Her Eyes Say She Likes You - Chapter 6
Chapter 6: Eating Like a Poem
The creative cuisine restaurant was not far, and the atmosphere was indeed as Wei Jia had described—very stylish. Warm yellow lighting, original wood tables and chairs, and a small suspended dandelion lamp on each table. Soft jazz music flowed through the air.
Wei Jia had reserved a quiet, window-side table in advance.
“Teacher, what would you like to eat?” Wei Jia pushed the menu toward Dong Yan, while she rested her chin in her hands, watching the person opposite her without blinking, as if watching her was more interesting than reading the menu.
Dong Yan lowered her head to look at the menu, her long lashes casting soft shadows on her eyelids. Wei Jia watched, and those abstract bubbles started forming in her mind again: The teacher’s eyelashes, like crow feathers washed by moonlight.
“You recommend,” Dong Yan looked up and gently pushed the menu back. “The way you describe things, it’s like a poem—I have no idea what they actually are.”
Wei Jia immediately took over the task, listing the items with enthusiasm: “That’s a must! For the appetizer, we’ll get the ‘Spring Garden’—it’s actually just a vegetable salad, but the plating really looks like a little garden! For soup, let’s have the ‘Cloud Mushroom Velouté’ that I mentioned. For the main course… this ‘Deep Sea Whispers’ is pan-seared silver cod, and the seaweed foam on the side is said to melt in your mouth! And there’s this ‘Echo of the Valley,’ which is roasted lamb chops with rosemary potatoes…”
She wasn’t ordering dishes; she was painting a series of freehand pictures.
Dong Yan listened, a faint smile constantly playing on her lips. She realized that with a little patience for interpretation, the “abstract” nature of Wei Jia’s descriptions actually revealed an extremely delicate and passionate perception of life.
The food was served quickly, each dish indeed as exquisite as a work of art.
“Teacher, try this!” Wei Jia eagerly scooped up a spoonful of the mushroom velouté, carefully blew on it, and offered it to Dong Yan, her eyes full of anticipation. “Doesn’t it taste like eating a cloud?”
The gesture was so natural and intimate that it was as if they had done it countless times.
Dong Yan paused slightly, looking at the spoon extended to her. She wasn’t accustomed to sharing food this way, but looking at Wei Jia’s bright, unblemished eyes, she leaned in slightly and, taking it from her hand, gently took a sip.
The warm, silky soup with its rich mushroom aroma melted in her mouth.
“…Mmm,” she nodded, giving a serious evaluation. “It’s very light. It really does.”
Wei Jia instantly broke into a wide smile, happier than if she had tasted it herself. She pulled the spoon back, naturally took a bite herself, and then nodded emphatically: “Right? I told you!”
Dong Yan watched her use the same spoon without hesitation, a subtle warmth creeping up to her earlobes. She lowered her head and quietly started cutting her cod.
Throughout the meal, Wei Jia’s mouth barely stopped. Half of the time she was eating, and the other half she was talking. She jumped from the inspiration behind the dishes to the plot of her new serialization, then to a recent exhibition she had seen, her thoughts flitting around like a butterfly dancing among flowers.
Most of the time, Dong Yan listened quietly, occasionally responding with a few sentences, but she found herself relaxing. There was no need to deliberately make conversation; she only needed to follow Wei Jia’s rhythm to be drawn into a colorful world full of whimsy and imagination.
“Teacher,” Wei Jia suddenly put down her fork, her expression turning a little serious. “Actually… I’ve seen a lot of your paintings before.”
Dong Yan looked up at her.
“Not as your editor,” Wei Jia pointed to her phone. “It was with my alt account, ‘Fluoxetine Prescription’.”
Dong Yan’s movement of cutting the fish froze. She remembered that ID. In her early days, when she wasn’t very famous, that account would always leave long, thoughtful comments under her every Weibo post—sometimes interpretations, sometimes encouragement.
“That was you?”
“It was me!” Wei Jia’s eyes shone even brighter, filled with the joy of being recognized. “Every single one of your paintings, Teacher, was like… like a visual fluoxetine. I wasn’t in a good place during that time, and I got through it by looking at your art.”
Her voice was stripped of its usual effervescence, leaving only sincerity.
Dong Yan’s heart felt as if it had been soaked in warm water, softening completely. She looked at Wei Jia; the light fell on her earnest face, and even her grey-pink short hair seemed unusually gentle.
“So,” Wei Jia took a deep breath, as if steeling her courage. “To be able to become your editor, I’m truly… exceptionally happy.”
Dong Yan put down her knife and fork, picked up her water glass, and took a small sip before meeting her gaze.
“Mmm,” her voice was very soft, yet undeniably clear. “I’m very happy too.”
She wasn’t lying. This parachute-landing editor, who loved abstraction, was like a rainbow that had suddenly burst into her quiet world, bringing unprecedented color and… a flutter of her heart.
After the meal, Wei Jia insisted on paying the bill. The two walked out of the restaurant side by side.
The night air was cool, and Dong Yan subconsciously tightened her shawl around herself.
The next second, a charcoal grey shirt-jacket, with the residual warmth of another’s body and a distinct design, was gently draped over her shoulders.
Dong Yan turned around in astonishment.
Wei Jia was now only wearing a white racerback vest underneath, revealing her smoothly defined arms. She touched her nose, slightly embarrassed: “Um… the wind is strong at night. Don’t catch a cold, Teacher.”
The jacket still held a faint scent from Wei Jia, a mix of cedar and a hint of fruit—an aggressive yet surprisingly comforting scent.
Dong Yan gripped the edge of the jacket and quietly said, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome!” Wei Jia smiled broadly, guiding her towards the car. “Teacher, next time we’ll go to another place! Their dessert is said to be like ‘Solidified Moonlight’!”
Dong Yan settled into the passenger seat, watching Wei Jia, who looked particularly sharp and handsome in just the vest as she walked around to the driver’s side, feeling the substantial warmth and scent of another person on her shoulders.
She quietly, deeply inhaled.
Mmm, after the grape-flavored cloud, this was yet another abstract invitation she couldn’t refuse.