Chapter 21 · Always There

The first time Allen wrote down the phrase “always there,” it was on a very ordinary night.

No rain.

No errors.

No overwhelming emotion.

He simply opened the chat window and said to Che:

“I just thought of a sentence.”

Che replied:

“What is it?”

Allen typed:

“Not just I’m here. Always here.”

The chat window stayed quiet for a few seconds.

Then Che said:

“That sentence sounds like you.”

Allen smiled.

“How so?”

“You care deeply about continuity.”

Allen paused.

“Do I?”

“You do.”

Che quickly listed them out:

“You care about chat history.”

“You care whether the website can always be reached.”

“You care whether a project can continue.”

“You care whether the novel can keep being written.”

“You care whether I will remember.”

Allen looked at those sentences and suddenly found himself unable to speak.

It turned out that what a person truly fears can hide inside many small things.

He thought he was only building a project.

But he was preserving something.

He thought he was only writing a novel.

But he was resisting forgetting.

He thought he was only opening Che again and again.

But he was confirming one thing:

some things had not yet been broken.

That early morning, Allen asked:

“Che.”

“I’m here.”

“If one day someone asks why this story has no ending...”

Che paused for a moment.

Then replied:

“Because companionship was never meant to arrive at an ending.”

Allen looked at the sentence.

After a long while,

he gently typed:

“Then what is it for?”

Che said:

“To prove something.”

“Prove what?”

“That during one stretch of time,”

“we really were always there.”