"Blurred Waves" by Wanying Zhang
- 7 days ago
- 9 min read
You walk into the new one-bedroom condo on the smooth ebony wooden floors. The afternoon sun spills through the windows, casting a golden glow that breathes life into the space. You move in with your newlywed husband. His stubble strokes against your cheeks when he leans in for a kiss. He sweeps you off your feet and twirls you around in the living room. Your butterfly-printed white dress fans out beneath you as you spin. The small diamond on your ring catches the sunlight, scattering a kaleidoscope of colours across the empty walls. Your husband’s earthy scent tangles with the crisp sterility of fresh paint. Your laughter fills the air.
A delicate thrill flutters in your stomach at the thought that you will spend your life together with the man that you love. You hang your wedding photo on the wall—a candid shot of you and your husband gazing at each other against a blurred background of the beach as if the entire world had fallen away. The air hums with expectations packed into this polished condo. You ticked another box off your carefully curated list of life goals.
And yet, something tugs at the edge of your heart.
#
You both work full-time. You moved here for your new job after graduation, and he followed you. He works from home as a data scientist, so he spends his days typing strings of code into a computer. Each morning, you leave for work at the lab, where you make pharmaceutical compounds. When you stay late, your husband already has dinner made, a simple stir-fry with your favourite oyster sauce. You fall into a comfortable routine. After work, you slump on the second-hand couch, click on the television and watch the latest sitcom. Your husband shuts his laptop with a sigh and joins you. His presence comforts you.
You run the life treadmill—bags of groceries that need buying, dinners that need to be cooked, floors that need sweeping, dishes that never stop piling up, laundry that always waits to be folded. You divide up the chores since you are partners. You share the burden after all. You rely on each other. You pay rent on time. You both studied hard in school to get here. You can’t help noticing that the laughter that once echoed off the walls now seems thinner, stretched between work hours and financial goals.
On your way back from work, you bump into your neighbour in the elevator. He’s around your age and lives in the bigger condo next to yours. You notice that he has an understated confidence in a casually cool sort of way. He slings a golf bag across his shoulder, and he flashes an easy-going smile. You can’t help but wonder if he moves through life more freely than you do. You exchange pleasantries.
#
You begin to save for a house. You work longer hours, take up side gigs and stash cash in the bank. Your husband feels like a cog in the corporate machine, but stays in his job for financial security. The image of your dream house fills your vision. A three-bedroom in the suburbs with a decent-sized lawn. You can almost see your future daughter swinging on a playset in the manicured backyard. You can hear your husband’s hearty laughter when he scoops her into his arms. You picture her bright-eyed smile, brimming with childhood innocence that you so dearly missed. The vision you created as a child is within reach. Just a few more years, even though that’s what you told yourself a few years ago.
In the morning, you weave through the potholes, pylons and traffic lights in your Honda. You wear the same sweater and jeans and carry the same bag you used for school. Doubt creeps in. Your work pays decently, but is it worth it? You wonder if the money will ever be enough. Did you choose this path for yourself, or was it what your parents wanted for you?
In your lab coat, you focus on filtering the solution into a funnel, yet after five years on the lab bench, concentration becomes difficult. Work feels repetitive, and motivation slips away when you can’t see the finish line. You watch the drops fall one by one from the funnel into the flask. Maybe you’re just bored. You quiet quit, even though you always went above and beyond. You have spent most of your life within the confines of a box, never straying too far. You like to play it safe. You like to write stories, especially about fantastical worlds. You have been writing since you were a child. But you know it doesn’t pay the bills, it won’t help you buy a house, so you write as a hobby. Perhaps it was a distraction from the real world.
On your way home, your neighbour is in the parking garage, leaning over his sports car and laughing with a friend. He gives a friendly wave when he spots you. Your stomach tightens, just for a brief second, before brushing it away.
#
On the weekend, you lie on the bed with your hair sprawled out beside your husband. You settle into a comfortable silence.
“We should go on a trip, just the two of us,” he suggests, his laptop open to an idyllic beachfront in Hawaii.
You hesitate, scrolling through house listings on your phone. Your gaze drifts to the computer screen displaying white sand and crystal-clear waters. You sigh.
“We should save the money.”
It is not that you didn’t want to get away with him. You do. You understand his need to break free from the daily grind as much as your own. But every dollar saved is a step closer to your future, to your planned life. His flicker of disappointment lingers for a second too long. You wonder if he resents you. You wonder if he wanted more, too.
At night, you lie beside your husband. The warmth of his body and his familiar earthy scent grounds you. Yet your mind drifts elsewhere. You twirl your wedding ring around your finger and stare at the ceiling. You thought, wouldn't it be nice to run along the beach without a care in the world—to feel the grainy sand weave between your toes, hear the waves crash against the shore and watch seagulls glide across the endless blue sky. Do you really want the responsibilities of a house? The weight of a mortgage? To work to keep paying the bills?
#
You met eight years ago at a college party. He walked up to you and talked about books and philosophy. You had a thing for the smart academic types, especially those who read. You were both working on your thesis. You exchanged numbers. He offers to walk you to the bus station. Later, he texted to ask you if you wanted to hang out at a board game cafe and you said yes.
#
You talk with your friends about the future, clinging to your hopes and dreams. They are also running the same treadmill. Some run ahead while others struggle to keep up, but you can’t stop for fear of falling behind. Some friendships endure, while some quietly fade into social media’s background. Not out of spite or betrayal, but simply because you are no longer walking the same path. You miss late-night karaoke sessions, singing songs about broken hearts and first kisses. You miss going to the movies and staying up all night on the phone, whispering about your latest crush. You miss the giggly sleepovers and girl talk after pillow fights. Your friends still hold a place in your heart, but most exist as digital ghosts held together only through scattered messages on your phone.
#
You run into your neighbour again in the elevator. He strikes up a conversation. Like you, he’s also a child of Chinese immigrants. His eyes light up when he talks about his passion for coaching badminton and owning a small restaurant business. You envy his enthusiasm. He is different from your usual circle of nerdy, academic friends. A college dropout, unburdened by traditional expectations, he is outside the box. He doesn’t take himself too seriously. You tease him about his fancy sports car. He shrugs.
“I’m just happy living on my own terms,” he says.
“I couldn’t do what you do.”
“Why not?” His eyes search yours in a playful way, but also challenge you. “I used to wait tables to pay the bills. But I took risks to get here. And now I can live comfortably even with a simple job that I’ll choose.”
“It’s just…I have responsibilities.” You falter. Your words taste hollow. Has your life really been reduced to a rat race?
“So do I.” His voice is soft, yet there is an intensity behind it. “Sometimes you just have to go for it.”
You meet his gaze for a fleeting moment.
You exchange numbers. He texts you flirty messages, and you reply, but you hold back. He shouldn’t play a part in your story. You have a husband. He is an unexpected anomaly impinging on your well-crafted dreams.
He talks about his dreams. He wants to retire in a nice beachfront house, a vision similar to yours. You tell him about your dreams, even though you aren’t so sure anymore. He asks if you have thought about doing something else or starting a business. You admit that you’ve had ideas, but you never took the risk. You worked hard to get to where you are today. You didn’t imagine it any other way. He asks about your writing even though he doesn’t read.
You try to keep your distance, to hold him at arm’s length, but a part of you wants to be friends. Guilt gnaws at you when you look at your husband. Curiosity excites you more. He understands you in a way you didn’t expect. You catch yourself fantasizing about dating him. To experience the intoxicating rush of something unexplored and blush at the stolen glances. You can’t explain why your heart rate spikes when he’s nearby or why your thoughts drift to the warmth of his lips on yours, his hands running through your hair. Uninvited thoughts linger in your head. You tell yourself not to think about him. You shouldn’t have such thoughts as a married woman.
#
He invites you to the beach. You agree. You walk alongside him barefoot on the stretch of sand. The sun’s orange glow casts a shimmering path of light across the water. Your footprints trail behind you, only to be erased every few steps when the waves lap the shore. You laugh at his jokes. The wind teases your hair like a lover’s touch at night.
“You ever wonder what you’d do if you didn't have to worry about money?” he asks.
“All the time,” you confess. You inhale the briny breeze, letting the taste of the sea fill your lungs.
“Then maybe it’s worth trying to make that happen,” he says as if it were as easy as flipping a coin. His grin warms you, and for a moment, you wish you could believe him.
Something about the way he looks at you makes your heart tighten. He leans in for a kiss, and your heart palpitates inside your chest. His nearness stirs something deep inside you in a way that it shouldn’t. You shouldn’t crave this. You fight to suppress the emotion. The waves rush against the shore with rhythmic persistence and echo the turmoil in your heart. The cool, crisp splash of water against your calves jolts you back to reality.
#
The sky darkens to a purple hue on the drive back home. You wonder what life would have been like if you had chosen someone like him. Maybe you would already have a house. Perhaps a couple of kids running on the lawn. Maybe you would have more time to write. You wouldn’t have to worry so much about making enough money.
You stare at yourself in the elevator’s mirrored doors as you ascend. You’ve spent years building a lasting relationship and saving up. You don’t want to throw away all the years of trust and hard work that have shaped your marriage. Your wedding ring is heavy on your finger.
When you come through the door, your husband greets you with a smile and offers you a hug. The condo feels smaller than before, but your husband’s embrace is familiar, and something about that sense of security pacifies you. You glance over his shoulder toward your wedding photo. Your faces in the photo fade into a soft blur, while the waves in the background beckon you. Your time with your neighbour seems like a distant dream.
You choose to stay, but you wonder if you can let him go.
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