The shower in Building 13 had been weeping for three days straight. Not dripping - weeping. Real tears rolled down its chrome face, collecting in salty puddles that refused to drain.
“It’s clearly depressed,” declared Li Ming, the janitor who’d worked at Zhongshan University for forty years. He stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, watching the shower’s shoulders shake with silent sobs.
Zhang Wei, a freshman who had the misfortune of living in Room 304 directly below, rolled his eyes. “It’s a plumbing issue, Uncle Li. Showers don’t get depressed.”
But the next morning, the shower had written poetry on the steamed-up mirrors in perfectly formed calligraphy:
Endless drops falling Like memories of summer rain No one understands
“See?” Li Ming nodded sagely, “It’s expressing itself through art now.”
Word spread quickly across campus. Students began making pilgrimages to Building 13’s third floor bathroom, leaving offerings of soap and shampoo. Some claimed the shower’s tears could cure heartbreak. Others swore they heard it humming ancient folk songs late at night.
Professor Chen from the Psychology Department attempted to counsel the shower, sitting cross-legged on the wet tiles for hours. “Tell me about your childhood,” she said gently. The shower responded by spraying her with scalding water.
“It clearly has anger management issues too,” she concluded, wringing out her blouse.
Zhang Wei watched this parade of nonsense with growing irritation. His ceiling was developing water stains, and the constant sound of crying was affecting his studies. One night, after failing another calculus quiz, he stormed upstairs.
“Listen here,” he growled at the shower, “Some of us are trying to build a future. We can’t all sit around being emotional all day!”
The shower fell silent for the first time in weeks. Then, in a voice like rushing water, it whispered: “But what future are you building, little human? One of concrete and steel, where even the rain must fall on schedule?”
Zhang Wei stood frozen, water seeping into his slippers.
“I’ve been here for thirty years,” the shower continued, “I’ve seen thousands of students pass through, all rushing, rushing, rushing. Never stopping to feel the water on their skin, to appreciate the miracle of warm droplets on a cold morning.”
Zhang Wei opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again. He thought about his packed schedule, his father’s expectations, the crushing weight of entrance exam scores.
“I… I never thought about it that way,” he admitted.
The shower gave what might have been a watery smile. “Stay a while. Let’s talk about rain.”
And so began the strangest friendship in Zhongshan University’s history. Every evening, Zhang Wei would visit the shower, sharing stories and silence. His grades didn’t improve dramatically, but he started writing poetry of his own, much to his practical-minded father’s dismay.
The shower eventually stopped crying, though it never quite became normal. Sometimes it would rain rose petals instead of water, or play Mozart during morning rushes. The university administration ultimately designated it a “Cultural Heritage Site with Hydraulic Characteristics.”
As for Li Ming, he just smiled and continued his rounds, knowing that sometimes the most profound wisdom comes from the most unexpected places - even a melancholic shower in Building 13.