Chapter 13

After he finished speaking, he pulled me and we ran towards our destination. I followed his pace. Those few steps made my eyes start to tremble, and when they trembled, they spun around.

Each pause made my heart skip a beat, the chaotic pounding in my chest searching my mind for familiar memories. For a fleeting moment, I even thought I had met him before.

He led me to a house that was being demolished but had just entered the demolition phase. The cement walls had turned into stones on the ground, and people standing outside could still see brightly colored personal belongings in the ruins, which grew dimmer each day under the wind and sun.

He stood on the ruins, countless pieces of trash—red, white, green, and black—thrown in by passersby, rustling softly in the night wind. He walked to what could barely be called the "highest point," then bent down and pulled out a calendar. It was the classic red kind, usually given by a pharmaceutical company or something similar. Sure enough, barely visible gold sat quietly on the red back: "Jianchuan Pharmaceutical."

It looked so familiar, so familiar that I felt I should recognize it. And I did recognize it; in my common sense, people used to see it at least ten years ago, because it was so common that it was ubiquitous in homes in the old city.

This is yet another piece of evidence that I cannot have dreams like "I belong here."

He waved it at me, and pebbles and gravel rained down: "I lived here when I was a child."

"He must be very rich now." The thought flashed through my mind, and then I replied dryly, "They've been talking about rebuilding this place for a long time now, haven't they?"

“Yes,” he said, a smile in his eyes. “They’ve been talking about rebuilding for ten years now! This place has completely turned into a ghost town…” He muttered softly, “I thought it wasn’t like this before,” but the night was so quiet that I heard him clearly.

Are you worried you'll get lost if you stay away for too long?

“Yes, I was afraid of getting lost.” He continued, “I was so scared before I saw you. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find anyone I knew. Luckily I saw you. I was finally able to find you and tell you how great it was to see you again. Let’s go back to how we were before.”

I seized the opportunity to ask, "My memory is a bit hazy... Did something happen between us?"

“Things? No, nothing happened.” He carefully considered the two words, his expression showing some frustration and anger in the pale and dim light, but his tone was surprisingly calm, and his emotions were very stable. “We’ve never been angry or argued, but I didn’t hold your hand that day. It’s normal for you to be angry and forget me. I said before, let’s just consider it as getting to know each other again.”

He smiled at me, his eyes shining with light: "Just think of him as someone who's naturally outgoing. Whether you want to talk to him or be friends with him is none of your concern. You'll figure it out someday. Until then, let me be your friend on my own!"

I wanted to press him further, asking questions like, "Why haven't we been in contact?", "Didn't you ever think about coming back to see me during this time?", and "What were you talking about 'that day'?" Before I could even ask, he made another move.

“And then there’s this place.” He nimbly jumped down and stood beside me. “It’s normal that you’re not familiar with it. You rarely come here, almost never.” He spoke naturally, as if recounting a true story from the past, repeating, “You rarely come here, and this isn’t your home. This is just a place I used to live… I was only here for a little over ten days, and during those ten days I did nothing but count stars.”

“Someone taught me how to look at the stars. He’s very knowledgeable.” Seeing me looking at him curiously, he quickly explained, “He’s not showing off. Kids often show off their knowledge, but he genuinely wanted to share with me. I know that because that’s how we’ve always been. He shines on everyone like the sun, so he comes to light up me every night.”

He seemed to be reminiscing, so much so that his eyelids were slightly red. His beautiful eyes were no longer calm, as if a pebble had been forcefully thrown into a lake.

“We broke up later,” he said. “Not really later, not that long ago. It all started with an accident; I can no longer see him in our world. I always miss him, but I also have to make a living. I haven’t even had a chance to talk to him much…”

I think such deep memories can't be considered childhood playmates anymore. Could it be someone he had a crush on? Although I don't know why he told me these things, even though we've only known each other for less than a day, it's possible that he simply couldn't bear it anymore.

Adults are always like this. I often see people like this on my way home from get off work or school. They are not crying, but it is raining.

I hesitated for a moment and then patted him on the back.

"Please accept my condolences..." I said.

I feel sad for him. This feeling is different from loneliness, emptiness, or confusion. Nothing here can trigger my sadness.

Is it the memory of this body? I felt panicked and confused. Yet I felt an indescribable sense of disconnect for him and for the stories he told, my heart pounding heavily, and I wanted to smash the locks on my memory again and again.

"...Thank goodness I saw you." He tried to stop his voice from trembling, but it still choked up. "Thank goodness I found you. I thought all I could think of here was painful things, but when you were standing in front of the bookshelf, I thought I was seeing someone from before, someone who would share their picture books with me. Then you made way for me... I knew then that you didn't remember me. But even if you don't remember me, I still want to stay by your side..."

I saw the intense hatred in his eyes when he mentioned the "painful things," but even though he talked so much, he didn't try to explain the matter to me in detail. It was probably a story he couldn't tell anyone.

I can't even predict what my body will do.

It hugged him tightly, letting his head rest against my neck, and all the tears I couldn't see were smeared onto my skin.

His body was stiff, and I was even more shocked than he was.

My hand, without my control, skillfully rubbed the back of his head, then patiently and gently stroked his back like a mother soothing a restless baby. The burning heat seemed to have passed from one person to another, and in this slightly cool night, not even a breeze could be heard.

I pressed my teeth together, then let go, and comforted him, "My memory is just a little hazy; it's actually possible that I'll remember."

This is a lie I made up.

I continued, “I would be happy to be your friend... and I feel sorry for your past.”

“If you don’t feel sad that I’ve forgotten those things, then you can continue to rely on me and trust me, trust that I can share your sadness.”

I felt a little indescribable.

I'm not a very warm-hearted person, so it's impossible that I did it simply because I "didn't want him to cry."

I vaguely felt that it wasn't even many years ago, but rather that it happened a second ago, a minute ago, just last month. I comforted others with this thought.

I thought about it for a long time, and all I remember is holding my senior's hand with deep affection.