A Solo Journey
The June wind, carrying waves of heat, made everyone feel drowsy. The ceiling fan in the classroom creaked, unable to dispel the oppressive atmosphere. I lay on the desk working on math problems, my pen scratching across the scratch paper, my attention completely focused on the formulas—only in this way could I ignore the subtle glances around me.
Li Ting and Zhao Lin never contacted me again. They rejoined their old circle, deliberately avoiding me when they laughed and joked, as if I were a contagious virus. Occasionally, when we bumped into each other in the hallway, they would quickly lower their heads and hurry away, as if avoiding something unlucky.
That's fine. This way, we can keep to ourselves and avoid a lot of trouble.
The road I traveled alone was more difficult than I had imagined.
When I go to the cafeteria, the auntie always gives me an extra half spoonful of food, her eyes filled with pity; when I go to the water room, someone always suddenly walks away when I turn on the tap, leaving the room completely silent; even when I go to the art studio, the old man who manages the studio will ask, "Are you alone again today?"
Sympathy is more unbearable than mockery. It's like sprinkling sugar on a wound—sweet to the point of being cloying, but unable to cover up the pain underneath.
Zheng Yiming would occasionally appear at the studio door, holding a physics workbook, hesitating whether to come in. I would always turn my back to the door, pretending to be focused on drawing, and only dare to breathe a sigh of relief when his footsteps gradually faded away.
Some cracks, once they appear, can never be mended. His silence that day was like a thorn, deeply embedded in my heart, impossible to pull out or forget.
During the last self-study period before the final exams, my deskmate suddenly handed me a piece of candy: "Here, good luck."
It's orange flavored, just like the kind Zhang Ya used to always give me. I paused for a moment, then took the candy: "Thank you."
"Actually..." she scratched her head, a little embarrassed, "I was wrong before, I shouldn't have avoided you."
"It's okay." I unwrapped the candy, popped it into my mouth, and the sweetness spread across my tongue, bringing a long-lost warmth.
It turns out that not everyone will choose to stand on the opposite side.
On the day the exam ended, when I was packing my bag, I found a note in my desk drawer. It was in unfamiliar handwriting, neat and beautiful: "Don't worry about what others think. You did a great job on the physics problems. Keep it up!"
There was no signature, but a small smiley face was drawn in the corner of the note. I held the note, feeling a gentle, bittersweet feeling in my heart.
Stepping out of the teaching building, the sunlight was blinding. Zheng Yiming stood under a sycamore tree, holding two physics competition study guides. When he saw me, his eyes lit up, but he still didn't come over.
We exchanged a glance across the crowd, as if separated by a silent river. His lips moved as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, it turned into a faint smile, and he turned and left.
His silhouette stretched long in the sunlight, tall and straight, yet tinged with a touch of loneliness.
I looked away, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and slowly walked towards the alley entrance. My shadow stretched short, clinging to the ground, like a silent companion.
Passing by the stationery store, I noticed the star-shaped bottles in the window had a new design—sparkling and almost blinding. I stopped, looked at them for a moment, then turned and went inside, buying a brand-new notebook with a pure white cover, as clean as a sheet of paper.
On my way home, I slipped the unfamiliar note into my new notebook and took the blue star that Zheng Yiming had given me from the depths of the drawer, placing it in my palm.
The sharp edges of the stars hurt my palm a little, but they also carried a faint warmth.
Perhaps, that's just life. Some people leave, some stay, some hurt you, and there will always be someone secretly offering you a piece of candy.
You don't have to force everyone to understand you, and you don't have to be hard on yourself for not being able to keep anyone.
Like now, walking alone in the sunlight, clutching a tiny star in my hand, I feel lonely, yet at peace.
On the first day of summer vacation, I organized all my textbooks and notebooks and put them in a cardboard box. Then I took out my new notebook and wrote on the first page: "Chen Zhixia, draw well and live well."
The cicadas chirped incessantly outside the window, and sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled shadows. I sat at my desk, spread out my drawing paper, picked up my brush, and dipped it in bright yellow.
The road ahead may still be difficult, and I may encounter hurt and betrayal, but at least for now, I can hold a paintbrush and paint a patch of light for myself.
A light that belongs only to me, a light that will never go out.
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