Purpose Chapter 2

Short Story

Photo by m carty on Unsplash

Chapter 2

Zhao Ming was a man shaped by the world of academia, born into a legacy of it. His father, Dr. Zhao, was a revered professor of Chinese literature. His mother, also Dr. Zhao, was a celebrated professor of music. Following the family tradition, his sister had also earned her doctorate, though she had broken from the humanities to become the family’s sole scientist; a professor of chemistry, her talent for math and science evident from the time she could first solve puzzles.

Ming, however, was a classicist at heart. From a young age, he was an avid reader, finding his sanctuary under his father’s massive mahogany desk, lost in the tales of ancient Chinese heroes, cunning generals, and ambitious emperors. By fourteen, he had not only memorized Sun Tzu’s Art of War but could also recount the strategies and outcomes of every major war, rebellion, and battle from the Zhou Dynasty to 1949. He participated in sports only when coerced. On break from school, he preferred the solitary rhythm of a morning run before devoting the rest of his day to his father’s library.

His academic path was linear. He scored 679 on his college entrance exam and promptly applied to his parents’ university to study Chinese history. He excelled seamlessly through his undergraduate degree, graduate studies, and into his PhD, his focus never wavering. His doctoral thesis, and now his life’s work, centered on the early Tang Dynasty, with a specific fascination for the era of Empress Wu.

His home was a quiet, well-developed oasis in the bustling city. A brick, two-story house with three bedrooms and two bathrooms and small garden. His parents had purchased the home for him and his new wife, a place they had hoped would one day be filled with the laughter of grandchildren. After the divorce, his ex-wife had no desire to stay. She accepted a position in another university , continuing her academic career on the other side of China, leaving Ming with the echoing silence of the house.

On this morning, Ming pushed himself to make the last mile of his run smooth and easy, his breathing a steady counterpoint to the pounding of his heart. He rounded the corner onto his street, the familiar iron front gate coming into view. Yet, throughout his entire run, his thoughts had been anything but steady. They kept circling back to the woman from yesterday. Her warm smile, the elegant way her small hands had cradled her coffee cup, the gentleness of her voice, the way her hair shone as it cascaded in dark curls down her back.

He shook his head as if to dislodge the image. Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he muttered to himself, “Ming, what are you thinking?”

He entered the cool, quiet house, slipped off his shoes, and dragged himself up the entryway stairs. Stripping off his damp clothes, he stepped into a hot shower. As he dressed for the day, he was more deliberate than usual. He kept appraising his reflection in the mirror. Today, he chose his navy suit, freshly pressed and crisp. His morning shave had been executed with unusual care, and he had paid extra attention to his skincare. These were all daily rituals, but today, they felt imbued with a new significance. A quiet, unacknowledged hope. He never much cared for his looks as long as his clothing was comfortable, quality, and decent.

Unwittingly, the thought surfaced again: Would he see her today?

He gave his head another firm shake, dispelling the fantasy. Downstairs in the kitchen, he quickly ate a breakfast sandwich, grabbed his worn leather backpack and keys, and left. The drive to the university was uneventful, a familiar blur of streets and traffic. Soon, he was settled at his desk, the world outside his office door muted, the steam from a fresh cup of coffee rising in the chilly room.

He processed the research library access badges for the new intern professors, his movements efficient and practiced as he slotted each into its designated manila folder. But when he reached hers, his hands stilled. He held onto the plastic-coated card just a moment longer, his eyes lingering on the official portrait. She wasn’t just smiling; she was captured in a near-laugh, her eyes crinkling at the corners with a warmth that felt out of place in the sterile administrative photo.

With a conscious effort, he carefully placed her badge in the folder marked “PHILOSOPHY” and set the others in the outgoing mail bin. A thought, unbidden and deliberate, surfaced. It had been years since he’d had any reason to visit the Philosophy department, despite sharing the same venerable building for offices and the library. Perhaps this batch was important enough to deliver personally. It was a flimsy excuse, and he knew it, but it was as good as any.

His planning was interrupted by a brisk knock on his open door.

“Ming, have you finished the library badges? Anna and Leo are eager to get a tour of the stacks.”

He looked up, blinking, to see Director Wei, framed in the doorway. A gentle man whose white hair belied his energetic demeanor and ever-present friendly smile. Ming cleared his throat, the sound oddly loud in the sudden quiet.

“Yes, just now. They’re right here.” He gestured to the bin. “Do you need me to give them the tour?”

“No, no, I’ve got the time. Besides, you have your own cohort of intern professors this afternoon.” Director Wei waved a dismissive hand. “I can handle this one.”

Ming stood and crossed to the door, retrieving not only the Philosophy folder, but the one marked HISTORY DEPARTMENT, and handed it over. “That’s right. I have three tours scheduled after lunch.” He paused, his voice adopting a tone of newfound efficiency. “I should make sure these other badges are delivered as soon as possible.”

Director Wei brow furrowed slightly. “Don’t you usually wait until they show up for the tour to hand them out?”

“New policy,” Ming said, the lie smooth and effortless. “Deliver them in the morning.”

“Oh, I see. Alright then.” Director Wei nodded, a flicker of mild confusion giving way to acceptance. “I’ll be on my way.”

“Have a good day. Let me know if anyone has any questions.”

Ming followed the older man out, raising a hand in a brief farewell before turning in the opposite direction. His stride was purposeful as he moved down the corridor toward the stairwell, the Philosophy folder now a tangible purpose in his hand. He arrived at the Philosophy department’s main office in under five minutes, his heart beating just a little faster than the short walk warranted.

The philosophy department felt like a mirror of the history department just more chaos. Beyond the public-facing area with its receptionist desk and worn couches, behind a dividing partition, lay a labyrinth of academic fervor. To the left was the director’s office; to the right, a corridor led to the tenured professors’ sanctuaries and a small break room. The heart of the department, however, was a glorious chaos. Rows of desks were buried under teetering stacks of books and papers, each one a landscape of personal significance, cherished trinkets, framed photographs, and haphazardly taped posters bearing philosophical axioms. A few desks stood barren, reserved, Ming assumed, for the new interns.

Student project boards stacked haphazardly on standing tables, while every wall that wasn’t a window was a fortress of books, shelves straining from floor to ceiling. The air hummed with the low murmur of heated discussions, a constant, intellectual static. Ming surveyed the familiar clutter without judgment, then turned toward the director’s office, a faint flicker of disappointment in his eyes. He paused at her open door and knocked softly.

Director Mu was behind her large desk, a substantial cafeteria coffee cup anchored in front of her as she spoke rapidly into the phone. She glanced up at his knock and waved him in with a swift, practiced gesture. She concluded her call and cradled the receiver with a quiet click.

“Zhao Ming, to what do I owe the pleasure? Don’t tell me one of my professors has misplaced another library book?” A smile crinkled the corners of her eyes, her gaze warm with amusement.

“Not this time,” he laughed, the sound a little awkward. “I was making my rounds and thought I’d drop off the badges for the new interns personally.”

“That was thoughtful of you. Have you had breakfast? Can I offer you coffee or tea?”

“No, thank you. I was just passing through. I have a few things to wrap up before my first class.” It wasn’t entirely out of his way, a small white lie for the sake of efficiency.

“As long as you promise you’re not here to scold one of my professors again. You know how sensitive they can be,” she joked, a reference to their past debates over missing books that always turned up buried in the main office.

“No, no scolding today,” he assured her with a smile. “How are your interns settling in?”

“I have one with crippling homesickness. She may not las the semester. One who despises Western philosophy but has a terrifying mastery of it, and one who has already fallen in love with the receptionist. So, you know, standard.” She laughed, a rich, unbothered sound.

Ming felt his shoulders tighten at the mention of the homesick intern, then relax with her next words. He smiled. “So, another adventurous semester, then?”

“Adventure is your department, Ming. I’m more interested in cultivating thought. I can do that from the comfort of my own home.” She laughed again.

Ming joined her laughter as he approached her desk. “Well, in that case, I wish you all the best in your home and will save the adventures for myself.” He placed the folder marked Philosophy on her blotter and turned to leave. “Have a good day.”

“Thank you, Ming. I’ll distribute these. Tour at 2 p.m.?”

“Two p.m.,” he confirmed.

“See you then.” The phone beeped again, and she was already reaching for it as he gave a small wave and strode from the room.

Back in the main office, he let his gaze wander over the organized chaos. This place was a beautiful mess. He shook his head, a small, disappointed smile touching his lips as he turned to leave. Then he turned abruptly, nearly colliding with her.

Mary. The woman from yesterday. She was holding a cardboard box in front of her like a shield. He reached out instinctively, his hand closing around her arm to steady her.

“Excuse—” The words died in his throat. The scent hit him first—peony and rose, just like the day before. He stared, his mind blank for a handful of heartbeats, before releasing her arm. They looked at each other, a silent, charged moment stretching between them. His eyes fell to the box in her hands.

“Let me,” he murmured, reaching to take it from her.

“I’m so sorry,” she stammered, the spell broken. “I wasn’t looking where I was going.”

“No, the fault was mine, stopping in the middle of the walkway like that.” He took the box, noticing a slight tremble in her hands. “Here, let me help you.”

“Oh, um, thank you. It’s just over here.” She pointed to one of the empty desks in the second row. He followed as she slipped past him, carefully setting the box down for her. She lifted the lid, and his eyes were drawn to a small, pink rabbit charm resting on top.

She followed his gaze. “I’m year of the rabbit,” she explained. He watched as she lowered her eyes, a faint blush staining her cheeks. Her hands fumbled with the box’s contents as she began to unpack. “Move-in day,” she continued, her voice awkward.

“Welcome.” He again noticed her trembling hands. Was she frightened of him? He wondered. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Oh, um, no, not yet. I got a little lost this morning. I can’t find my way out of a paper bag.” She looked up, offered a soft smile, and resumed her unpacking.

“I can show you to the canteen,” he offered. “You know, breakfast is the…”

“Yes, the most important meal of the day,” she finished with a slight shake of her head. “No, thank you, I don’t want to inconvenience you. I need to get my notes settled for my first class tomorrow and finish the onboarding. I appreciate the offer, though. Maybe another time.”

“It’s no inconvenience. I was headed there for a coffee myself,” he said smoothly, the words coming easily.

“Really, I’m fine. But thank you.” Her voice was firm yet gentle, her body language clearly signaling a polite refusal. He understood and didn’t push.

“Well, I hope you enjoy it here. It’s a great community.”

“Thank you. I know I will. This is the opportunity of a lifetime.” Her smile was brighter now, her shoulders relaxing. He nodded and turned to leave, unaware of her uncertain gaze following his retreating figure.

---

Ming took the stairs to the basement, crossed the main entrance, and stood in line at the canteen.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

“A medium Americano, black, hot. And one of those breakfast sandwiches… to go.”

---

The first meeting for the new philosophy interns was over. Everything had gone smoothly; with the exception of her colleague Meghan whose eyes were red and swollen from crying. Her first job away from home.

“Not too bad,” Mary thought, walking back to her desk, looking forward to finally personalizing her space. As she neared her desk, she stopped. A small white bag sat beside a paper to-go cup. She carefully lifted the lid and took a sniff. Black coffee. She opened the bag to find a breakfast sandwich. She glanced around the office, but no one was nearby to thank. A welcome gift from the department, perhaps? She smiled, a wave of gratitude warming her. “Thank you,” she whispered to the empty space. She was going to have a great day.

Please forgive any spelling errors or grammar mistakes….