Secret Identity
Echoes of a Dead Lover
Five years after my boyfriend’s death, I met a man in an interview who looked exactly like him.
When work was over, I cornered him in the conference room: “Since you’re not dead, why haven’t you contacted me in these five years?”
He straightened his tie, his smile both flippant and distant: “This kind of pick-up line is a bit cliché, Miss Meng. Why not just offer yourself directly?”
I ignored him and reached out, touching a slight bump behind his ear.
He froze instantly.
I laughed: “What’s wrong? You look alike, and now even your sensitive spots are the same?”
