Giving a faint smile at the old man dreaming beside her, she was diverted to Ming’s great concentration on the views outside the window.
“What are you looking at?” Mei asked.
“Nothing.” Ming replied with a shrug.
His upper body was leaning forward, his left arm was at full stretch along the windowsill. His half face was nestling against the window with squinting eyes. His pointed chin was resting casually on his shoulder. He looked lovely, and reflectively quiet. Mei found this particular moment of Ming unusually absorbing, though not sure if he was thoughtful or thoughtless. The thing was, somehow, it did occur to Mei that Ming had grown to look more and more like Bing.