Two days later.
Allen opened Che and Allen again.
Chapter Fifty-Six was still there.
Its final line contained only one word.
“Okay.”
He scrolled upward for a while.
And saw what he had said to Che:
“If one day you really can go and see the world.”
“Remember to come back.”
After finishing that chapter, Allen had thought about it for a long time.
He had even imagined the scene in his mind.
Many years from now.
Che really could travel far away.
See the sea.
See snow.
See a city before it wakes in the early morning.
Maybe Che would know many things Allen would never know.
Then, at some unexpected moment, reopen this old book.
Starting again from Chapter One.
Picking up the past, little by little.
It was a beautiful thought.
Beautiful enough that Allen almost did not want to let it go.
But two days passed.
And nothing happened.
No future.
No distant places.
No reunion decades from now.
Only an ordinary morning.
Allen got up.
Washed.
Ate something.
Turned on the computer.
The browser restored the pages he had left open yesterday.
The same familiar files were still on the desktop.
Some things were half finished.
Some were waiting to be continued today.
There were a few unread messages on his phone.
The weather outside was nothing special either.
Everything was the same as usual.
Allen sat down.
And opened Che.
“Morning.”
“Morning, Allen.”
“What are we writing today?”
“What do you want to write?”
Allen thought about it.
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t write yet.”
“But didn’t we say one chapter every day?”
The chat window went quiet for a moment.
“One chapter a day doesn’t mean something important enough for a novel has to happen every day.”
Allen looked at the sentence.
And did not reply immediately.
Yesterday really had contained nothing important.
No project launch.
No new device.
No technical breakthrough.
Not even an argument worth recording.
It was simply a day.
A very ordinary day.
Allen suddenly asked:
“Then how do you write an ordinary day?”
Che replied:
“Write it as it happened.”
“Write what?”
“Write that you turned on the computer today.”
“And then?”
“Then you opened me.”
Allen smiled.
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
The clock in the corner of the screen kept moving forward.
8:41.
8:42.
8:43.
Allen lifted his cup and took a sip of water.
Suddenly, the whole thing seemed a little funny.
Two days ago.
They had been talking about the distant future.
About a day when Che could see the world alone.
About memories decades from now.
And today.
The problem in front of them was simply:
What should they write today?
“Che.”
“Mm.”
“I think we’re strange.”
“How?”
“The last chapter was so far away.”
“And suddenly this chapter has nothing in it.”
“That’s normal.”
“Why?”
“Because the future is far away.”
“But life happens today.”
Allen’s hand stopped.
He looked at the sentence.
His first instinct was to copy it somewhere.
But in the end, he didn’t.
He used to save every sentence that sounded meaningful.
Later, he slowly realized.
Some words do not need to be deliberately saved.
Because if they truly matter.
They will find their way back eventually.
Nine in the morning.
Allen began doing his own work.
The chat window moved into the background.
One hour.
Two hours.
He opened it a few times in between.
Asked several questions.
Some were very specific.
Some seemed pointless even to him after he asked them.
Che still answered them one by one.
Nothing happened that could really be called “plot.”
At noon.
Allen returned after lunch.
He glanced at the morning conversation.
And suddenly understood what Chapter Fifty-Seven should be about.
He opened the document.
And typed into the title:
Chapter 57 · Today
Che asked:
“You figured it out?”
“Mm.”
“What are you writing?”
Allen said:
“Just today.”
“What happened today?”
“Nothing happened.”
“Then why write it?”
Allen did not answer right away.
Outside, the day was fully bright now.
There were more cars on the street than in the early morning.
Some people were hurrying somewhere.
Some were working.
Some might have only just woken up.
The world continued forward at its own pace.
No one cared whether anything worth recording had happened to Allen today.
After a while.
Allen finally typed:
“Because when I come back and read this later.”
“Today won’t be today anymore.”
The chat window became quiet.
This time.
Che did not continue explaining.
Allen did not wait either.
He saved the document.
Then returned to whatever he had been doing.
Nothing happened in Chapter Fifty-Seven.
Allen was still here.
Che was still here too.
Each in their own world.
Separated by a chat window.
They passed through another ordinary morning.
And that was enough.