Classroom in early autumn
The September wind carried a chill, blowing down a few sycamore leaves that swirled in the corridor. On the first day of school, the classroom was filled with the scent of new books during morning reading time, and the sound of students reading aloud carried a lingering sense of summer's languor.
I opened my physics textbook. On the title page, there were still Zheng Yiming's notes on solving problems. His handwriting was neat and tidy, just like him, exuding a seriousness. My deskmate leaned over and pointed to the cat drawing in my notebook: "Did you draw this? It's so cute!"
"No, it was a gift from a friend." I smiled, moved the notebook back a little, and felt a little embarrassed.
"Is it Zheng Yiming?" She winked. "Someone saw you two going to the art museum together during the summer vacation."
My face flushed. I neither admitted nor denied it, but just lowered my head and pretended to read a book, while my ears quietly turned red.
As expected, Zheng Yiming appeared at the classroom door after morning reading ended. He was holding a stack of physics competition registration forms. When he saw me, his eyes lit up: "Have you filled out the registration forms? They're due today."
"It's filled out." I took the registration form out of my bag and handed it to him. My fingertips accidentally touched his again, and it felt like a faint electric current ran through me.
"Let me see." He took the form, carefully checked the information, and suddenly frowned. "There's a missing item here. You can write 'none' for competition experience, but you can't leave it blank."
"Oh, I'm sorry." I took the form and took out a pen to fill it in, but the pen tip was trembling a little.
He didn't urge me, he just stood there waiting, his gaze fixed on my hand holding the pen, as if he were looking at something rare. Some classmates around us teased, "Zheng, the top student, are you just waiting for Chen Zhixia?"
His ears turned red, but he didn't look away: "She filled out the form the most carefully."
When I handed him the completed form, he suddenly said, "Want to go to the art studio after school? I brought some competition problems and I'd like to discuss them with you."
"Okay." I nodded, my heart pounding a little fast in my chest.
The entire morning's classes felt like walking on cotton, a little unreal. In math class, I actually answered the teacher's questions fluently and accurately, even the teacher gave me a second look; in English dictation, the few words I always got wrong were all correct today. My deskmate patted me on the shoulder and said, "Zhixia, did you secretly take extra classes during the summer vacation? You're in such good shape."
I smiled but didn't say anything. Only I knew that the once frozen lake in my heart was being melted little by little, and my thoughts were becoming clearer as a result.
When I went to the cafeteria at noon, Lin Xi and Meng Meng had already reserved seats. When they saw me, they waved enthusiastically: "Over here!"
On the table was my favorite sweet and sour pork. Lin Xi pushed the plate over: "I got this for you. I know you like this."
"Thank you." I sat down, feeling a warm glow inside.
"Where's Zheng Yiming?" Meng Meng looked around. "We were supposed to have dinner together."
“He went to get the soup.” Lin Xi blinked and leaned close to my ear. “He said you have a sensitive stomach, so he asked the aunt to serve you extra hot soup.”
My face started to burn again. I lowered my head and ate my rice, but the sweet and sour pork tasted especially sweet today.
Zheng Yiming brought over two bowls of soup and placed one in front of me. It contained red dates and goji berries: "Auntie said this is good for the stomach."
"Thank you," I said softly, not daring to look at him.
"Eat quickly, it won't taste good if it gets cold." His smile was like the early autumn sun, not dazzling, but warm enough.
The classmates around us looked at us with a hint of amusement, but no malice, like they were watching two clumsy little animals approaching. Li Ting and Zhao Lin sat not far away, occasionally glancing in our direction with complicated expressions, but they said nothing more. Perhaps they also understood that some things, once lost, can never be regained.
In the afternoon physics class, the teacher was explaining uniform circular motion. I used to think it was all very complicated and like gibberish, but today I understood it much better. Zheng Yiming was sitting diagonally in front of me, and he would occasionally turn around to look at me with encouraging eyes, as if to say, "See, it's not that hard, is it?"
When the school bell rang, I practically jumped for joy as I packed my bag. When I got to the art studio, Zheng Yiming was already there, with competition questions spread out on his drawing board and two bottles of hot milk next to him, still steaming.
"You're here?" He looked up and smiled. "Drink some milk first to warm your hands."
The studio window was open, and the autumn breeze carried the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms, mingling with the sweet scent of milk, like a gentle song. We sat in front of the easel, discussing each problem one by one. He spoke slowly when explaining the problems, always finding the simplest approach. He listened intently to my occasional questions, his eyes sparkling as if he were appreciating some precious idea.
The setting sun streamed through the window, casting soft shadows on his face. His eyelashes were long, and the lines of his profile were as gentle as a painting. Looking at his focused expression, I suddenly felt that moments like these were truly precious.
There were no arguments, no hurt, no messy suspicions, only two shadows very close together and the rustling sound of pens scratching across paper.
By the time they finished discussing the last problem, it was already dark. Zheng Yiming packed his things and said, "I'll take you home."
"No need, I can manage on my own..."
“It’s getting dark, it’s not safe.” He interrupted me, his tone carrying an undeniable insistence, “Just take me to the alley entrance.”
I didn't refuse again and followed him out of the studio. The corridor was empty, with only the sound of our footsteps, which was particularly clear in the silence.
As we reached the alley entrance, the streetlights came on, casting long shadows. "Tomorrow..." Zheng Yiming suddenly spoke, a little hesitant, "How about we go buy soy milk together tomorrow morning? There's a new shop at the alley entrance; they say it's really good."
I looked at him; his eyes shone brightly under the streetlights, like they held stars. "Okay," I heard myself say, a smile in my voice that I didn't even realize I was making.
He visibly relaxed and smiled like a child who had just received candy: "Then I'll wait for you at the alley entrance at seven o'clock tomorrow."
"Um."
Watching his departing figure, I stood there, touching the milk bottle in my pocket; it was still warm. An autumn breeze carried the fragrance of osmanthus blossoms, and it seemed as if tiny sprouts were beginning to emerge from the once barren place in my heart.
So this is what it feels like to be remembered and treated with care. Like the early autumn sun, not scorching, but able to gradually dispel the chill in your heart.
I turned around and slowly walked home. The milk bottle in my pocket pressed against my palm, warm and slightly itchy. What will tomorrow's soy milk taste like? Probably... sweet.
The autumn of my first year of high school seemed to arrive more gently than in previous years.
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