Farewell to Midsummer
In July, when the cicadas were at their loudest, the countdown clock on the back wall of the classroom was taken down, leaving a pale white mark, like a trace gnawed by time. I put the last physics notebook into the cardboard box, my fingertips tracing the cover—it was a sunflower I had drawn myself, its golden petals pointing towards the upper right corner, as if chasing something.
"Zhi Xia, there's another one of your paintings here!" Meng Meng ran over carrying a roll of canvas. It was "Light by the Window," the painting that won an award at the city art exhibition. The boy's back in the painting was gilded by the sunlight. I used to think he looked like Zheng Yiming, but now I think he looks more like each of us chasing the light.
"Thanks." I took the canvas and carefully rolled it up.
Lin Xi lay on her desk and sighed at the half-empty classroom: "How fast time flies, graduation is just around the corner."
Yes, that's fast.
In the autumn of my first year of high school, I hid in the art studio and cried, feeling like the sky was falling. In the winter of my second year, the wound on my collarbone throbbed, and I thought I would never escape that gloom. But now, standing in the midsummer sunshine, looking at my packed luggage, I suddenly realize that those hurdles I thought I couldn't overcome have long been left far behind.
I tucked the physics competition's top prize certificate into my art collection, lying side by side with the art exhibition's award certificate. What I once thought was a path where I could only choose one, I've discovered allows me to forge my own path step by step—capable of solving complex electromagnetic fields while also painting gentle sunsets.
"Have you heard? Zheng Yiming got accepted into Tsinghua or Peking University without taking the entrance exam." The students in the back row were talking. "A spot on the national physics team, that's amazing."
The tape in my hand snapped with a "snap" and stuck to my fingertip. As I looked up, Zheng Yiming was passing by in the corridor, carrying a black backpack, the top two buttons of his school uniform collar undone, like any teenager about to embark on a journey to a distant place.
Our eyes met briefly in mid-air.
He stopped and looked at me from half a classroom away, something flickering in his eyes like the surface of a lake rippling in the wind. I smiled at him, a gentle smile, like a summer breeze.
He smiled, a slight curve appearing at the corners of his mouth, then turned and walked away with light steps.
There were no superfluous words, no unfinished regrets, like two perfectly crafted lines of poetry, gently concluding at the end.
On graduation day, the sun was blindingly bright. The principal spoke on stage, saying, "Youth never ends," while students below signed each other's school uniforms. The sound of pens scratching against the fabric, mixed with the chirping of cicadas, became the most lively background noise.
The back of Zheng Yiming's school uniform was covered with signatures. I found a small blank space in the corner, hesitated for a moment, and wrote "Wishing you a bright future." My handwriting was neater than usual.
When he took the pen, his fingertips brushed against mine like two lotus leaves that accidentally touched before quickly separating. "I've looked at your art collection," he suddenly said.
"Um?"
“That last painting, ‘Facing the Sun,’ is very good.” He looked at me, his eyes shining brightly, like the sunlight of a whole summer. “It’s better than all the previous paintings.”
I know he wasn't talking about technique. There were no specific people in that painting, only a vast expanse of sunflowers covering the hillside, facing the sun, burning brightly as if they were about to burst into flames.
"Thank you," I said.
“I’ll be waiting for you at Peking University.” He paused, then added, “Whether it’s the Physics Department or the Fine Arts Department.”
My heart skipped a beat, like a piece of candy softened by the sun. I smiled and nodded, "Okay."
There were no agreements, no promises, just a simple "I'll wait for you," yet it was more reassuring than any vow of eternal love.
After the ceremony, everyone threw their graduation caps on the playground, and colorful confetti covered us. Linxi hugged me and screamed, saying she wanted to go cycling in Tibet; Mengmeng kept taking pictures with her camera, saying she wanted to apply to the photography department of the art academy; and I, looking at the azure sky in the distance, suddenly remembered the pomegranate tree that my grandfather planted—I used to think its fruit was too sour, but now I kind of miss the sweetness within that astringency.
Zheng Yiming stood outside the crowd and waved to me. When I ran over, he handed me a small wooden box with simple star trail patterns engraved on it.
"A graduation gift," he said.
Opening the box revealed a silver bookmark shaped like a ginkgo leaf, with a line of small characters engraved on the back: "The light is always there, and so are you."
My eyes suddenly felt a little hot. When I looked up, I saw that his ear tips were red, just like the boy who handed out soy milk at the alley entrance when I was in the first year of high school.
"I'm leaving now, my train is this afternoon." He scratched his head.
"Bon Voyage."
He turned and walked into the crowd, his white shirt swaying in the sunlight like a ship about to set sail. I held the bookmark, the cool silver feel seeping through my fingertips, yet it warmed me to the point of tears.
The best farewell isn't saying "goodbye" while crying, but rather saying "I will become a better version of myself and wait for you in the future" while smiling.
As I packed my bags and walked out of the school gate, the setting sun cast long shadows. The auntie selling popsicles was still at her usual spot, smiling as she asked, "Young lady, would you like a mung bean soup popsicle? This is the last one."
I took the popsicle, tore open the wrapper, and felt a sweet, cool sensation spread across my tongue. I glanced back at the teaching building; the flag on the rooftop was still twirling, as if saying to everyone leaving, "Take your time, there's no rush."
Yes, there's no rush.
The road ahead is long, with new cities, new friends, and new challenges. But the growth experienced in the height of summer, the resilience learned through tears, and the appreciation learned in farewells will be like this ginkgo bookmark, forever etched on the pages of memory.
The cicadas continued to chirp, and the sun remained intense. I ate my popsicle and walked towards the alley entrance, my steps light as if I could fly.
Saying goodbye to the height of summer is never the end.
It marks the beginning of another journey.
And this time, I know that no matter where I go, there is light behind me, dreams ahead, and in my heart... there is a sea of flowers that will always face the sun.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
