Winter Sun and Heartbeat

The December wind swirled up snowflakes, coating the roof of the teaching building with a thin layer of white. The sounds of students reciting their lessons during morning reading mingled with their breath, creating a scene like a steaming ink painting. I pulled my scarf up to cover half my face, listening to Lin Xi chatter on about last night's New Year's Eve party planning, my pen scribbling cute little patterns in my notebook—Meng Meng taught me that, saying it would make notes less boring.

It has been a full forty days since I last spoke with Zheng Yiming.

In the forty days that followed, the results of the physics competition came out. I won second prize, and he won first prize. At the award ceremony, we nodded to each other across the crowd, like two familiar strangers. In the forty days that followed, I joined the school's art club with Lin Xi and the others, and went to the art studio to paint every Wednesday afternoon. My days were fulfilling and lively. In the forty days that followed, Li Zichen transferred to the class next door. I heard that his father had pulled some strings. Although we were still in the same school, he never appeared in my sight again.

Those hurts that I once thought would be unforgettable seem to have faded away with time. Like the snow in winter, it may seem thick, but it will melt away little by little when the sun comes out, revealing the clean earth underneath.

"Zhixia, what are you daydreaming about?" Lin Xi nudged me with her elbow. "Are you really going to perform a sketch at the New Year's Eve party tonight?"

“Hmm,” I nodded and handed her the small drawing I had made. “Just draw the scene. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

"Wow, that's amazing!" Meng Meng leaned closer to look, her eyes sparkling. "I'll be your model and strike the coolest pose!"

“No way,” I laughed and pushed her away. “If you move, my drawing will become abstract.”

The laughter in the classroom drew the attention of the students in the front row. Zheng Yiming was sitting in the front row by the window. He seemed to be startled by the laughter, turned his head slightly, and his gaze inadvertently swept over us.

My heart skipped a beat, like ripples spreading across a lake after a pebble hit it. But I quickly calmed down, and as usual, I naturally looked away and continued chatting and laughing with Lin Xi and the others.

Forty days is enough time for me to learn to hide that flutter in my heart, like hiding a seed in winter, thinking it will never sprout again.

During an art club activity class, I was sketching a still life when Mengmeng suddenly nudged my arm and gestured towards the door with her chin: "Look who's here."

I looked up and saw Zheng Yiming standing at the entrance of the studio, wearing a clean white down jacket and holding a folder in his hand. His eyes scanned the studio before finally landing on me, like a ship that had found its target.

The art teacher greeted him with a smile: "Zheng Yiming? Looking for Zhixia?"

He nodded, his ears turning slightly red: "Teacher, may I borrow her to say a few words? About... the review of the questions she got wrong in the previous competition."

The reason was lame, but no one called it out. Lin Xi winked at me and mouthed "Go for it!" I put down my paintbrush, wiped my hands on my apron, and followed him out of the studio.

The corridor was quiet, with only the sound of the wind outside the window. He walked half a step ahead of me, his back looking exceptionally tall in the snowy light, yet carrying a hint of barely perceptible unease.

"Is there something you need?" I stopped in the stairwell and spoke first. My tone was calm, as if I were asking an ordinary classmate.

He turned around, his hand gripping the folder tightly, his knuckles white. "The questions I got wrong in the competition..." He paused, as if he had suddenly forgotten what he was going to say, his eyes darted around for a moment, but finally he looked up at me seriously, "No, I'm here to see you because I have something else to discuss."

Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on his face, making his eyelashes look like they were covered in tiny starlight. He took a deep breath, as if making a huge decision: "Zhi Xia, I've thought a lot these past month."

“I know I was wrong last time.” His voice was soft, but it carried an unprecedented solemnity. “I shouldn’t have spoken up for Li Zichen when you were wronged, I shouldn’t have said you were ‘making a mountain out of a molehill,’ and I shouldn’t have… chosen to back down when you needed me the most.”

I didn't say anything, I just looked at him. The wind in the corridor was chilly, making my nose turn red.

“These past few days, I’ve watched you laugh and paint with Lin Xi and the others. I know you’re doing well, but I still… feel so sad.” His eyes were filled with regret and disappointment, like a child who had done something wrong. “I regret it, Zhi Xia. I regret not standing firmly by your side, I regret making you suffer so much, and I regret… not being able to say a single word to you these past forty days.”

The clock in the stairwell ticked away, striking the silent air and also striking my heart.

“I know it might be a little late to say this now.” He took a small step forward, closing the distance, and I could smell the faint scent of mint on him, mixed with the crispness of snow. “But I still want to tell you that I fell in love with you the first time I saw you painting in the studio. It wasn’t just a passing fancy; it was a very serious kind of liking.”

"I love the way you furrow your brow when you solve physics problems, I love the way you focus when you draw, I love your occasional stubbornness, and even... I love the way you glare at me when I make you angry." His voice grew softer and clearer, like a feather gently brushing against the heart. "I know I didn't do well before, but I promise I won't. I will learn to stand firmly by your side, learn to protect you, learn... to be someone you can trust."

He took a drawing out of his folder and handed it to me. It wasn't a cat, but a sketch of me—sitting by the window in my studio, sunlight falling on the paper, a faint smile on my lips. It wasn't perfect, but it captured the most tender moment.

"This is what I drew over the past month or so." He was a little embarrassed, his ears as red as ripe cherries. "I drew many, but this is the best."

In the lower right corner of the painting, the date was written in very small print—the very day our Cold War began. It turns out that during those forty days, he too was recording this silent period in his own way.

My heart suddenly started pounding wildly, like a dandelion seed scattered by the wind, unable to find a place to land. Those flutters I had deliberately suppressed deep inside, those feelings I thought were long frozen, were slowly awakening in his earnest gaze, in this clumsy yet sincere painting.

"I know you might still be angry, and you might not trust me yet." He looked at me, his eyes filled with cautious expectation. "But I still want to ask you, could you... give me another chance?"

The snow was still falling, pattering softly against the windowpane. The corridor was dimly lit, but the light in his eyes was clearly visible, like stars in a winter night, so bright it was impossible to look away.

I remembered the first time he handed me an eraser in the art studio, the way he stood in front of Li Zichen for me, the awkwardness when he gave me osmanthus cake, and the disappointment when he stood on the opposite side of me... All those good, bad, warm, and cold moments flashed through my mind like movie clips, finally settling on his tense and serious face.

Perhaps that's just how people are; they're always exceptionally forgiving of those who have illuminated their lives. It's like forgetting how painful the scars were, only remembering the ray of light that shone through after the wounds had healed.

“Zheng Yiming,” I sniffed, my voice trembling slightly, but with a smile I didn’t even realize myself, “the drawing… is quite lifelike.”

He paused for a moment, seemingly not understanding what I meant.

I reached out and gently took the painting. My fingertips touched his, and it felt like a faint electric current ran through me. "What I mean is," I looked up at his surprised eyes, a smile involuntarily spreading across my face, "I can give you an opportunity."

His eyes lit up instantly, like fireworks suddenly ignited, so dazzling that it was impossible to look away. "Really?"

"Really." I nodded, and in a corner of my heart, it felt like spring had arrived early, the snow was melting, and tender buds were breaking through the soil.

He suddenly reached out and gently hugged me. His movements were light, almost tentative, as if he were afraid of breaking some precious treasure. "Thank you, Zhixia," he said, his voice muffled, tinged with emotion, "Thank you...for not giving up on me."

I nestled in his arms, able to hear his strong heartbeat, like a drumbeat breaking the winter's silence. The wind was still blowing in the corridor, but it didn't seem so cold anymore.

Maybe there will be arguments, misunderstandings, and moments when we "forget the pain once the wound heals." But right now, being held so tightly by him, listening to his frantic yet sincere heartbeat, I suddenly feel that none of that matters.

After all, liking someone means being willing to give them a chance, and also being willing to give yourself a chance. It means being willing to believe that the bad things will pass, and that the good things are just beginning.

When school was over, Lin Xi and Meng Meng saw Zheng Yiming and me walking out of the school building together, and immediately surrounded us with smiles: "Confess and you'll be treated leniently! Have you two made up?"

Zheng Yiming's ears turned red, but he naturally took my hand, looked up at them, and smiled like a child who had received candy: "Yes, we're together now."

The golden rays of the setting sun pierced through the clouds and fell warmly on our clasped hands. Looking at his profile, I suddenly felt that this winter didn't seem so cold anymore.

It turns out that some feelings of being moved are like the winter sun. Even if it is long overdue, even if it has been covered by dark clouds, as long as it is willing to rise again, it can still illuminate the whole world and warm all the waiting time.