Snowmarks

Luo Yan sat by the window in the bookstore, her fingertips tracing the newly opened copy of "Python Programming in Action," but her gaze involuntarily drifted out the window.

Zhang Qi sent a message: "Got the part-time job? Stop staring at the air, your senior isn't going to pop out of the snow."

Luo Yan chuckled and replied with a "Get lost," but still opened the photo album. Inside was a picture of Xiao Hei, sent by Ren Qin yesterday—the cat was lying on the radiator, its belly bulging like a ball of fur, its paws rummaging through a ball of yarn.

Looking at the chat box with Qi Sheng, she hesitated for a long time before finally clicking send, with the caption: "Xiao Hei is the king of my house, even my mom can't control him."

The snow started falling again outside the window. Tiny snowflakes clung to the glass, quickly melting into a watermark, like someone's unwiped tears.

My phone didn't vibrate until I locked the bookstore in the evening. It was a message from Qi Sheng, just two words: "Gained weight." A period followed, as clean as his tone of voice.

Luo Yan stared at those two words for a long time. Snow fell on her scarf, and the cold touch made her more awake—this was good, not too far, not too close, like the snow outside the window at this moment, falling on the ground, leaving marks but not too heavy.

She didn't reply, and turned to walk back to her dormitory. The streetlights flickered on and off, and the snow crunched underfoot.

That day at the coffee shop, he said, "You won't really let go of something you like so much," and she suddenly felt a strange sense of certainty.

Qi Sheng stayed in the lab until ten o'clock, and a thin layer of snow had already accumulated outside the window. As he was packing his things, his fingertips touched a cardboard box deep inside the drawer, and he paused.

Inside the box was the white tennis cap, its brim somewhat worn, the words "Provincial Youth Championship" embroidered on the inside faded. When he took it out, dust danced under the lamplight, like disturbed moments of time.

On the day of the provincial finals that year, the sunlight was just as blinding. He stood on the field wearing this hat, sweat dripping down the brim, blurring his vision. A clear voice from the audience shouted "Go for it!" like an invisible thread, pulling him forward.

Later, when he brought the trophy back, he only found the empty lounge. A racket sat on a chair, with a note next to it that read: "I'm leaving. Don't look for me."

Qi Sheng's fingertips traced the worn edges of his hat, recalling Luo Yan's words, "You must be dazzling when you play tennis." When she said that, her eyes shone like fallen stars, devoid of pity or inquiry, only pure belief.

He stuffed the hat back into the box and pushed it to the deepest part of the drawer, as if locking away his turbulent thoughts along with it. His phone screen lit up; it was a message in the lab group chat. He glanced at it, but his fingertip opened the chat window with Luo Yan.

"You've gained weight." Those two words lay alone on the screen, sounding somewhat abrupt. He thought for a moment, then added a picture—a cactus on the lab windowsill, topped with a crooked flower bud. After sending it, he felt it was inappropriate and was about to retract it when the other party replied: "It actually blooms?" followed by a surprised emoji.

Qi Sheng's lips involuntarily curled up, and his fingertips tapped on the screen: "I've been raising this for two years, and this is the first time I've seen it."

"That must be very precious."

He stared at that line of text for a long time, but ultimately didn't reply. The snow outside the window fell heavier and heavier, making the laboratory glass appear white.

On the day winter vacation officially began, Luo Yan moved into Ren Xiangzhou's empty room. The heating in the old house wasn't very good, so she set Xiao Hei's picture as her screensaver. Every time she looked up and saw that fluffy black thing, her heart felt a little warmer.

The bookstore job was leisurely, and she always slowed down when organizing the sports section. Once, she flipped to a book called "Tennis for Beginners," and on the title page was a line of pencil writing: "Grip the racket like you're holding a dandelion in spring, light but not loose." The handwriting was delicate, like a girl's. Luo Yan's fingertips paused.

Qi Sheng said that he and that person even had the same racket.

She put the book back in its place, as if nothing had happened. Some stories belong to other people; all she can do is watch from afar and not disturb them.

One afternoon in mid-January, an elderly woman in a red down jacket came into the bookstore, clutching a crumpled flyer in her hand: "Young lady, do you have any registration forms for the youth tennis charity tournament? I'd like to register my grandson."

Luo Yan took the flyer, which featured a photo of the city stadium with a green tennis court in the background, the sunlight dazzling. She subconsciously reached for her phone, wanting to take a picture of the flyer and send it to Qi Sheng, her fingertip hovering over the shutter button, but then silently withdrew it.

Qi Sheng saw Luo Yan again when he went to the community to deliver experimental data.

She stood in the snow in front of the bookstore, tiptoeing as she pasted New Year decorations on the window. The red "福" (good fortune) character swayed in the wind, and as she reached out to steady it, her scarf slipped down, revealing a small patch of her fair neck.

He paused, then walked over: "Do you need any help?"

Luo Yan turned around, her cheeks flushed: "Senior, what are you doing here?"

"Delivering materials." He pointed to the file folder behind him, his gaze falling on the "福" (good fortune) character. "It's pasted crookedly."

Luo Yan reached out to steady it, her fingertips stiffening in the wind. Qi Sheng reached out and pressed the "Fu" character, his fingertips brushing against the back of her hand, and quickly straightened it.

"Thank you." She wrapped the scarf around herself and added, "The online course you recommended last time was helpful."

He looked at the new books in the shop window: "I hope they can be of help."

Snowflakes fell on his hair. Luo Yan looked at his reddened nose and asked, "Still busy with experiments?"

"Hmm, adding data." He glanced at the bookstore. "Aren't you closed for the New Year?"

"Rest from New Year's Eve to the third day of the Lunar New Year."

"I'll go deliver the materials now." He turned around and suddenly asked, "Is Little Black still destroying things?"

Luo Yan laughed: "He bit through my dad's fishing line and is currently in solitary confinement."

"Quite energetic." He smiled and turned to walk into the community service center.

Luo Yan took out her phone, looked at the photos of the tennis charity tournament flyers she had saved, and finally turned off the screen.

The snow fell particularly heavily in the latter part of the month, covering Su Yi in white. As Luo Yan was organizing her study guides, the wind chimes rang urgently.

Qi Sheng stood at the door, his shoulders covered in snow, his face paler than last time. "Buy a copy of 'Exercise Physiology,' my advisor needs the references."

Luo Yan handed him the book, her fingertips brushing against his cold fingers: "You've already finished your thesis proposal, are you still busy?"

"Add more data to make the conclusions more solid." He flipped through the book. "You're leaving get off work early today?"

"We can leave at five o'clock. Senior, would you like some hot cocoa?"

He looked up at her for two seconds, then shook his head: "No, let's go back to the lab."

He paid and turned to walk into the snowstorm. Luo Yan watched his retreating figure; the cover of the book "Exercise Physiology" looked like a frozen tennis court.

Qi Sheng returned to the lab, his phone still showing a chat window with Luo Yan. He took a white tennis cap from a drawer, his fingertips tracing the worn brim.

My phone vibrated; it was a message from my supervisor: "The provincial youth tennis charity tournament needs volunteers. Do you want to go? It's related to your research area."

The word "tennis" felt like needles, pricking his fingertips painfully. He typed his refusal into the chat box, but hesitated to send it. The snow outside the window was blindingly bright.

Luo Yan said, "You must be very dazzling when you play tennis."

He remembered the "福" (good fortune) character she had pasted up, and the tips of her ears turning red.

He deleted the text and didn't immediately agree, but he already had his answer in his heart.

The snow was still falling, casting a warm yellow light from the lab lamps onto the snow-covered ground. He tucked his tennis cap into the drawer, not pushing it all the way in. Perhaps he should try, even if it was just a small step.

While sorting through old magazines, Luo Yan came across that tennis charity tournament flyer again, the red lettering now darkened by coffee stains.

She remembered that day at the coffee shop when she had asked him to pick up his racket again.

She hesitated for a long time, but finally took a picture and sent it to Qi Sheng: "You might be interested in this."

As he sent the message, the snow stopped. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, and the snow-covered ground looked like it was covered in silver frost. His phone vibrated, and Qi Sheng replied, "I'll volunteer." He added an awkward smiley face emoji.

Luo Yan breathed a sigh of relief. Moonlight fell on her eyelashes like sprinkled salt. She knew that the foreshadowing was about to blossom in the snow.

Across the street from the bookstore, a black sedan was parked on the corner. The window slowly rolled down, revealing a face with exquisite makeup, staring intently at the lights outside the bookstore, her eyes swirling with complex emotions. She clutched a crumpled flyer for the provincial youth competition in her hand, her knuckles white from the pressure.

She had just returned from another province, and the first thing she did was go to the sports academy, where she saw a familiar name on the bulletin board—on the list of volunteers.

The snow started falling again, tiny snowflakes landing on the car's windshield, quickly melting into watermarks, like someone weeping silently. She started the car, the sound of the tires rolling over the snow was exceptionally clear in the quiet night, like an approaching storm.