The sun was still high, bleaching the tiles around the pool white. The air was thick with moisture and the smell of sunscreen – that sweet, cloying coconut scent that stuck to the back of your throat.
My ash‑gold ponytail had loosened during the dance, strands sticking to my damp neck. A thin line of sweat traced my spine, cooling in the breeze.
Dianzi stood beside me in the same white bikini, her purple‑pink hair still in its high ponytail, though a few wisps had escaped and curled at her temples. The small shell on her back caught the light every time she shifted her weight.
We were walking towards the exit when a staff member approached.
Not the one from the morning. This one was younger, maybe early twenties, in a crisp white uniform with gold piping on the collar. He carried a clipboard. His smile was practiced – the kind that didn't reach his eyes.
"Young ladies, there are empty spots in the VIP area. This way, please." He bowed slightly and gestured towards the glass partition.
I didn't stop walking. "No, thank you."
He fell into step beside me, matching my pace. "But the regular area is very crowded. The VIP area has loungers, chilled drinks, a dedicated server…"
"We're fine here. And honestly, those empty loungers make me sad – all that space, no one using it."
He hesitated. His smile flickered.
"The queue is quite long," he said, lowering his voice. "And the water quality in the regular area is not as good. We test it daily. The VIP area's pH is perfectly balanced."
I turned my head and looked at him. Just looked. No smile. No anger. Just a flat, empty stare.
He stopped talking.
Dianzi touched her choker. A faint blue glow flickered, and her floating interface appeared. She tilted her head, letting the camera take in the staff member's frozen smile, then panned slowly across the crowd.
[chat] That staff member again 😂
[chat] He really wants them in VIP
[chat] Wife said no already
The young man nodded once, turned on his heel, and walked back towards the VIP entrance. His shoulders were stiff.
Dianzi kept the lens on him for a moment, then turned it back to the regular area.
The queue was long – longer than before. People shifted from foot to foot. A man in a floral shirt checked his watch for the third time in two minutes. His wife stood next to him, fanning herself with a folded towel. Neither spoke.
A woman in a faded one‑piece swimsuit sat on the ground, her back against the cool concrete wall, her eyes half closed. Her knees were drawn up to her chest, a plastic bag of snacks resting on her feet. She didn't look at the pool. She looked at the VIP area.
A middle‑aged man stood near the glass partition. Dark blue patterned swim trunks, a white T‑shirt that had lost its shape in the wash. The collar was stretched, the fabric thin. His hair was combed to one side with gel, but the gel had melted in the heat, leaving greasy streaks.
He held a cup with only ice left. The cubes clinked as he turned, a hollow, lonely sound.
He stopped in front of the glass partition.
He looked into the VIP area – at the empty loungers, the untouched drinks sweating on their coasters, the towels folded like new, stacked in perfect triangles.
——People who stand for a long time learn how to stand. But they also learn that empty places aren't for them.
He stood there for five seconds. Maybe six.
Then he turned and walked back towards the regular area. His flip‑flops slapped against the wet tiles. He didn't look at the VIP area again.
Dianzi watched him go. The lens followed his back until he reached the end of the queue and stopped behind a young woman holding a toddler.
"Sister," Dianzi said. "Why don't they go over there?"
Her voice was soft, but the microphone picked it up.
I looked at the glass partition. At the empty chairs. At the seagull still perched on the back of the frontmost lounger – a grey‑white shape against the white cushions, its head tilted, one eye fixed on the regular area.
"Because they don't sell tickets to that side. I wish they did, but that's how it is. Some spaces are reserved for people who aren't here – maybe they never will be."
Dianzi was quiet for a moment. "That's unfair."
"Yes. But the seagull knows." I pointed at the bird. "It moved to the regular side."
The seagull flapped its wings.
It lifted off the VIP lounger – a sudden burst of grey feathers – and flew across the glass partition. It didn't land in the VIP area. It flew straight to the regular area railing and landed exactly where the queue ended.
Right where the middle‑aged man was standing.
It tilted its head and looked at him. Then at the crowd. Then at the pool.
[chat] That seagull moved
[chat] Even the bird knows
[chat] That's so sad
The middle‑aged man didn't notice the seagull. He was staring at the water now, his shoulders loose, his cup half‑empty. The ice had melted completely. He held the cup upside down and let the last few drops fall onto the tiles.
I touched my choker. The blue light dimmed.
"Let's go," I said.
Dianzi followed me towards the exit. She looked back once at the seagull.
It was still there. Still watching. Its grey feathers ruffled in the breeze.
[chat] Wife leaving now
[chat] See you tomorrow
[chat] That seagull is the real VIP
I turned off the interface. The blue light went out.
We walked into the corridor. The air was cooler here – the sudden chill of air conditioning after hours of sun. The carpet absorbed our footsteps, thick and silent.
Behind us, through the glass doors, the seagull stayed on the regular area railing. It didn't fly back.
The middle‑aged man tossed his empty cup into a bin. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. Then he stepped forward – one step – as the queue moved.
He didn't look at the VIP area again.