A belated confession
Spring arrived unexpectedly at Peking University. The ice on Weiming Lake melted into shimmering waves, willow branches sprouted tender yellow buds, and the air was filled with the sweet fragrance of magnolias. I was walking along the path strewn with flower petals, clutching "Frontiers in Semiconductor Physics," which I had just borrowed from the library, when my phone suddenly vibrated. It was a message from Zheng Yiming: "Are you busy? There's something I want to tell you."
My finger hovered over the screen for a long time before I replied, "On my way to the lab, what's up?"
"I'll be waiting for you downstairs in your lab."
My heart skipped a beat for no reason, like willow branches swaying in the wind, making me a little flustered. As I walked into the physics department building, I saw Zheng Yiming standing by the magnolia tree downstairs, wearing a light gray hoodie, holding a brown paper envelope in his hand, his fingertips white, as if he were carrying some burning secret.
"What do you want?" I stood two steps away from him, deliberately keeping my distance. A spring breeze blew by, and magnolia petals fell on his shoulders like a sprinkle of snow.
He looked up at me, his eyes filled with emotions more complex than the ripples on a lake—tension, apprehension, and a desperate resolve. "Could we...find a place to talk?"
We walked slowly along the lake, silence spreading amidst the fragrance of flowers. He tried to speak several times, but the wind carried his voice away. It wasn't until we reached the familiar ginkgo tree—the place where we had collected books last autumn—that he stopped, turned around, and looked at me intently.
“Zhi Xia,” he took a deep breath, his voice trembling slightly, “from high school until now, I have made a lot of mistakes.”
I didn't say anything, I just looked at him. The wind on the lake ruffled my hair, and he subconsciously reached out to help me fix it, but his hand stopped halfway in mid-air and he eventually withdrew it, his fingertips repeatedly stroking the knot on the hoodie.
"In high school, I was too impatient and always tried to keep you in my own way, but I didn't realize that it was hurtful; later, I got close to Zhou Manqi because she always talked badly about you, and I wanted to find out how you really saw me, but it only hurt you more; I lost my temper with you on the basketball court because I was afraid that you really thought I liked someone else, afraid that you would completely abandon me..."
His voice grew softer and softer, as if he were confessing to himself, "I know these words are pale, the damage has been done, and an apology can't make up for it. But I still want to tell you that I haven't gone a single day without regret these past few years."
He handed me a thin, crumpled brown paper envelope. "Inside are... my diaries from the past few years, and some drawings I did for you."
I hesitated for a moment, but still took it. The envelope was light, yet it felt like it weighed a ton.
“After I went to college, I kept thinking, if I had been more mature back then, would I not have lost you?” He looked at me, his eyes softer than a spring breeze. “Seeing how well you are doing in the field of physics, seeing the paintings you made, I feel both proud and sad. Proud that you have become such an outstanding person, and sad that I am not the one by your side.”
Magnolia petals fell onto the envelope, as if they were telling him unfinished business. I held the edge of the envelope, my fingertips icy cold, but my heart felt like it was being burned by something, a dull ache.
“I know it’s presumptuous of me to say this now,” he said in a low, almost whispered voice, “but I still want to ask you… can you give me another chance? Not to go back to the past, but to start from now, to get to know each other again, to… come together again.”
The spring breeze suddenly stopped, and the ripples on the lake calmed down. It was as if the world consisted only of the expectation in his eyes and the pounding of my heart.
The sharp arguments, the cold silences, the tearing pain of high school, and the peace, growth, and relief of these past few years, play repeatedly in my mind like two interlaced film reels. I remember his outburst when he threw the knife, his earnestness as he hooked my pinky finger with his in the art gallery, his awkwardness as he helped me pick up my books in the lab, and his unease as he got his hair cut just now—this boy, clumsily navigating these years in his own way, carrying a body full of sharp edges and scars, has finally learned to bow his head and to be honest.
“Zheng Yiming,” I looked up at the light in his eyes, my voice very soft, “Do you know? I used to be very afraid of you.”
His eyes darkened, like the surface of a lake obscured by dark clouds.
“I’m afraid of your temper, afraid of your stubbornness, afraid that you’ll hurt me in the name of ‘it’s for my own good’,” I continued. “But listening to you say these things just now, I suddenly feel that you seem to have… really grown up.”
His eyes brightened, like sparks ignited. "I know I still have many shortcomings, but I will change. I will learn how to treat you well, how to respect your thoughts, and how... to stop making you afraid."
"Do you still remember that knife from high school?" I suddenly asked.
His face turned pale instantly, as if his deepest wound had been pierced. "I remember, I'll never forget it. That was the worst thing I ever did."
“It left a scar on my collarbone,” I gently touched the area, where the scar had long since faded to a light pink, “and it also left a hurdle in my heart. This hurdle is not one that can be crossed easily.”
His shoulders slumped, and the light in his eyes gradually faded, like a candle flame blown out by the wind. "I understand..."
“But I didn’t say no.” I looked at his eyes, which he raised instantly, and smiled. “Zheng Yiming, I can give you a chance, but not now.”
He froze, his eyes widening in surprise mixed with elation, like a child who had just received candy. "You mean..."
“We’re collaborators and friends now, which is good.” I handed the brown paper envelope back to him. “I can’t accept the diary and drawings for now. Give them to me when you really make me feel ‘it’s okay’.”
He took the envelope, his fingertips trembling violently, but nodded firmly: "Okay! I'll wait as long as it takes! I'll prove it to you!"
Spring breezes rise again, blowing down more magnolia petals, which fall on us like a gentle rain. He looks at me, his eyes brighter than the sunlight, and his smile is irrepressible, like the boy who waited for me at the alleyway after school in high school.
"Well... can I treat you to that tomato hotpot place?" he asked cautiously, "just to... celebrate us becoming friends again."
“Sure,” I said with a smile, “but this time it’s on me. I haven’t thanked you for your help with the paper publication yet.”
His ear tips turned red, like flower buds warmed by the spring breeze. "Then I'll invite you to an art exhibition next time. I heard there's a new exhibition at the National Art Museum of China."
"OK."
We walked side by side toward the cafeteria, magnolia petals carpeting our feet like a pink carpet, soft and gentle like walking on cotton candy. He didn't talk much, but he was always thoughtful in the little things—if he saw my hair being blown around by the wind, he would silently hand me a hair tie; if he saw the pebbles by the lake were slippery, he would instinctively reach out to protect me, but then pull his hand back before touching my arm.
As we approached the cafeteria entrance, Jiang Yi came out carrying two cups of soy milk. Seeing us, he smiled and waved, "What a coincidence?"
"Jiang Yi." Zheng Yiming's voice sounded a little unnatural, like a small animal suddenly seized by fighting spirit.
"Are you going to eat?" Jiang Yi handed me a cup of soy milk. "It's freshly made and still warm."
"Yeah, I'm planning to go eat tomato hot pot." I took the soy milk, the warmth spreading through my palm.
“I was just thinking of going too,” Jiang Yi smiled. “Would you mind if there were another person?”
Zheng Yiming's expression stiffened for a moment, then he nodded: "I don't mind."
As the three of us entered the cafeteria, sunlight streamed through the glass windows and shone brightly on the tables. Zheng Yiming rushed to queue up to order, specifically instructing the owner, "Make sure to add plenty of tomatoes to the tomato broth, and no cilantro." Jiang Yi sat opposite me, taking out his phone to show me photos he had just taken of the spring scenery of Weiming Lake; the willow branches in the photos were a vibrant, glossy green.
As I watched Zheng Yiming repeatedly turn back to look at my back in the line, and then looked at the gentle smile in Jiang Yi's eyes, I suddenly felt that spring had truly arrived.
It's not that all wounds can heal or all regrets can be made up for, but rather that those hurdles that you once thought you couldn't overcome will eventually fade with time; and those you once thought you lost may come back into your life in another way.
As for what the future holds, no one can say for sure. But at least for now, the spring breeze is gentle, the flowers are in full bloom, and we are all slowly moving closer to each other.
Just like the willow branches by the lake, after enduring the harshness of winter, they will eventually sprout new buds in spring, facing the wind and the light, growing gently.
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