Sunny Days and New Life

After New Year's Day, the snow gradually stopped, and sunlight filtered through the bare branches, casting dappled shadows on the ground, bringing a long-lost warmth. My relationship with Zheng Yiming, like the melting of ice in early spring, slowly returned to its most comfortable state through cautious testing.

He was no longer the boy who always wanted to "have it all." In the mornings, he would take a detour to wait for me at the alley entrance, carrying hot soy milk and sweet cakes. The sweet fragrance of osmanthus mixed with the morning light made it the best start to the day. In physics class, he would copy the most difficult problem onto a sticky note and secretly slip it to me, with a crooked smiley face drawn next to it and the words "You can definitely solve it." When art club activities ended late, he would stand downstairs at the art studio waiting for me, holding a thermos filled with ginger tea brewed by his mother, warming me from my throat all the way to my heart.

Lin Xi always said with a smile, "Zheng Yiming is protecting you like you're a fragile object."

I scolded her for talking nonsense, but inside I felt like I was carrying a little sun, shining brightly. The wounds inflicted by rumors and arguments slowly scabbed over and faded away in these small moments of warmth.

After being with him, I realized that happiness is contagious.

I used to think the sky was always gray and gloomy, and I even preferred cool colors when I painted. But now I've come to love bright yellows and warm oranges. My art teacher commented on my painting, saying, "There's finally light in Shen Zhixia's paintings."

Yes, there is light. It is the light brought by Zheng Yiming, and also the light that I have slowly rediscovered.

My mother probably noticed the change in me too. One evening, she came into my room and looked at the painting spread out on my desk—a sunflower, its golden petals facing the sun like a group of children chasing the light. "This painting is so beautiful," she said, picking it up with a hint of satisfaction in her eyes. "I've noticed you've been smiling a lot lately, is... something good happening?"

"Yes," I nodded, not hiding anything from her, "I get along well with my classmates, and I'm also getting better at drawing."

She didn't ask any more questions, but just patted my head, just like she did when I was little. "That's good, don't always keep it to yourself."

"I know."

Actually, what I want to say is that I no longer suffer from insomnia, and I no longer sit by the window with my knees drawn up at night, lost in thought; I no longer secretly hide my craft knife, and looking at the fading scars on my arm, I only feel fortunate; I even started trying to chat with my mother, talking about interesting things at school and the activities of the art club, and she listened very attentively, occasionally even laughing out loud.

This home, which once suffocated me, seems to be softening little by little.

On the last weekend before the final exams, Zheng Yiming took me to a sketching base in the suburbs. The winter fields were bare, yet they had a vast tranquility. In the distance, wisps of smoke rose from the villages, like a traditional Chinese ink painting.

We sat on the edge of the field. He leaned against me, holding a physics book but not looking at a single page; he just watched me draw. “You know what?” he suddenly said, his voice very soft, “The first time I saw you in the art studio, you were squatting on the ground crying, like a kitten soaked in the rain. I thought to myself, how could anyone be so sad?”

My hand holding the paintbrush paused for a moment, and I turned to look at him.

"Back then, I wanted to protect you, but I was afraid of being too forward, so I could only secretly hand you an eraser and lend you my notes." He smiled, his eyes shining brighter than the sunlight. "Now it's so good to be able to stand openly by your side."

I put down my paintbrush and leaned on his shoulder. The wind blew across the fields, carrying the crisp scent of earth, but I didn't feel cold. "Zheng Yiming," I whispered, "thank you."

Thank you for not turning away from me during my most difficult time. Thank you for knocking on my heart for so long when I had closed it off. Thank you for making me believe that I also deserve to be treated so gently.

He didn't say anything, but he gripped my hand tightly. The warmth of his palm seeped through my skin, steady and reassuring.

When the final exam results came out, I had improved by a full fifty places, and I even got an unprecedentedly high score in physics. The day I brought my report card home, my dad, unusually, didn't drink. He stared at my grades for a long time, then managed to say, "Not bad," but secretly added a fried egg for me in the kitchen.

The older brother also came over to look, scratched his head and said, "Sis, you're pretty good, better than I was back then."

The atmosphere at the dinner table was unusually harmonious. My mother's eyes were a little red, and she kept putting food on my plate, saying, "Eat more, it'll help your brain."

Looking at them, I suddenly realized that reconciliation isn't just about reconciling with others, but also with yourself. Reconciling with the self that was once prickly and rejected all warmth, reconciling with the self that always felt unloved and huddled in the darkness.

After the winter vacation started, Zheng Yiming took me to meet his grandparents. The two elderly people were very kind, holding my hand and asking me all sorts of questions. Grandma even gave me a red envelope, saying, "This is a gift for Yiming's girlfriend," which made me blush and my heart race.

As we left Grandpa's house, the setting sun cast a deep, warm glow, painting the sky a soft orange-pink. Zheng Yiming held my hand, and we walked slowly along the riverbank, the water beneath the ice shimmering in the sunlight.

“There’s a youth art exhibition after the New Year, and I’ve registered you for it,” he suddenly said.

"Huh? Can I do it?" I was a little flustered.

“Why not?” He stopped and looked at me seriously. “You draw so well, more people should see it.”

Looking into the trust in his eyes, I suddenly found courage. "Okay, I'll give it a try."

He smiled, like a child who had received candy, and suddenly bent down to gently kiss my forehead. It was very light, like a snowflake falling on my skin, yet it carried a burning warmth.

I stood there, my cheeks burning hot, my heart pounding in my chest like it was going to explode.

"Once your art exhibition is a success, I have an even bigger surprise for you," he said with a smile, a mysterious glint in his eyes.

"What surprise?"

"I won't tell you, it's a secret."

The river breeze carried a smile, making one's heart feel sweet. I looked at his profile, softened like a painting in the sunset, and suddenly realized that happiness could be so simple—having someone you love by your side, having something you're passionate about to do, gradually becoming a better version of yourself, and having a little bit of anticipation for the future.

Those hurdles that I once thought I couldn't overcome, those heart-wrenching pains in the dead of night, those days that I thought would never get better, all seem to have been soothed little by little by the sunshine and warmth this winter.

Just like getting better, isn't it?

The gloom in my body dissipated, the wounds in my heart healed, and even my breathing became lighter.

Zheng Yiming and I continued walking along the riverbank, our shadows stretched long by the setting sun, clinging tightly together as if we would never be apart again. In the distance, the sporadic sounds of firecrackers carried the scent of the New Year and the hope of new life.

I know that the road ahead is long and there may be storms, but as long as I have him by my side, and this courage and warmth that I'm slowly building up, there's nothing to be afraid of.

Because sunny days will always come, and new life is just around the corner. And I can finally walk towards my own light with a smile.