Today, Yixing is thinking. He thinks of the boba drink in his hand and how he's given up coffee long ago, burnt on his tongue, scathing to the soul. He thinks of the unopened lunch before him, lid still on the ceramic bowl, chopsticks balanced precariously on the side of the table. He stares at the two wooden sticks, calculating in his mind. They should fall off in one, two, three... they don't fall, even as he uses his pinky finger to slowly nudge the chopsticks toward the impending abyss two and a half feet below. He chuckles, ignoring the grumbling of his stomach and thinking to himself that surely he must have better things to do during his long-awaited lunch break. Cubicle work isn't exactly his cup of tea so he should use his resting time for something better than chopstick acrobatics. 

 

Today, Yixing is thinking. He's thinking of the number seven. The number of years since he was twenty-one, a young man fresh out of university, bright mind and bright eyes against the bright lights of Taipei. He is still at Taipei, in one of those high-rise office buildings, but somehow even with the construction of even more flashy buildings and street lights and neon signs, Taipei has only gotten dimmer. 

 

Today, Yixing is thinking. He wonders why it's gotten dimmer.  

 

(In his heart, he knows the answer. The answer is a girl, and he doesn't even know her name.) 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
Seven years ago 

 

Yixing steps out of his newly-rented flat in the heart of Taipei. He's landed a good job straight out of university, and at his mother's urging, he reluctantly takes it. It's not that he isn't ambitious; it's just that he doesn't particularly like the idea of leaving the rest of family back in the mainland while he faces the city lights alone. But it all happens anyway, and he finds himself straightening his tie in the mirror imagining his mother next to him wishing him good luck for his first day on the job. 

 

He is no stranger to Taipei. He's come here many times before because a childhood friend moved here. He navigates the intricate streets like a tour guide, sure and steady. The streets remind him of arteries, large blocks like chambers, and he's no expert in anatomy but he certainly has a penchant for metaphors. Zitao from back home had always rolled his eyes at Yixing's metaphors. 

 

 

 

 

Heeyeon finds herself dropped into one of the bustling streets of Taipei, a few suitcases at her feet and a key in her hand. She is at first shocked by the overwhelming amount of people on the sidewalks and cars in the streets. She should be used to city life, having grown up in Seoul, but this is on a whole different scale. Maybe because now she's hearing Mandarin and Taiwanese all over instead of just in dramas and her Chinese lessons.  

 

Ah, she thinks to herself as she surveys her new dorm, courtesy of the study abroad exchange program at her school. Just, ah. It's a satisfied sigh, an excited one. She had just turned twenty, the cusp of youth and adulthood, fire burning in her heart and determination lighting up her eyes. Heeyeon peers out her dorm window, seventh floor, high enough to see the streets sprawling out like arteries and veins, like her block is a chamber in the heart of Taipei.  
 

 

 

 

 

 

They meet at a crosswalk at night against the backdrop of not-yet-blossomed cherry trees. Heeyeon, while wandering the streets for the evening, manages to find a quiet corner of the city. Yixing, after a full day of work, walks home exhausted, choosing to bypass the usual subway ride for a walk to cool down. By chance, they find themselves on opposite sides of the crosswalk, both the lone crossers on their respective ends.  

 

He almost doesn't even look in her direction. He almost focuses entirely on the painted white lines on the asphalt before him, car headlights illuminating them against the night backdrop. He almost thinks only of his amusing metaphor that Zitao would scoff at, how he can be like a blood cell coursing through an artery, just one in a million people out on the streets tonight.  

 

But out of that million, it is the girl in front of him that makes his breath get caught in his throat. There comes some odd image in his mind, something like a venn diagram, two circles moving toward each other until they intersect. When the walk sign flashes, he finds his steps more calculated than usual, his gaze fixed on her, and that's when they make eye contact. 

 

A flash of recognition, even though they are completely strangers. Yixing wonders if there is such thing as fate. For some inexplicable reason, his heartbeat quickens, his arteries working full time, until she is right in front of him and they are about to cross paths, never to see each other again - 

 

"Wait." 

 

It's the girl's voice. Yixing hesitantly turns around, his tie loosened and his hair decidedly a mess. He almost regrets looking the way that he is. He waits for her to speak. 

 

She purses her lips in apology, embarrassment washing over her face. "Never mind, I don't know what I'm doing." Her accent is a little lilted, like she's not from around here, but it's understandable and natural enough. 

 

She's about to turn around when the backs of their hands accidentally rub against each other, causing both of them to blush. Yixing is glad it is nighttime and the weird lighting from the car headlights waiting at the intersection makes it harder to see.  

 

"No, it's okay," Yixing finds himself blurting out. She stares at him with wide eyes, a different kind of pretty, he thinks to himself. "Don't...don't go."  

 

Yixing is not quite sure what happens afterward but she somehow says yes, and so he makes a U-turn and walks in her direction instead, the distance between them laden with electricity, blood cells in arteries in the heart of Taipei at eight o'clock at night.  

 

He remembers talking about venn diagrams and circles and even dumbly mentions Zitao a few times, and the girl next to him actually laughs and appreciates his metaphors, talking in broken Chinese but it is somehow music to his ears. 

 

 

 

 

 

 
Heeyeon had thought she had been past the point in her life where she would go on a sort-of date with a random stranger because she thinks he's cute. She had thought that she had grown past that stage of shallowness, but somehow there is still something nudging her inside, like this isn't as shallow as it seems. Heeyeon is a girl who trusts her intuitions.  

 

So when this stranger starts talking about arteries and heart chambers, she has to hold back a laugh because what are the chances? She wonders if there is such thing as fate, if there is something behind the way his eyes space out sometimes and he starts spewing nonsense, if there is something behind the way that he carries himself, how even though he may come off as a bit ridiculous at times, there is a steady calmness to him. 

 

They find themselves sitting at a boba café not far from the intersection, one small table two and a half feet off the floor, them sipping boba and eating popcorn chicken, and somehow the guy in front of her is balancing chopsticks on the side of the table. It is here that she hears one of the most profound things in her life. In her twenty years of living, she has heard some profound things, but none as profound as this. 

 

"Don't tell me your name," he says, the look in his eyes a mixture of hope, determination, and conviction. 

 

She questioningly raises an eyebrow. "Why?" 

 

"I know what you're thinking," he begins, and she wonders if she's imagining the fact that he sounds a little breathless. "I'm crazy. And maybe I am. I just think - you know, I always thought that there would be a girl out there who would be perfect for me. My 100% girl." He pauses to take his chopsticks off from the edge of the table to fidget with them instead. He looks her in the eyes. "I - I don't know how you're going to react to this, but I think....I think you're my 100% girl." 

 

Heeyeon gulps, her lips slightly parted in surprise. She thinks of endless conversation and the backs of their hands brushing in the middle of a crosswalk and car headlights illuminating his skewed tie and his messy hair. Somehow, perfect. Perfect for her. "I...I don't know what to say." A thoughtful pause. "But I'm not 100% perfect," she finds herself saying. 

 

"I don't care if you're 50% perfect and 50% imperfect or 1% perfect and 99% imperfect, you're 100% for me," is his declaration, and there is an intensity behind his words, and it's intriguing. 

 

She smiles. "Then you are my 100% boy," is her reply. 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
What Yixing remembers from that fateful night is the feeling of ecstasy, like he had finally found the one, if there really is such thing as the one. In hindsight, he should've held her tight. He should've done a lot of things that he did not ultimately end up doing.  

 

("Why can't we tell each other our names?" She asks. 

 

"If we are truly meant for each other, fate will lead us together. If you are my 100% girl and I am your 100% boy." 

 

Somehow, being the naive youngsters they are, they nod in agreement, back of their hands brushing, static running through their skin, their arteries. Two hours later, they part ways at the same crosswalk, silhouettes of unblossomed cherry trees waving goodbye, walking in their original directions, with not even a hint of knowledge of where the other is going or where the other is from. 

 

It is the first time Yixing feels that Taipei surely is big, and he is just one blood cell in a sea of many.) 
 
 
 

 

 

 

 
That was seven years ago.  
 
 
 

 

 

 

 
Today, Heeyeon is thinking. She is thinking of the plane ticket in her hand and the significance of the little printed letters next to "destination." She is thinking of boba shops in the heart of Taipei and her own heartbeat that is a little out of control now as her mind recalls the image of chopsticks balancing on a two and a half feet tall table. She is even thinking of cherry trees and contemplates when they blossom, but she doesn't have a logical reason as to why she's suddenly curious about the life cycle of a tree. 

 

Today, Heeyeon is thinking. She is thinking of the number seven, the years that have lapsed since she last set foot in the arteries of Taipei, before she moved back to Seoul and before she traveled around Europe as a freelance writer for a travel magazine. She is thinking of her new job, new beginnings, new risks - and maybe she needs it, in more ways than she can imagine. 

 

Today, Heeyeon is thinking. She doesn't know why she's thinking these things. 

 

(In truth, she knows exactly why, and she doesn't even know his name.) 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 
 
Heeyeon yet again finds herself dropped into one of the busy streets of Taipei, a few suitcases at her feet and a key in her hand. But now instead of living in a dorm, she will be having her own apartment, sparsely furnished but hopefully home. She's had wanderlust for most of her life, but she figures that at the age of twenty seven, it's about time to settle down somewhere. She's not sure why she chooses Taiwan of all places, when she could just have easily been seduced by the elegance of Paris or the flashiness of New York or the familiar comfort of Seoul.  

 

She has had her fair share of ups and downs in the last seven years, she thinks to herself as she looks out the window. Oddly enough, seventh floor. There is an weird feeling of déjà vu today, like she has seen a similar view before, like arteries sprawling out from a beating heart. Veins, maybe. They could be coming toward the beating heart, who knows. In the end, people and cars and buses are just going in all directions, she decides. Millions of blood cells, coursing through the system, and she is one of them, floating in the abyss, two and a half feet off the floor. 

 

 

 

 

 

 
Yixing steps out of his top-floor studio in the heart of Taipei. He thanks the heavens for the weekend, so he can finally wear casual street clothes instead of his usual office gear. He pauses to send a text to his mother because it's noon, and he always checks in with her at noon. As he walks onto the sidewalk, squares of cement framing the heart chamber blocks and lining the arteries of the city, the sun beats down on his back, but he decides, for some reason, that it is still a nice day. Ah, he muses. Just, ah.  

 

Today, he allows himself to feel a little lonely. Brief clips of a few girls from the past seven years flash through his mind, friends coming and going, projects failing and assignments succeeding - he wonders if he believes in fate. He remembers vaguely about venn diagrams and circles and metaphors that Zitao would certainly not approve of. He doesn't know why he's thinking of those particular things today. 
 

 

 

 

 

They meet at a crosswalk at ten minutes after noon, and everything is bright, just as the sun tends to make things to be, but what she particularly notices is an expanse of pink dots in the distance. Heeyeon, while wandering the streets contemplating what to eat for lunch, is just one in a sea of people out and about on a Saturday afternoon. Yixing, feeling a little lonely but mostly okay, walks to nowhere in particular, maybe traveling in the general direction of a certain boba shop imprinted in his distant memory. By chance, they find themselves on opposite sides of the crosswalk, both tucked in a cloud of people where you can't tell who is who. 

 

She almost doesn't even look in his direction. She almost focuses entirely on the painted white lines on the asphalt before her, disappearing and reappearing as groups of people walk across them. She almost thinks only of the elegance of Paris that she could've had and a table that is two and a half feet off the floor and veins filled with a million blood cells. 

 

But out of that million, it is the guy in front of her for just five seconds as he passes by that makes her breath get caught in . There comes some odd image in her mind, something like a venn diagram, two circles moving toward each other until they intersect. One, two, three, four, five... her gaze fixed on him, he looks up, and that's when they make eye contact. 

 

A flash of recognition, even though they are complete strangers (or are they?). Heeyeon wonders if there is such thing as fate. For some inexplicable reason, her heartbeat quickens, her arteries working full time, until he is right in front of her and they are about to cross paths, never to see each other again - 

 

"Wait." 

 

It's the man's voice. Heeyeon hesitantly turns around, her clothes sort of mismatched and her hair still in travel mode (read: unbrushed). She almost regrets looking the way that she is. She waits for him to speak, stopping in the middle of the white lines on asphalt, everyone else a blur. 

 

He purses his lips in apology, embarrassment washing over his face. "Never mind, I don't know what I'm doing." Her ears perk up at this, and her eyebrows furrow. She has heard this before.  

 

He's about to turn around when the backs of their hands accidentally rub against each other, causing both of them to blush. It is broad daylight, and Heeyeon hopes he doesn't notice the way her cheeks are surely turning pink just like the cherry blossoms a few blocks away - and not from sunburn. 

 

"No, it's okay," Heeyeon finds herself blurting out. He stares at her with wide eyes, startled, deep in thought. "Don't...don't go."  

 

Heeyeon is not sure what exactly happens afterwards but he says yes, so she makes a 180 degree turn and they find themselves walking to a boba shop that is not as crowded as the others. They look at each other, and somehow they don't need many words. Sometimes he talks about metaphors and she thinks it's funny - talking in metaphor. She would just as much like it to watch him balance chopsticks on the side of the table, even though the tables here are higher than two and a half feet off the ground. 

 

"I am not perfect though," she finds herself saying out of the blue, placed out of context. But she somehow knows that he will understand. 

 

"I don't care if you're 50% perfect and 50% imperfect or 1% perfect and 99% imperfect, you're 100% for me," is his whispered declaration, and there is an intensity behind his words, and it's intriguing. 

 

And she smiles because maybe Taipei is home, after all. 
 
 

 

 

 

 

 

 
 
Contrary to true Murakami fashion, Yixing never meets his 100% perfect girl amidst the crowd in Tokyo’s fashionable Harajuku neighborhood. He is not thirty-two and the girl is not thirty, he does not particularly notice her nose, and he does not think of telling her a story about once-upon-a-time’s. 

 

Instead, he meets a girl who is 1% perfect and 99% not, but is redeemed by the fact that humans shall be imperfect humans, and sometimes it's better when two people love imperfectly. He chances upon her in the Harajuku of Taipei, intersections of not only roads but of hearts, like a venn diagram. Him, her, them. He is twenty nine and she is twenty seven, at the cusp of just enough youth and just enough adulthood and just enough capacity to love. He does not particularly notice her nose but he does notice how her eyes shine when she smiles, her bangs nicely framing her face. He does not think of telling her a story about once-upon-a-time's because perhaps the best story to tell is right here and now, at a street crossing bustling with people that they can no longer see, in this venn diagram of them. 

 

("What's your name?" he ventures, cradling his head with his hands as they lie down underneath the now-blossomed cherry trees, the grass tickling his skin. 

 

"Heeyeon. Ahn Heeyeon."  

 

"I'm Yixing. Zhang Yixing." 

 

"It looks like we are 100% after all," Heeyeon laughs. It is music to his ears. 

 

It's his turn to crack a grin. "I told you so.")

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

* references Haruki Murakami's "On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning"

 

---

Author's Note: this was written for the #TAC ficmix that me and my writer friends did this month. My prompt was "lying under cherry blossom trees." Obviously, this kind of fic is really idealistic but I was going more for pretty words and motifs, hehe. I hope you like it!