Reconciliation in the Cicada's Song

The August wind carried a scorching heat, making the asphalt road seem to steam. I stood at the entrance of the art museum, clutching the location Lin Xi had sent me, my fingertips slightly sweaty. The beige building gleamed softly in the sunlight, and my shadow was reflected in the glass curtain wall—a white T-shirt, jeans, and a simple ponytail; compared to the girls around me in their pretty dresses, I looked somewhat awkward.

"Chen Zhixia! Over here!"

Lin Xi's voice came from the steps. She was wearing a pale yellow dress, and her smile revealed two shallow dimples. Three classmates stood beside her, two boys and one girl, all wearing friendly smiles. I took a deep breath and quickly walked up: "I'm sorry I'm late."

"No, no, we're just early." Lin Xi waved her hand and enthusiastically introduced me, "This is Zhou Hang, the physics class representative, you know him; this is Meng Meng, our class's drawing genius; and..." She paused, her gaze passing over me and looking behind her, "Zheng Yiming, you know him too."

I turned around, and Zheng Yiming was standing not far away, wearing a simple white shirt, carrying a backpack, and holding a few bottles of mineral water. When he saw me, his eyes lit up, and he quickly walked over and handed me a bottle of iced tea: "Here you go, this is what you like to drink."

The water droplets on the bottle felt cool on my fingers. I took the water, but my fingertips accidentally touched his, and it felt like I'd been burned. I quickly pulled my hand back and said, "Thank you."

His ears turned red, and he didn't say anything more. He simply gave the remaining water to the others, his actions as natural as if nothing had happened.

Stepping into the art museum, a wave of cool air washed over me, instantly dispelling the heat. The exhibition hall was quiet, save for the sounds of footsteps and occasional whispers. Meng Meng pulled me to a painting of Monet's "Water Lilies": "Look at the handling of light and shadow here, doesn't it resemble the lotus pond you painted last time?"

I leaned closer to look. The blue and purple hues on the canvas intertwined, like a dream submerged in water, and it did indeed bear a resemblance to my unfinished painting. "It is somewhat similar," I smiled, "but mine isn't as good."

"You're being modest." Meng Meng patted my shoulder. "Zheng Yiming told us how well you solve physics problems, so your drawing skills must be pretty good too."

Mentioning Zheng Yiming, I glanced at him instinctively. He was standing in front of a painting of a starry sky with Zhou Hang, discussing something. His profile looked exceptionally soft under the light. Sensing my gaze, he turned his head, smiled at me, and the light in his eyes was brighter than the stars in the painting.

It felt like something gently bumped into my heart, a little itchy, a little warm.

Halfway through our shopping trip, Lin Xi suggested we go to the rest area to sit for a while. Zhou Hang bought ice cream and shared it with everyone. I got the chocolate flavor and was about to say, "I don't really like this," when Zheng Yiming suddenly handed me the vanilla flavor: "Want to switch? I want the chocolate one."

I paused for a moment, then took the vanilla ice cream. The sweet, creamy flavor melted on my tongue, but my heart felt warmer than the ice cream itself. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He unwrapped the chocolate ice cream and ate it very seriously, as if he were completing some important task.

The sofa in the lounge area was large. Zheng Yiming and I sat together, about a fist's width apart. Meng Meng and Lin Xi were discussing the art exhibition nearby, while Zhou Hang was engrossed in his phone. A faint, cloying sweetness filled the air, and the silence felt almost unreal.

“Last time…” Zheng Yiming suddenly spoke, his voice very soft, “Last time at school, I’m sorry.”

I tightened my grip on the ice cream, but didn't say anything.

“Back then…” He scratched his head, a little embarrassed, “I didn’t know what to do. Seeing them talk about you like that made me very angry, but I was also afraid that if I stood up for you, it would embarrass you even more, and I was afraid you would think I was pitying you…”

“I don’t think you pity me.” I interrupted him, my voice soft but clear enough, “I’m just… a little sad.”

I'm sad that he chose to remain silent when I needed him most, and sad that the warmth I had painstakingly built up suddenly turned cold.

He turned to me and looked at me earnestly. "I know. That's why I've been wanting to apologize to you, but I was afraid you wouldn't want to see me." He paused, took a sketchbook out of his bag, and handed it to me. "Here, take this."

I opened my sketchbook, which was filled with all sorts of cats—one sleeping in the sunlight, one chasing butterflies, one licking its paws in a corner… Each one was drawn so lifelike. On the last page, there was a drawing of a cat perched on the windowsill of the studio, with a line of small print next to it: “Like you, quiet yet stubborn.”

My heart skipped a beat, and my eyes welled up with tears. "You..."

“I know you like cats.” He smiled, the guilt in his eyes fading and replaced by tenderness. “During this time, I’ve been waiting for you at the studio entrance every day. If you don’t show up, I come back and draw cats, thinking that when you’re willing to see me, I’ll show them to you.”

The pages of the sketchbook carried a faint scent of pencil, like his own scent—clean and warm. It turns out that what I thought was "indifference" concealed so many clumsy little thoughts.

"I'm sorry." I looked up at him. "I... shouldn't have been so fierce back then."

I shouldn't have vented all my frustrations on him, and I shouldn't have negated all his good qualities just because of one instance of silence.

He was stunned, then laughed, his dimples becoming particularly prominent: "So...we've made up?"

"Mm." I nodded, and the thorn in my heart seemed to have disappeared without me even realizing it, leaving only a soft warmth.

When we left the art museum, the sun wasn't so strong anymore. Zhou Hang suggested we take a walk in the nearby park, and everyone agreed. We passed a kite stall, and Meng Meng excitedly pulled Lin Xi over and ran to pick out a butterfly-shaped kite. Zhou Hang volunteered to help assemble it, leaving Zheng Yiming and me to slowly follow behind.

There were many people on the lawn in the park. Children were chasing and playing, old people were playing chess under the trees, and cicadas were chirping among the leaves, like a lively song.

"Did you spend your summer vacation drawing...?" Zheng Yiming asked softly, kicking at the pebbles at his feet.

“Yes,” I nodded, “I also did some physics problems. Your competition preparation book is very useful.”

"It's good that it's useful." He smiled. "There's a physics competition after school starts. Do you want to participate? I can tutor you."

"Me?" I hesitated for a moment. "I probably can't do it."

"Why not?" He stopped and looked at me seriously. "Your problem-solving approach is very clear, you just lack confidence. Believe me, you can do it."

His gaze was firm, as if instilling strength in me. Looking at him, I suddenly remembered what my grandfather always said: "Our Zhixia is the best, you must believe in yourself."

"Okay." I sniffed and said with a smile, "Then I'll have to trouble you."

“No trouble at all.” He smiled like a child who had just received candy, his eyes shining brightly.

A cheer erupted from ahead as Meng Meng's butterfly kite soared high, tracing a beautiful arc across the blue sky. Zheng Yiming pulled me along to join them, the kite string tugged in our hands, the wind's resistance bringing a sense of freedom.

As the sun set, we said goodbye at the park entrance. Linxi held my hand and said, "Let's go painting again next time. Mengmeng said she wants to ask you for advice."

"Okay," I replied with a smile.

Zheng Yiming walked me to the alley entrance. The streetlights were already on, casting warm circles of light. "That sketchbook..." he said a little shyly, "If you don't like it, I'll draw something else for you."

"I like it." I shook my head, hugging the sketchbook to my chest. "It's very well drawn."

"That's good." He breathed a sigh of relief, as if a heavy burden had been lifted. "I'll be going now, see you when school starts."

"Okay, see you when school starts."

Watching his retreating figure, his white shirt swaying gently in the evening breeze, like a bird about to take flight. I stood at the alley entrance, holding my sketchbook, and suddenly felt that this summer didn't seem so long anymore.

The cicadas still chirped incessantly, but no longer bothersome; the evening breeze still carried warmth, but now carried a faint scent of gardenias. The sketchbook in my hand felt light, yet a corner of my heart was filled to the brim, like a warm, cozy blanket after being dried in the sun.

Perhaps, the relationship between people is like the chirping of cicadas in summer; there may be brief silences, but they will always resound again at some unexpected moment, with an even more enthusiastic rhythm.

Perhaps some reconciliations don't require grand apologies; a glance, a gesture, or a simple "I understand you" is enough.

I turned around and slowly walked home. The streetlights cast long shadows, making me feel less alone, as if I were walking alongside someone. The iced tea in my pocket was still a little cold, and the cat in my sketchbook seemed to come alive under the light, smiling at me.

The summer of my first year of high school seems to be finally coming to an end.

My new story, filled with the sounds of cicadas and warmth, has only just begun.