gap

The midsummer carnival gradually subsided, the college entrance examination results were announced, applications were filled out, and admission notices arrived one after another.

Like countless other students, Zhou Yu and I also faced a decisive moment - the admissions results.

I was admitted to the Central Academy of Fine Arts without any suspense. My dream came true. Zhou Yu's scores were extremely good, enough for him to choose any liberal arts major he wanted.

On the eve of filling out the college application, I was out collecting materials when Chen Hui came to see him. Chen Hui came from a wealthy family and had clear goals, longing for an elite life in the financial industry.

"Xiao Yu, your scores are so high, it would be a shame not to apply for finance!" Chen Hui flipped through the application guide and tried to persuade him. "What can you do after studying literature, history, and philosophy? Become a teacher? Become an editor? It's hard work and poverty. Listen to me, with your intelligence and tenacity, finance is the perfect choice for you! Good prospects and high income, these are the real things. You still have to think for yourself and be more realistic."

Chen Hui's words were like a stone thrown into a calm lake.

Zhou Yu’s dream has always been literature or history, which is a direction that makes him feel fulfilled and happy.

But the word "reality" carries a heavier weight for him than for others. His orphan status has made him more mature than his peers, and he is more aware of the hardships of life and the uncertainty of the future.

He had no capital for willfulness; stability and prosperity held a fatal allure for him. An art student's lover, the uncertainty of the future... Chen Hui's words touched upon his deepest anxieties and unease.

After several days of struggle and insomnia, just before the application system closed, Zhou Yu, with trembling fingers, changed his first choice from the Chinese Department to the Finance Department of that top university.

The moment he clicked the mouse to confirm, he felt a sense of exhaustion, as if something pure had been strangled by his own hands, but at the same time, he felt a sense of relief and peace of mind.

When the admission results came out, he was admitted as he wished.

When he told Chen Mo the news, he tried to make his voice sound excited: "Zhou Yu, I was accepted too! We're all in Beijing!"

I was sincerely happy for him, but I was still stunned when I heard "Department of Finance".

I clearly remember him saying he loved words and the stories in history. I asked cautiously, "Finance? I remember you said before..."

"Oh, that," Zhou Yu interrupted him, pretending to be relaxed. "Sister is right. Studying finance is more practical. It will be easier to find a job in the future. And I think it's good to challenge myself." He hid all his struggles and compromises and only presented the results to me.

I was silent for a few seconds, a rare moment, then smiled and said, "Well, you're so smart, you'll definitely be great at anything you learn! You'll be a financial elite in the future."

Although I'm not very perceptive, I could still detect a hint of unnaturalness in his tone. However, I still chose to respect his decision and suppressed my doubts in my heart.

We spent the rest of the summer together trying to stick together as much as possible.

But a subtle gap seems to have emerged.

When I happened to talk excitedly about the famous teachers at CAFA and my future creative plans, Zhou Yu would listen with a smile, but his eyes would occasionally wander for a moment.

When Zhou Yu began to review the basics of finance and frowned at the unfamiliar terms and models, I regretted my incompetence and was unable to provide any substantial help. I could only give him dry encouragement, "Take your time."

We bought suitcases for school together, went to the supermarket to buy daily necessities together, and studied the Beijing subway map together.

My school is in Wangjing, outside the northeast fifth ring road, while Zhou Yu's school is in Haidian, with almost the entire city of Beijing between them.

We circled the midpoint on the map with a pen, planning to meet there later, but the circle seemed so big and the journey so long.

We greedily collect the sunshine of our hometown, the smell of familiar streets and every minute and second of each other's companionship, as if to store these memories that are warm enough to cope with the impending separation and the unknown future that has already shown differences.

The day of departure finally arrived. My school started a few days earlier than Zhou Yu's. The train platform was crowded with people, filled with farewells and the clatter of rolling suitcases.

Zhou Yuqiang held back his tears and carefully helped me straighten my collar, which didn't really need straightening. He kept nagging me, "Text me when you get there. Take a picture of the dorm after you've tidied it up. Beijing's autumn is dry, so remember to drink plenty of water. Don't forget to eat when you're painting..."

I just looked at him quietly, with deep eyes, trying to engrave his appearance into my mind.

I reached out and gently stroked the ginkgo leaf necklace around his neck - it was an accessory that Zhou Yu never took off.

"Once I'm settled, I'll help you figure out how to get to my place from your school," I said, my voice a little hoarse. "It's a two-hour subway ride at most, and we can see each other every week."

The train whistled, urging passengers to board.

I hugged him tightly, gave him a heavy, promise-filled kiss on the forehead, then turned around, dragged my suitcase, and joined the crowd getting on the bus.

I stood at the door of the carriage and waved to him through the glass until the train started. The figure standing on the platform and waving constantly became smaller and smaller, and finally disappeared.

Zhou Yu's tears finally burst out.

College life unfolded as expected, but it was a completely different picture.

I feel like a fish in water at CAFA.

Here, I was filled with people who shared my passion for art and had distinct personalities. The studios were perpetually filled with the scent of turpentine and paint, and the critique classes were a vibrant forum for ideas, with the professors' guidance providing me with a sudden burst of enlightenment.

My world is a vibrant mix of colors, free lines, and endless possibilities. I live in a mixed dormitory with roommates who study sculpture and design. We often stay up late at night working on our artworks, chatting about art and life, with such passion.

I would message Zhou Yu almost every day, sharing my new paintings, interesting classes, quirky roommates, and beautiful corners on campus. The words were full of excitement and vitality.

Zhou Yu, on the other hand, plunged headfirst into another world.

The finance department at a top university brought together the brightest minds and the strongest ambitions. The curriculum was incredibly demanding: calculus, macroeconomics, microeconomics, principles of accounting... Those cold numbers, complex models, and efficient logic were completely at odds with his sensitive and delicate heart.

He felt an unprecedented strain. Everyone around him seemed to easily grasp knowledge that took him many times longer to digest. He rarely had time to read anymore, and his notebooks were no longer filled with excerpts of beautiful prose and poetry, but with densely packed formulas and diagrams.

His roommates were focused on specific goals, discussing internships, GPAs, and which investment bank or brokerage firm they might join. Zhou Yu, dressed simply in a T-shirt and pants, felt a sense of disconnect among his classmates, who had already started wearing suits and skirts.

He began to force himself to adapt to this fast pace and high intensity, absorbing the boring knowledge like a sponge, because he had no way out. This was the "realistic" path he had chosen.

He would also send me messages, but the content gradually became "Economics is so difficult today", "Another group discussion, so tiring", "I may have to spend the weekend in the library".

I always tried to be encouraging in my responses, but I couldn't truly understand his frustration when faced with those inscrutable formulas, just as it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to understand the "emotional outbursts" and "formal explorations" in my works.

I feel a little regretful.

The first meeting was arranged a month after the start of the school year. Both of them had been looking forward to it for a long time.

I checked the long subway route in advance, changed subways three times, and spent nearly two and a half hours before finally standing at Zhou Yu's school gate.

Zhou Yu was waiting there early. When he saw me, his eyes lit up and he ran over.

After a brief hug, I excitedly wanted to take him out for some delicious food, but I saw Zhou Yu take out a laptop from his schoolbag.

"I'm sorry, Zhang Chenzhi," he said apologetically, "Our group has a financial modeling assignment due this afternoon, and there's some finishing work to do. I need to go to the library first. It'll be quick! Only half an hour!"

The light in my eyes seemed to fade for a moment, but I immediately smiled and said, "It's okay, I'll go to the library with you. You do yours, and I'll do some sketching."

In the quiet library, Zhou Yu stared at the data on the screen with a frown, his fingers tapping the keyboard quickly.

I sat across from him, my sketchbook open, but I didn't put pen to paper for a long time. Looking at his focused, yet weary profile, I felt a difference between him and the boy in high school who'd smiled and chatted about Walden in the sunshine. He was enveloped by a tense, anxious feeling, driven by an invisible pressure.

The originally planned romantic date ended up turning into him finishing his homework in the library and then having a quick meal in the cafeteria.

When they parted, Zhou Yu was filled with guilt: "Next time! Next time I will definitely finish everything before we meet again."

I patted Zhou Yu's head and said, "Silly boy, it's okay. Studying is important. Besides, just being with you for a while is enough for me."

But when I embarked on the long journey home alone, watching the prosperity and strangeness of Beijing passing by quickly outside the subway window, I truly felt for the first time the heavy meaning behind the words "different school".

It is not just the geographical distance, but also the pace of life, focus of attention and even the whole world drifting apart.

This pattern of meetings was repeated in the following months.

He was either caught up in unexpected lectures or panel discussions, or he couldn't leave campus because he was busy installing an exhibition or working on a piece. Even when we did meet, our common topics seemed to dwindle. He'd enthusiastically talk about performance art, but he'd be completely lost; he'd complain about bond market volatility, but I couldn't follow his lead.

Silence began to appear between the two from time to time.

The frequency of our phone calls and video calls also decreased. Often, after I finished a painting at night and sent him a message, he would take a long time to reply: "Just finished studying, so tired, going to bed first." And when he woke up in the morning and saw the message he sent in the early morning saying "Just finished the model, I'm exhausted", I felt heartbroken but helpless.

Autumn in Beijing is short, and winter comes quickly and dryly.

The cold wind was as sharp as a knife.

One Saturday, I pulled an all-nighter to finish a big project, eagerly anticipating my date with Zhou Yu the next day. But then he called, his voice tearful: "Zhang Chenzhi, I'm sorry... I can't see you on Sunday. I didn't do well on my microeconomics midterm, and the professor recommended a hard-to-get-into study group for top students. They're having a discussion meeting Sunday morning, and I... I can't miss it..."

On the other end of the phone, I was silent, which was rare.

The long period of exhaustion and the frustration of repeatedly dashed expectations reached a crescendo at this moment. Listening to his cautious, guilt-filled breathing on the other end of the phone and looking out the window at the gray, unfamiliar Beijing sky, a huge sense of powerlessness washed over him.

It was the first time I didn’t say “never mind” right away.

There was a long, suffocating silence on both ends of the phone.

Only the faint noise of the electric current reminds us of each other's existence, but it also highlights the ever-widening gap between us.

"It shouldn't be like this... We've been suffering for years, why..."

The night was quiet and no one cared about the rain.