Meanwhile.
Jimmy Parsons was also heading home today.
And, like always, he wasn’t wearing a mask.
Maybe it was his frail health or the years of medication, but Jimmy’s skin was almost unnaturally pale—a sickly white that made his lips look even redder by contrast. His features were sharp, and he wore a vintage, button-up shirt that gave him an air of old-world refinement. With his dark hair tied neatly at the crown of his head and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, he looked every bit the distinguished scholar from a bygone era.
He turned heads as he walked by.
A few college-aged girls even worked up the nerve to ask for his WhatsApp.
“Excuse me, could I add you on WhatsApp?”
Jimmy adjusted his glasses, fished out his phone, and pulled up his QR code. “Sure.”
The girl’s face lit up, and she hurried to scan his code.
Beep.
The friend request went through.
Jimmy accepted it almost instantly, then turned to the young man standing beside him and said, “Let’s go.”
The young man fell in step with him.
This was none other than Norman Wallace, Jimmy’s childhood friend.
Watching Jimmy deftly remove the girl from his contacts right after adding her, Norman couldn’t hold back his curiosity. “Jimmy, if you weren’t interested in her, why even bother accepting her request?”
Add her one second, delete her the next. It seemed pointless to Norman.


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