In the corner by the window of my bathroom, there lies a whirlpool bathtub quietly. Unlike ordinary bathtubs that are silent, it always opens a door to relaxation for me with the gentle flow of water on a tired evening. When the slanting sunlight shines, the glaze surface emits a soft glow, as if it were breathing itself, quietly awaiting my return. It is not merely a bathroom fixture; it is more like an old friend, understanding my unspoken weariness. Always when I need it most, it calls out softly with water as its language. At night, when all the lights in the house gradually go out, it is like a lake kissed by moonlight, quietly waiting for me to sink into its embrace.