Cleared list
When I got home, the straps of my backpack were digging into my shoulders, but my fingers were even more numb—I had gripped them so tightly that my nails were almost digging into my palms. The curtains were drawn in the room, making it as dark as dusk, and my phone screen was lit up, reflecting my bloodshot eyes.
I opened WeChat, and the pinned name "Zheng Yiming" stung my eyes. Clicking into the chat, the last message was still his from that morning: "It's getting colder today, wear more clothes." Back then, I felt a little warmth; now, it just feels ironic. My finger hovered over the "Delete Contact" button, paused for three seconds, and then pressed it hard.
Without hesitation, and without looking back.
Then came Li Ting and Zhao Lin. Their profile pictures were still lit up, and they were probably still posting about their "grievances" from today on their WeChat Moments, along with the red marks I'd scratched on their arms. I used to think their smiles were sweet, but now all I remember is the sarcastic look on their faces when they talked about their grandfathers. The chat still had records of our plans to buy pens together last week. I scrolled up through the messages, until I reached the one where they said, "Zhixia, your grandfather's cookies are so delicious," and suddenly my stomach churned.
Long press to delete the contact. Then find the call log and drag their number into the blacklist. The movements are as fast as completing a task, but inside, I feel empty, as if something has been hollowed out, and a cold wind is blowing in.
My phone suddenly vibrated. It was a text message from an unknown number. I opened it and saw it was from Zheng Yiming: "Where did you go? I couldn't find you in the office."
I stared at that line of text for half a minute, then blocked the number.
My contacts list suddenly has a huge empty space, like a piece of flesh has been ripped out. I used to always complain that the list was too full and there were too many messages, but now it's completely empty, and there's not even anyone I can send a "goodnight" to.
I drew back the curtains; it was already pitch black outside, and the streetlights were on, casting hazy yellow glows. On my desk were the physics notes Zheng Yiming had lent me, the stickers Li Ting had given me, and the star-shaped bottle Zhao Lin and I had put together—these things suddenly seemed out of place.
I stuffed the notebook into the bottom of the bookshelf, weighing it down with old books; I tore off the stickers one by one, crumpled them into balls, and threw them in the trash; I hesitated for a moment, then put the star-shaped bottle into the storage box and tucked it into the deepest part under the bed. After doing all this, the room was eerily quiet, with only the sound of my own breathing and the hollow beating of my heart in my chest.
Mom pushed the door open and came in, carrying a cup of hot milk: "Why aren't the lights on?"
"I forgot." I placed my phone face down on the table, not wanting her to see my red eyes.
"How was school today?" She put down the milk and patted my head. "Your homeroom teacher called to say you had a little conflict with a classmate. Are you okay?"
"It's nothing," I said with a forced smile. "We just had a few words in our mouths, but it's all over now."
She didn't ask any more questions, but just sighed: "If you feel wronged, tell your mother, don't keep it to yourself."
"Um."
After Mom left, I picked up the milk, the warm liquid sliding down my throat, but it couldn't warm the coldness in my heart. I opened my phone, scrolled to Grandpa's number, and saw that profile picture that would never light up again. Suddenly, my nose stung with tears.
I used to complain to my grandpa that "having too many friends is such a hassle," and he would always laugh and say, "It's good to be troubled, it means you're being remembered. You'll only feel lonely when no one bothers you anymore."
Only now do I realize that being remembered is a good thing, but being stabbed in the back is a truly painful experience.
The phone screen went dark, revealing my own face, my eyes red-rimmed like a rabbit drenched in rain. I turned off my phone, lay down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling with my eyes open.
From now on, I'll probably be all alone. I won't have to wait for anyone's messages anymore, I won't have to accommodate anyone's schedule, and I won't have to worry about saying the wrong thing and making someone angry.
That should make things easier... right?
But why did the tears fall? They landed on the pillow, leaving a small wet patch, like a star that no one cared about.
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