thoughts drifted to the faint sensation she had felt earlier—a mix of awe, curiosity, and disbelief.

She stood on shaky legs and approached her suitcase. Her current outfit, damp with sweat from the tension of the night, needed to be changed.

"Dear… please come home soon," she murmured to herself. "I… I don't know how much more of this I can handle."

Her voice trailed off, lost in the quiet hum of the air conditioning.

For a moment, she paused, her mind drifting back to the boy who had just left.

"This… this world is too strange," she muttered, shaking her head as she grabbed a fresh pair of trousers.