Chapter 4
Chapter 4
He refused to say a word. I brought him home, finished cooking, and then pressed him for answers again.
He still wouldn’t talk.
That afternoon, while he was cooped up in his bedroom, I pushed the door open and walked in with two books.
“Want to read together?”
This had been a habit for us as mother and son since he was little.
He sat down beside me, flipping through the pages so fast they rattled. He sat there restlessly, forcing himself to look at the book, before finally leaning all the way back and speaking in a low voice.
“Mom… it’s because I have a physical reaction to boys.”
I closed my book. I didn’t laugh; instead, I looked at him seriously and asked, “I see. Under what circumstances?”
“Does it happen just by looking at him?”
He stammered his reply. “Pretty much.”
I followed up immediately. “When did this start?”
“Last month.”
“Was it because of something he did?”
He looked at me, his cheeks flushed crimson, and spoke vaguely. “Mom, please don’t ask anymore.”
I stroked his hair. “Anan, this is perfectly normal. You don’t need to hide it or feel burdened by it.”
It was my fault. Raising him alone all these years, I had neglected this part of his education.
After I spoke, I waited for him in silence.
He took a deep breath, picked up his phone, unlocked it, and thrust it into my hand with an air of grim determination.
“It started after he sent me photos.”
I had expected some photos of him studying hard that had caused a spark of first love. But when I saw the screen, I froze.
In the photos, a boy was covering his face, wearing a skirt while sitting on the edge of a bathtub, revealing a pair of long, slender legs.
In another, he was in short shorts sitting on a stool, legs spread open.
Another showed him lying on a bed, revealing rosy lips and a pale, pinkish chest…
One photo after another flashed before my eyes, hitting me like a barrage of clubs until my head was spinning.
A minor sending these kinds of photos to another minor. For what purpose?
Qi An whispered with a red face, “That’s why I said I like boys.”
I soothed his shy, agitated heart. “Don’t worry yet. Mom needs to step out for a moment.”
I went back to my room, pulled out my laptop, and searched online for matching videos.
I shoved the laptop into his hands, pressed play, and said succinctly, “Watch.”
“I’m going out.”
I lingered at a coffee shop until nearly dusk.
He sent a message: “Mom, I…”
When I got home, he sheepishly brought the laptop out, his ears red as he asked, “Do I like boys, or do I like girls?”
I took the laptop and explained.
“The boy has a small frame, and the filters are turned up to the max. Wearing a skirt like that, he doesn’t show any male characteristics at all.”
“When you both grow up, his voice will change, he’ll grow a beard, he’ll sweat more, and his limbs will start to fill with strength.”
“Will you still like him then?”
My son shook his head. “I’m not sure.”
I finally breathed a sigh of relief and guided him further. “When you see him, are you thinking of the photos or the person himself?”
“The photos.”
“Then put the photos aside. Tomorrow, look at him properly and see how you react.”
“Tell me about it tomorrow, okay?”
But the next day, he came home and locked himself in his bedroom again.
I knocked on the door. “What’s wrong?”
He was still willing to talk to me. Hanging his head, he said, “Don’t worry about it. He said he doesn’t like me anymore and blocked me.”
“Mom, I feel sad.”
“I think I really do like boys.”
He was in a bad state. I told him, “You need to distinguish whether you want to be with him because you like him, or if it’s just possessiveness because you suddenly lost a good friend.”
But how could he possibly tell the difference?
Even I, an adult, got things mixed up sometimes.
I stopped trying to persuade him. Recalling those photos, it was the first time I felt the urge to interfere in the affairs of his peers.
I wanted to meet this boy my son was talking about.