Some people like graduation season because it frees them from the misery of homework and exams and gives them plenty of time to do things they like and want to do. Others don’t, because it means leaving the class they finally got used to, and their classmates and friends at school.
I lean toward the latter.
And here I am, facing another graduation season.
Those magazines, those books—always in stacks, in bundles, in boxes.
Every time I brought box after box of books to the couriers, they must have been delighted inside.
When everyone else had gone home for the break, I was still sorting my books: donating the ones I should donate to the library, wrapping and boxing up the ones I would take with me. While everyone else was home celebrating the Dragon Boat Festival and eating zongzi, I was still moving luggage at school, watching the scattered people heading to the sports field with a ball or getting into their family cars with their bags.
That day, with my hair loose, I carried a box toward the place where I was keeping my luggage. It held all kinds of postcards and accessories, some I’d bought myself and some given to me by classmates and friends.
Just as I was about to put it down, I realized I seemed to be going the wrong way. I turned my head, intending to walk back a few steps before setting it down.
Then, a second later, I froze.
As I turned my head to the right, my hair swung with it. When my gaze followed, what I saw through my hair wasn’t the tree with purple five-petaled flowers, or the narrow path between the wall and the dorm. It was a face—a quite pale face, with wide pupils, long eyelashes, and eyes opened wide.
As I turned, my swinging hair brushed across his face. At the same time, there were fewer than ten centimeters between our faces.
Clearly, he had frozen, too.
We looked at each other as my hair slowly slipped off his face and fell into the air.
I quickly turned my head back, my back to him, holding the box in one arm and patting my chest with the other hand. I let out a breath and said, so quietly only I could hear,
“That scared me to death.”
Seeing me turn away, he hurriedly stepped farther to the right, moving just ahead of me on that side. He nodded an apology, then turned and walked quickly toward the school gate.
When he froze, I saw surprise and disbelief in his eyes. When he nodded, I saw awkwardness and a little shyness.
I couldn’t help lowering my head and replaying the moment. His features were actually quite well proportioned. He really was rather handsome.
By the time I looked up, he was some distance away. Then his figure slowly disappeared around the corner by Swan Lake.
He carried a black shoulder bag and wore a yellow T-shirt and casual pants that reached his ankles. He was over 175 centimeters tall and slightly thin.
I never imagined a scene I’d only seen in TV dramas could actually happen to me.
There was a reason for it, though.
He had been looking down at his phone. When he froze, I clearly saw it held in both hands, his fingers on the keyboard. I guess he hadn’t finished typing what he wanted to say when my hair suddenly caught him off guard.
As his figure disappeared, I felt an ache in my elbow. I looked back down and realized I was still holding the box with one arm. I quickly turned and set it down. When I stood up, I saw red marks running along my arm.
By the time the courier had taken the luggage away, it was noon. My stomach felt empty. Time for lunch.
I followed the path he had taken, walking slowly toward the school gate, my eyes unconsciously searching for that pale-yellow figure.
To the left of the girls’ dorm entrance, in front of the Science and Arts Building, I caught a glimpse of a young man in the slanting light. He had a shoulder bag and wore pale yellow. My heart gave a sudden tug, and I ran around the corner. But the boy I saw was wearing cropped pants. It wasn’t him.
I went out through the school gate and past the entrance to the alley, but there was no sign of that pale yellow.
I went to the Danggong shop I often visited and ordered my usual “Bouncy Taro Milkshake Pudding.” As I ate, I took out my phone, opened WeChat, and told the six lunatics from Room 408 in our group chat about my chance encounter with the boy.
Qiqi replied,
“×××’s spring of romance has arrived.”
Then the other five lunatics lined up with matching replies and flooded the chat.
After a few playfully haughty retorts, I turned off my phone screen.
Looking around the shop, breathing in the smell of chestnuts, I put a piece of taro in my mouth and chewed. This was probably my last visit here.
The scene flashed through my mind again. Remembering Qiqi’s words, I couldn’t help smiling. This was probably the first and last time I’d ever experience something like that.
On the way back to the dorm, I didn’t forget to look for him.
My eyes passed over the old basketball court, then stopped there.
Three boys were playing basketball. One wore a pale-yellow shirt and long pants, but they were too far away for me to tell whether it was him.
Watching them, I remembered the final test in my basketball elective, when I completed layups at both ends of the court within twenty-four seconds. I also remembered the shooting competition between classes that the school held before the college entrance exam. There were forty-seven students in our class, and no one made both shots. As a girl, I was one of the fourteen who made one of the two.
The wind brushed my cheeks, my hair lifted behind me, and my thoughts abruptly stopped.
All those memories of spring, summer, fall, and winter stayed in time after all. Just like my encounter with that boy, which would also become a memory, settling into time.
Back in the dorm, something suddenly occurred to me. I lifted my hair and smelled it. Good—it still carried the scent of shampoo.
Until the moment I waved goodbye to the school gate, I never saw him again.
If I return to school someday and meet you again, will you remember a girl who accidentally brushed her hair all over your face? Will you remember what her hair smelled like?
This piece is entirely fictional.