Whistling in the winter night
The December wind felt like needles chilled to the bone, stinging my face.
Luo Yan tightened her scarf even more, almost burying half her face in it. When she pushed open the back door of the auditorium with a "creak," a deafening cacophony surged out like a tide, mixed with off-key singing in the choir, the noise of instruments being tuned, and the sharp whistles of teachers trying to maintain order.
She arrived too late.
The auditorium was already packed like a sardine can. Luo Yan peeked inside through the door frame. The crowd was dense and the warm air smelled of sweat, the plastic smell of snack bags, and the faint, sweet accompaniment music coming from the direction of the stage.
She frowned, showing little interest in squeezing in, and instead dragged the folding chair she had brought, turned a corner, and walked towards the empty concrete area on the side of the auditorium.
Here, in the shade, the snow hadn't completely melted, gleaming coldly under the dim streetlights. The wind whipped up snowflakes that stung her face, yet Luo Yan inexplicably felt more comfortable than in the auditorium. She steadied a chair in the corner, curled up in it, rested her chin on her knees, and stared listlessly at the scattered lights on the distant teaching building.
"How boring," she thought. Every year it's the same shows, singing and dancing, noisy and chaotic, leaving a mess afterward, like a grand but meaningless carnival.
She has never been interested in such group activities.
After an unknown amount of time, a clear whistle suddenly broke the silence of the night.
It wasn't a short, sharp whistle used to attract attention, but a soothing, somewhat nonchalant melody, like a stream slowly flowing through a crack in the rocks. Luo Yan looked in the direction of the sound and saw a boy leaning against the shadows on the other side of the auditorium door.
He had his back to her, his figure blurred by the night, only the slight rise and fall of his chest when he whistled was clearly visible. The whistle wasn't loud; in fact, it was quite pleasant, inexplicably brightening Luo Yan's somewhat gloomy mood.
It turns out she wasn't the only one who thought it was boring.
Luo Yan didn't move, but quietly kept her gaze fixed on that figure's back. The wind blew through the camphor trees beside them, the remaining withered leaves on the branches rustling, mingling with the off-key yet strangely captivating whistling, creating a strange harmony. Luo Yan could even imagine his expression at that moment—probably with his eyes slightly lowered and a hint of nonchalant laziness at the corners of his mouth.
She was somewhat lost in thought when the boy seemed to realize something, suddenly stopped whistling, and slowly turned around.
The streetlights only illuminated half of the boy's face.
Luo Yan noticed that the stray hairs on his forehead were ruffled by the night wind, and his eyes were bright, as if filled with starlight, looking at her with a hint of inquiry.
Luo Yan was like a child caught doing something wrong, instinctively trying to hide herself even more. But it was too late.
The boy seemed to pause for a moment, then gave a somewhat nonsensical smile and walked towards her. The sound of his footsteps was exceptionally clear on the empty concrete ground, each step like a tapping on Luo Yan's heartbeat.
"Alone?" He stopped a few steps away from her, his voice clearer than Luo Yan had imagined, carrying the unique clarity of a young man.
Luo Yan didn't say anything, but just looked up at him.
The boy didn't mind her silence and sat down next to her in her folding chair. "The performance inside," he said with a smirk, "I bet five cents that the next act will be another chorus of 'Youth Commemorative Album'."
Luo Yan couldn't help but laugh.
The boy continued to complain: "I don't understand, they sing this every year, don't they get tired of it? I'm tired of it too." As he spoke, he even imitated the exaggerated gestures used during the chorus.
Luo Yan laughed again.
"You think it's boring too, right?" The boy turned his head to look at her, and the light from the street lamp fell right into his eyes, like a pool of shattered gold.
Luo Yan nodded in response.
"Aren't you bored? Sitting here all alone." He crossed his legs and unconsciously kicked at the snowflakes on the ground with his toes.
Luo Yan was used to being alone and didn't know how to answer. After thinking for a while, she casually came up with an excuse: "I'm not bored, I can go back to the classroom."
The boy glanced at her thoughtfully, his gaze lingering for a moment on the sketchbook bag she had placed at her feet before quickly looking away. "You look familiar. You're an art student, right? Didn't we meet during the high school entrance exam training?"
Luo Yan stared at him for a while. His face did have a vague sense of familiarity, but she had no recollection of where she had seen him before. So she honestly shook her head: "No recollection."
"Haha," the boy wasn't embarrassed by the rejection; instead, he laughed even more freely. "I remember you were the third one, right? Back then, the teacher always said you were talented."
Luo Yan didn't expect him to remember so clearly. During the art training camp before the high school entrance exam, there were many people and a lot of chatter. Facing those plaster statues and still lifes that she wasn't interested in, she only felt tormented and hardly paid attention to the people around her.
She nodded slightly, which was taken as acknowledgment.
"Song Tian." The boy extended his hand generously, his palm dry and warm.
Luo Yan hesitated for a moment. She was never good at dealing with the enthusiasm of strangers, but seeing the open smile in Song Tian's eyes, she swallowed back the words of refusal that were on the tip of her tongue. She hesitantly reached out her hand and gently shook it: "Luo Yan."
“Luo Yan…” Song Tian repeated her name in a low voice.
The two remained silent for a moment. The music from the auditorium drifted out faintly; it was "Youth Commemorative Album," the song Song Tian had previously criticized. The cloyingly sweet melody, floating in the winter night, didn't sound so bad after all.
Song Tian suddenly turned around and glanced in the direction of the noisy auditorium, pursed his lips, and muttered to himself, "This is really boring."
Luo Yan didn't reply, but instead lowered her head and rubbed the snow on the ground with her toes.
“I said,” Song Tian suddenly leaned closer, his voice low and urging, “why don’t we go home?”
Luo Yan was startled and looked up at him: "What?"
"I said—" Song Tian drawled, suddenly leaning close to her ear, his warm breath brushing against her earlobe, making her tingle, "Let's sneak home."
His voice was soft, like a feather brushing against her heart. Luo Yan shrank back, creating some distance, and said in a flat tone, "No."
"Why?" Song Tian pressed.
"Do you think the security guards are idiots?" Luo Yan rolled her eyes at him, annoyed. It was the most exciting time of the performance, and the security guards at the school gate were probably watching closely. How could they let them slip out like that?
Song Tian choked for a moment, touched his nose, and muttered softly, "I checked everything when I came in; the guardhouse light wasn't on, so there's definitely no one here..."
Luo Yan ignored him and turned her gaze back to the distant lights.
Song Tian, however, seemed to have become interested and began to chatter on and on, offering suggestions: "How about we climb over the wall from the playground? I know a place where the wall isn't very high... or..."
His voice was like a little sparrow, chirping away, but surprisingly not annoying. As Luo Yan listened, the corners of her mouth couldn't help but turn up slightly again.
Just then, an even louder cheer erupted from the auditorium, seemingly indicating that one of the performances had reached its climax. Song Tian's eyes lit up, and he jumped up: "Quick, let's go! Once the performance ends and there are too many people, we won't be able to escape!"
"Huh?" Before Luo Yan could react, Song Tian grabbed her wrist.
His palms were very hot, with the unique warmth and strength of a young man, so hot that Luo Yan's wrist went numb and she almost dropped her sketchbook.
"Hey!" she whispered, trying to break free, but Song Tian pulled her forward.
"Stop talking nonsense, it's too late!" Song Tian turned around and smiled at her, his eyes shining brightly in the night. "Trust me!"
Luo Yan was being dragged along by him, and she felt the ground beneath her feet shaking. Song Tian's strides were long and fast, and Luo Yan was almost half-dragged along as they stumbled through the path beside the auditorium and ran towards the school gate.
The wind whistled in her ears, carrying the chill of snow, but Luo Yan's heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would burst out of her chest, and her face was burning hot. She could smell the faint scent of laundry detergent on Song Tian, mixed with a touch of the unique coolness of winter, which smelled strangely pleasant.
The security room at the school gate was indeed dark.
Song Tian pulled her to the school gate, looked around to make sure no one was there, then let go of her hand and proudly raised his chin: "See? I told you no one was there. The security cameras weren't even on."
Luo Yan was bent over, panting heavily, her chest heaving. She glared at Song Tian: "If the surveillance cameras were on, we'd be dead by now."
"It's not that exaggerated." Song Tian chuckled. "Don't be angry, how about I treat you to a late-night snack? How about that wonton stall near the school gate?"
Luo Yan instinctively wanted to refuse, but when she looked up and saw the sincere smile in Song Tian's eyes, she stopped herself from saying anything.
In the end, she simply gave a soft "hmm".
That night, the wontons were steaming hot, with the savory aroma of bone broth, dispelling the chill of the winter night. Song Tian sat opposite her, blowing on the steam as he told her funny stories from the training camp, how he drew the model's nose crooked and got scolded by the teacher, and how he secretly drew girls from the next class in his sketchbook.
Luo Yan mostly just listened, occasionally interjecting a word or two.
She found Song Tian to be a very interesting person, like a little sun, bringing light and warmth wherever he went. As for herself, she was like a plant used to staying in the shade, suddenly being illuminated by this light, feeling somewhat at a loss, yet unable to resist wanting to get closer.
From then on, Luo Yan began to subconsciously pay attention to Song Tian. She learned that he was in the next class and that he had chosen art.
This discovery was like a pebble thrown into a still lake, creating ripples in her heart. She began to look forward to bumping into him while fetching water, to seeing him on her way to the art studio, and to him suddenly appearing before her like that night, smiling and greeting her.
What truly changed their relationship was an evening when it was drizzling.
Luo Yan came out of the art studio; it was already dark. Fine rain was falling, its coolness tickling her face. She hadn't brought an umbrella and was hesitating whether to run back or wait for the rain to stop when she saw Song Tian holding a large black umbrella, standing under the sycamore tree at the entrance of the art studio, waiting for her.
Seeing her come out, Song Tian immediately smiled and said, "I knew you were about to come out."
Luo Yan was somewhat surprised: "You were waiting for me?"
“Hmm,” Song Tian nodded, tilting the umbrella mostly towards her. “I guessed you didn’t bring an umbrella, so I came to wait for you. Let’s go, I’ll take you back to your dorm.”
The space under the umbrella was cramped, and the two were very close. Luo Yan could smell the familiar, faint scent of laundry detergent on Song Tian, and feel the warmth of his arm when it occasionally touched her. The rain pattered softly on the umbrella, like a gentle song.
When they reached the dormitory building, the rain hadn't stopped. Song Tian handed her the umbrella: "Take this umbrella and use it first. I can run fast, so getting a little wet won't hurt me."
Luo Yan paused for a moment: "And what about you?"
Song Tian smiled and pointed to the boys' dormitory with lights on not far away, "I live over there, it's very close, I'll be there in no time."
Looking at his rain-soaked hair and the outstretched hand with its distinct knuckles, Luo Yan felt a surge of inexplicable emotion. She took the umbrella and whispered, "Thank you."
"You're welcome," Song Tian waved his hand, turned and rushed into the rain. After running a few steps, he turned back and waved to her again, "Remember to return my umbrella tomorrow!"
Luo Yan stood there, watching his figure disappear into the rain, holding the umbrella that still carried his warmth in her hand. Her heart felt filled with something warm and cozy.
After that, Luo Yan and Song Tian's relationship quickly warmed up.
They would go to the art studio together, eat together in the cafeteria, and take walks together on the playground after evening self-study. Song Tian would hand the basketball to Luo Yan and ask her to hold it for him while he played basketball on the court; Luo Yan would listen attentively as he talked about painting.
Luo Yan originally thought that her high school life would continue like this, passing by peacefully with a hint of secret anticipation amidst Song Tian's laughter.
Until the subject selection in March.
The art program at Lin'an No. 1 High School only offers humanities options. Song Tian, however, chose the art program without hesitation.
When the homeroom teacher spoke with Luo Yan, he earnestly advised her: "Luo Yan, your academic grades are good. You could get into a good university by choosing science. Why do you insist on going down the path of art? Art is expensive, and the job market is narrow in the future..."
Luo Yan lowered her head, her fingers tightly gripping the hem of her clothes, and remained silent.
She wasn't unaware of these principles. Now, for her, painting wasn't just a hobby; it represented her mother's expectations and the direction Song Tian was heading. She remembered the whistling that winter night, the pounding of Song Tian's heart as he pulled her along the campus, the warmth emanating from him in the cramped space under the umbrella…
She wanted to be in the same class as Song Tian, to see his smiling face every day, and to walk on the same path with him.
So when her homeroom teacher asked her again, "Have you thought it through?" Luo Yan looked up and said, "Teacher, I've thought it through. I want to choose art."
As the memories receded like the tide, Luo Yan was sitting in the science classroom, with the still scorching September sun shining through the window.
She took out her diary and turned to the latest page. A blurry profile was drawn on it—the boy with the "stunningly handsome" face she'd bumped into that noon. Next to it was a line of small print: "A shooting star in broad daylight, and a face I can't forget."
She paused, her pen poised, as she thought of Song Tian again.
I remember the starlight in his eyes that night of the New Year's Day performance, the warmth of him pulling her along as he ran, the smile on his face when he handed her the umbrella...
My heart felt like it had been gently stung by something; it hurt a little, but it was also a little itchy.
Luo Yan closed her diary and tucked it deep inside the desk.
"Let bygones be bygones," she told herself.
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