Fleeting Glimpses

Yesterday, I was suddenly added to a chat group. Without any warning, or any omen. My phone vibrated once on the desk, and as the screen lit up, the steady light in the room was briefly interrupted—as if someone had casually slotted me into a space that was already in motion.

When I first joined the group, I did chat a little. A simple greeting, adding a couple of lines following the ongoing topic—enough to not be silent, but not too conspicuous either. The white light from the phone screen cast a glow on my face, appearing neither harsh in the bright afternoon environment, merely adding a layer of coolness. It was a very instinctive reaction—since I’d been added, I should at least make myself “appear present.”

Outside the window was an ordinary afternoon scene. Light slanted in from the window, bright but not intense, and occasionally, people passed by in the distance. Messages in the group came quickly, topics pushing forward one after another. Much of what was said didn’t seem to be in reply to anyone; it was more like each person was putting out what they wanted to say. As I read, I tried to discern: Some might just be speaking out of habit, some were killing time, and others perhaps just needed a place to finish their thoughts, not really caring if there was a response.

There was one exchange in the middle that made me pause and look a bit longer. Someone in the group said “cpdd” (probably meaning looking for a couple), their tone very casual. Another person jokingly recommended someone to them, which started off like banter, but then the other person’s mood suddenly shifted, saying that person was “sick.” Several lines popped up in succession, the tone turning sharp. The brightness of the screen didn’t change, but the air in the room seemed to tighten silently. It was just a few sentences back and forth, yet it completed a shift from relaxed to confrontational. Interesting.

I tried to keep up with the pace, but gradually realized this kind of conversation didn’t really need many participants. The people who actually talked frequently in the group were just a handful. The phone grew slightly warm in my hand, messages continuing to scroll upward. It was more like a flowing river—who stood on the bank, who stepped into the water, it ultimately didn’t matter much.

As the chat went on, I spoke less and less. Not disappearing on purpose, nor suddenly losing interest, just gradually realizing that many topics would naturally continue even if I didn’t chime in. Outside the window, vehicles passed by occasionally, light and shadow briefly flickering on the wall before settling back. My presence or absence didn’t really affect the flow of the conversation.

So after that, I mostly just watched. Opening it occasionally, scanning a few lines, my fingertips lingering on the screen for a few seconds before letting go. Watching them each talk about their own things, as if moving forward together in the same space, yet never truly intersecting. Soon it was already night. The group was still lively, while in my room settled the quiet of the evening, broken only by the occasional light from my phone, brightening then dimming again.

I suppose I’ve always been this kind of person— Chatting a bit when first joining a group, then, once confirming my constant voice isn’t needed here, naturally quieting down. Not out of indifference, nor aloofness. It’s just that, more than participating, I’m more accustomed to standing to the side, in the flickering light of the screen, observing how people create their own separate liveliness.