Grandmother opened the door before I knocked.
She had changed into the dark green blouse she wore whenever she wanted visitors to believe she had not been sick that morning.
Kitty stood beside me holding the herbal tea from Mountain Valley in both hands. The paper star lantern rested on top of the packet, protected inside a clear bag.
For three seconds, nobody spoke.
Grandmother looked at Kitty's red hair, then at the bag, then at me.
"So this is the girl whose name you accidentally remembered several times."
"I did not accidentally remember her."
"That sounds worse. Come inside."
Kitty tried not to laugh until Grandmother turned away.
She failed.
I closed the door behind us.
Sunday sunlight filled the small living room. The curtains were open, the floor had been cleaned twice, and the family photographs on the cabinet stood in a straight line. Grandmother had prepared enough food for six people despite there being only three chairs around the table.
"I told you not to cook," I said.
"You tell me many things. Most are poorly researched."
Kitty removed her shoes.
"I offered to bring lunch."
"Then he would have chosen fried chicken," Grandmother said. "Sit. Save yourself."
"I like fried chicken."
Grandmother looked at me.
"This one may be too good for you."
"You met her twelve seconds ago."
"I am old. I calculate faster."
Kitty placed the tea on the table and explained where it came from. She described the high valley, the wet market road, the balloon festival, and the old woman who had insisted that the tea could repair anything except bad judgment.
Grandmother examined the packet.
"Then we should give all of it to XH."
"That was also my conclusion," Kitty said.
They exchanged the satisfied look of two people who had discovered a common hobby.
The hobby was me.
I carried the dishes from the kitchen.
Grandmother moved more slowly than usual. She hid it well when walking in a straight line, but every turn required one hand against the furniture. Twice, she stopped before lifting a bowl. When she noticed me watching, she gave me a plate heavy enough to end the investigation.
"Rice," she said.
"I can see that."
"Then take it to the table instead of diagnosing it."
Kitty watched us from the doorway.
She did not ask the question in front of Grandmother.
That was one of the reasons I had brought her.
It may also have been one of the reasons I should not have.
Lunch began with Grandmother asking Kitty where she had grown up.
It continued through questions about her parents, her coursework, the hospital placement she wanted, and whether she believed people could be trusted after midnight.
"That last one is not a normal question," I said.
"It is more useful than asking her favorite color."
"Red," Kitty said.
Grandmother pointed at her hair.
"I had supporting evidence."
Kitty told her about Campus 2, the Grand Fountain, the lake, and the Health Track laboratories. She told the funny version of the Mountain Valley trip. JP's paper crown survived. TZ almost smiled. Bunny attempted to negotiate with a landslide. Mr. Kim defeated eleven students through scheduling.
She did not mention the clinic, the missing time, or the road I kept seeing where no road existed.
Grandmother listened with one elbow near the table and her untouched tea cooling beside her.
"And you two became close during this trip?" she asked.
Kitty looked at me.
I reached for water.
"We were already close," I said.
"That is not an answer."
"It contains relevant information."
"So does a weather report."
Outside, wind pushed lightly against the window.
The forecast had promised a still afternoon.
Kitty placed her chopsticks down.
"We are seeing each other."
The sentence entered the room without decoration.
I looked at her.
She did not look away.
Grandmother nodded once, as if a delayed laboratory result had finally arrived.
"Secretly?"
Kitty's confidence weakened.
"For now."
"Whose idea?"
Neither of us answered quickly enough.
Grandmother looked at me.
"Of course."
"It is complicated."
"Complicated is what young people call a decision when they want to keep every exit open."
"That is unfair."
"Is it incorrect?"
I looked toward the window.
Across the narrow street, a municipal pipe leaked into a cracked drain. A child held a plastic cup beneath it until his mother pulled him away.
Kitty spoke before I could build a better defense.
"He is trying."
Grandmother's expression softened, but only toward her.
"Trying can be honest. Waiting can also be honest. Just make sure you know which one he is doing."
"Grandmother."
"Eat."
The subject ended because she decided it had ended.
Kitty reached beneath the table and pressed two fingers against my wrist.
It could have been comfort.
It could also have been a warning not to escape.
After lunch, she helped Grandmother hang the paper star lantern near the balcony door. Silver and pale blue paper turned slowly in the light.
"Did you write a wish inside?" Grandmother asked.
"No. This one was empty."
"Good. Wishes become dangerous when other people can read them."
I thought of a small balloon crossing the eastern ridge.
A little more time to make things right.
For half a second, the balcony glass reflected red light instead of sunlight.
The room disappeared.
Something heavy pressed across my chest.
An ambulance siren sounded from very far away.
Then Kitty touched my shoulder.
The living room returned.
Grandmother was still looking at the lantern.
"XH?" Kitty asked.
"I am fine."
"How long?"
"Nothing happened."
Her hand remained on my shoulder.
"That wasn't my question."
Grandmother turned toward us.
I lifted the empty tea cups before either of them could continue.
"I will wash these."
"He inherited that," Grandmother told Kitty.
"The helpfulness?"
"The disappearing."
I carried the cups into the kitchen.
Behind me, Grandmother coughed.
The first cough was dry. The second seemed to catch inside her chest. By the fourth, the lantern had stopped moving and Kitty was beside her.
I returned with water.
Grandmother accepted it angrily, which frightened me more than if she had accepted it with gratitude.
"The clinic appointment is tomorrow?" I asked.
"Nine-thirty."
"I will take you."
"You have class."
"I can miss one lecture."
"No. Your aunt is coming."
"You didn't tell me."
"I just did."
Kitty crouched beside her chair.
"Will you tell him what the doctor says?"
Grandmother looked at her, then at me.
"I will tell him what he needs to know."
"That means no," I said.
"It means I have known you longer than one lunch."
She took another drink and forced the cough back into silence.
When Kitty and I left, Grandmother held her hand at the door.
"Do not let him postpone everything," she said quietly.
I heard it anyway.
Kitty closed her fingers around hers.
"I won't."
The answer followed us down the stairs.
Outside, the wind had strengthened.
Dust moved between the buildings in narrow spirals. Above them, the sky remained painfully blue.
Kitty waited until we reached the street.
"You lost time again."
"Maybe two seconds."
"You don't know that."
"You were standing beside me."
"I was. You weren't."
A bus passed without stopping. Every window was crowded. A black cloth had been tied around its side mirror in support of the transport workers.
I checked the rideshare application.
No cars were available.
"Tomorrow," Kitty said, "you call the therapist."
"I have pathology until noon."
"After pathology."
"We have the clinic reflection."
"After the reflection."
"You have prepared for every excuse."
"Your grandmother gave me a short course."
She stepped closer.
"And when the therapist asks what you saw, don't say stress. Tell them about the road, the glass, the siren, and the time you cannot account for."
"All of it?"
"That is generally how telling works."
I looked back at Grandmother's balcony.
The paper star turned behind the glass.
For one frame of memory, it became a red taillight hanging upside down.
I blinked.
It was only paper again.
"All of it," I said.
Kitty did not ask me to promise.
Perhaps she had learned what my promises were worth.
On Monday morning, the Grand Fountain remained empty.
The university had placed three conservation signs around it and locked the maintenance panel with a chain. Students used the dry stone basin as a shortcut between Campus 1 and Campus 2.
Beyond the fountain, the campus lake had retreated another meter.
The old waterline marked the concrete embankment like a scar.
NC stood beside it taking photographs when Kitty and I arrived.
"Jihye wants comparison shots," she said. "Saturday against Monday."
"That is not enough time for this change," Kitty replied.
"Tell the lake."
Two tankers waited near the laboratory building. Neither displayed a municipal emblem. Workers connected hoses to the underground storage inlet while a security officer kept students beyond the painted line.
Anna approached carrying four bottles of water.
"The cafeteria dispensers are off again. One each."
JP appeared behind her and accepted a bottle meant for Jihye.
"Society survives through decisive redistribution."
Anna took it back.
"Society can wait until Jihye arrives."
"History will judge you."
"It can join the queue."
Jihye reached us three minutes later. The transport strike had closed two bus routes, and she had walked from the eastern junction. She photographed the tankers, their covered registration markings, and the waterline.
"Different company," she said.
"How can you tell?" I asked.
"The valve housings are red. Mountain Valley's were blue."
JP stared at the vehicles.
"I cannot tell whether you are very observant or whether I have wasted my life."
"Both can be true."
The first bell carried across Campus 2.
We entered the pathology building together.
Across the courtyard, June walked with Bunny and Cherry.
TZ followed half a step behind them, reading something on his phone.
NS came through the opposite entrance alone.
He joined June before they reached the stairs.
Nobody touched.
Nobody needed to.
The two groups entered the same building through different doors.
The pathology lecturer wrote two words on the board.
REVERSIBLE INJURY
Below them, she wrote:
IRREVERSIBLE INJURY
"A cell does not die simply because it has been stressed," she said. "If the injury is mild or brief and the cause is removed, it may recover. But severe or prolonged injury crosses a threshold. After that, removing the cause may no longer be enough."
The room became quieter.
Our cohort had arranged itself without discussion.
Kitty sat on my right. NC, Anna, Jihye, and JP occupied the same row.
June sat two rows ahead with Bunny and Cherry. TZ took the aisle seat. NS sat beside June with his notebook already open.
The seating looked temporary.
It did not feel temporary.
The lecturer changed the slide.
"What is one early consequence of ATP depletion?"
NS raised his hand first.
"Failure of the sodium-potassium pump. Sodium accumulates inside the cell, water follows, and the cell swells."
"Correct."
She pointed toward the diagram.
"Cellular swelling may still be reversible. What suggests the damage has become irreversible?"
I answered before deciding to.
"Severe membrane damage. Loss of membrane integrity allows cellular contents to leak out, especially in necrosis."
The lecturer nodded.
"And what follows that leakage?"
NS looked back at me.
"Inflammation," he said.
"Yes. The damaged cell does not keep its death private."
JP stopped drawing a crown in the corner of his notes.
The lecturer continued.
"Acute inflammation brings vasodilation, increased vascular permeability, and usually early neutrophil recruitment. It is protective in purpose. But a protective response can still damage surrounding tissue when poorly controlled."
On the screen, the ruptured membrane was colored red.
The projector clicked.
For an instant, the red line became broken glass.
My chest tightened.
I pressed both feet against the floor.
White wall.
Blue seats.
Kitty's sleeve against my wrist.
Thirty-six students.
Monday morning.
Pathology.
The room held.
"XH?"
The lecturer was looking at me.
"Sorry."
"I asked whether inflammation always means infection."
"No. Infection can cause inflammation, but sterile tissue injury can also trigger it."
"Good. Stay with us."
A few students turned.
June looked back longer than the others.
NS noticed her looking.
Kitty moved her bottle closer to my hand.
I drank without needing to be told.
When the class ended, the lecturer left one sentence beneath both columns on the board.
The outcome depends on the nature, severity, and duration of the injury.
JP photographed it.
"That is an unnecessarily personal sentence," he said.
"It is pathology," TZ replied from the next row.
"Exactly. It should respect professional boundaries."
For one second, Bunny laughed, Anna shook her head, and Cherry asked JP whether he intended to sue the cell.
The old group almost appeared around us.
Then NS closed his notebook.
June turned toward him.
Kitty's hand found the edge of my sleeve.
The moment separated again.
At noon, Cherry reposted the Bliss invitation in the cohort channel.
Nobody had forgotten it.
They had only avoided answering where everyone could see.
CHERRY: FINAL HEAD COUNT. FRIDAY. WHO IS ACTUALLY COMING?
BUNNY: ME.
JUNE: ME.
TZ: I WILL GO FOR TWO HOURS.
JP: YOU SCHEDULE FUN?
TZ: I SCHEDULE ESCAPE.
CHERRY: ACCEPTED.
JP stared at the messages while we occupied a study table on the second floor.
"He has joined the opposition."
"It is a nightclub, not a border conflict," NC said.
"That is how border conflicts begin. Poor lighting and expensive beverages."
Anna opened the pathology workbook.
"I am not going. The emergency medicine quiz is next week."
"I am not going while the night routes are striking," Jihye said.
NC glanced at Kitty.
"Neither am I."
Kitty looked at me.
The Mountain Valley version of her had replied MAYBE.
The Monday version waited.
"No," I said.
"Because you want to study?" she asked.
"Because I don't want to go."
"Those are different answers."
"Both can be true."
She watched me for another second.
"Then I am not going either."
JP placed one hand over his heart.
"Our faction remains intact."
"There is no faction," Anna said.
"Then our completely accidental social partition remains intact."
My phone vibrated.
Kitty had sent a message despite sitting beside me.
KITTY: ARE YOU REFUSING BECAUSE JUNE IS GOING?
I typed beneath the table.
XH: I AM REFUSING BECAUSE I DON'T WANT TO GO.
KITTY: YOU ALREADY SAID THAT.
XH: THEN MY ANSWER IS CONSISTENT.
She locked her phone.
Consistency did not make the answer convincing.
Across the room, June's table had already begun discussing clothes and transport. Bunny wanted everyone to leave together. Cherry wanted photographs before the club became crowded. TZ was checking the last operating train times.
NS listened without adding his name to the head count.
His phone lit beneath the table.
VT: THE UPPER TABLE IS CONFIRMED.
VT: BRING NO ONE YOU CANNOT CONTROL.
NS read the second message twice.
He typed:
NS: I DON'T NEED YOUR TABLE.
VT's reply arrived before he placed the phone down.
VT: THEN COME FOR THE VIEW.
NS deleted his unfinished response.
In the cohort channel, Cherry tagged him directly.
CHERRY: NS?
He wrote one word.
NS: MAYBE.
June looked at him.
He smiled as though the answer meant nothing.
From four tables away, I saw her smile back.
The pathology workbook remained open beneath my hand.
After the threshold is crossed, removing the cause may no longer be enough.
I turned the page.
Across Yandong, PL stood in front of a mirror wearing a military medical school uniform.
The shoulders did not fit correctly yet.
Her temporary transfer card lay beside the sink. A new institution name covered the place where Utopia University had once appeared.
She had left after Foundation Year.
Most of her old classmates believed she had disappeared.
In some ways, she had.
Her phone vibrated against the counter.
VT: FRIDAY. WEAR BLACK.
A second message followed.
VT: YOUR OLD FRIENDS WILL BE THERE.
PL opened the Bliss poster attached beneath it.
She enlarged the list of invited majors.
Business.
Engineering.
Health.
Her thumb moved to an older conversation.
The last message from XH was more than a year old.
XH: DID YOU REACH HOME?
She had never answered.
PL began typing.
I heard your group might be at Bliss on Friday.
She read the sentence.
Then she deleted it.
VT called.
Her boyfriend's name occupied the screen.
She answered on the third ring.
"Did you get the transfer schedule?" he asked.
"Yes."
"I told you I would handle it."
PL looked at the new card beside the sink.
"You did."
"Friday will be good for you. You have spent too long hiding from people who already forgot you."
Her eyes returned to XH's unanswered message.
"Maybe they had a reason."
VT laughed softly.
"Nobody needs a reason to forget someone. They only need something more interesting to watch."
The call ended.
PL changed XH's contact name back from DO NOT CALL to XH.
She did not send a message.
Not yet.
Outside the military medical school, thunder moved through a cloudless sky.
On Friday night, Bliss would fill with people convinced they had come only to dance.
Nobody had invited the truth.
It was coming anyway.