She pursed her lips, finally revealing a hint of a smile.
“Recently, a new type of mattress has been released, just like the ones in hotels—soft and elastic. Do you think it’s comfortable?”
“A mattress? There’s nothing special about it…” She tried to recall, not noticing the sly smile that crept onto his lips.
A week later, she moved in with her luggage. The interior of the house was different from when she had accompanied him to view it. Despite her repeated insistence that she liked old things, all the furniture had been replaced with new pieces, and the walls had been repainted. The rose-patterned wallpaper had been replaced with a bright, subtly checkered design. The large room on the first floor had been transformed into a dance studio, with brand-new wooden floors and bright mirrors embedded in two of the walls. The floor-to-ceiling curtains in this room were drawn tightly, making it seem somewhat dim. She stepped forward and pulled open one of the heavy red curtains, and the sight before her made her exclaim in surprise. The entire wall with the window had been knocked through and replaced with a glass wall, beyond which lay a crescent of emerald green lake. She could imagine dancing in this room, wearing a white ballet tutu, as if truly dancing on Swan Lake.
The study and reception room were arranged on the second floor. Besides several bedrooms, the third floor also featured an outdoor viewing platform. In this picturesque world, everything was pure white.
She looked around several times, up and down, and suddenly noticed a small wooden house placed in a corner of the third-floor balcony. It had just been hastily made, and there were still some wood shavings inside that hadn’t been cleaned up. It was obvious that this little nest was prepared for “Raindrop.” He wasn’t as averse to the little dog as he pretended to be.
It was an hour’s drive from here to the city center. Every morning, he would kiss her forehead before leaving. After he left, she would open the windows. The house was even more secluded than she had imagined, without any noisy sounds. All she could hear was the chirping of birds in the mountains. The house had Evelyn, a chef, a gardener, and a maid who did odd jobs. They were all very quiet and amiable, especially the tall, middle-aged male chef, who was Italian and made exquisite, authentic Italian cuisine, as well as excellent African dishes. However, they all spoke very little. Only Evelyn would often talk to her, telling her about some of the things happening in the country and the capital. Most of the time, Khanyi played the role of a listener, echoing her words softly. People always yearned to know the truth, but the truth wasn’t the set of narratives presented on television and radio. Khanyi knew that perhaps Evelyn’s words were closer to the truth, but that truth wasn’t very important to her. Because even if the outside world was full of thunder and lightning, she could hide in his arms, so safe and warm.
In the central hall on the third floor stood a white piano, brand new. Khanyi had opened the lid and pressed a few keys with her fingertips. The piano was perfectly tuned, but she never had the courage to play a complete piece. She was devoted to dancing. Her ballet was getting better and better, and the injury to her ankle no longer posed an obstacle. Her dancing skills had reached or even surpassed her previous level.
When dancing, she was usually very focused and didn’t notice that it was already dusk. This time, he had returned earlier than in the past few days. She didn’t go to the door to greet him as she had before. He walked straight through the hall towards the dance studio on the first floor. She was indeed practicing, spinning like a top. He stopped at the entrance of the dance studio.
She danced for a while, and when she turned around, she finally saw him, tilting her head slightly to give him a smile. He walked lightly towards her, coming to the center of the dance floor. She held him in place and spun lightly around him.
He held his black hat in his forearm, standing straight in the center of the dance floor, tilting his head slightly, and gazing tenderly with his ice-blue eyes at this beautiful white swan, who was slowly circling around him. The two large mirrors reflected their figures. He was wearing a black uniform, standing tall and straight, while she was so petite. Even when she stood on tiptoe, her high-up black bun barely reached his shoulder. The white tutu floated gently as she turned, soft and light like a snowflake.
He gently raised his arms, opening his white-gloved hands, his slender fingers wanting to lift her up. This snowflake was so beautiful that it was both intoxicating and heartbreaking. He hoped that this snowflake would just keep floating in the air, never falling into the dust.
