First Encounter in the Cicada's Song
On the first day of high school, the cicadas' chirping made the air feel sticky. I was carrying a stack of new books when someone bumped into me in the school building corridor, scattering my workbooks all over the floor.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." The boy's voice carried a somewhat casual apology.
I looked up and saw Li Zichen bending down to pick up my books. He was wearing a faded school uniform, his bangs damp with sweat, and a slightly roguish smile playing on his lips. Sunlight streamed in from the window at the end of the corridor, gilding his profile with a golden edge, and his long eyelashes resembled butterfly wings.
"It's nothing." I took the book he handed me, but my fingertips accidentally touched his, and I felt a burn, so I quickly pulled my hand back.
He smiled, revealing two small tiger teeth: "My name is Li Zichen, I'm in Class 3. What about you?"
"Chen Zhixia, Class One."
Later I learned that our classroom was right across the hall. He always liked to lean against the corridor railing after class, watching me pass by the window, then whistling and calling my name, "Chen Zhixia." His voice cut through the noisy crowd, like a pebble thrown into a lake, rippling through my heart.
I received his love letter for the first time at the sports meet at the end of September. I was sitting in the stands as a support staff member when he suddenly appeared from behind me, shoved a pink envelope into my hand, turned and ran. The hem of his school uniform jacket brushed against the back of my hand, carrying the scent of grass.
The handwriting inside the envelope was crooked and messy: "Shen Zhixia, your name is like a gardenia in summer, I want to pursue you."
I hid the letter deep inside my schoolbag, my heart pounding as if it would explode. At that time, I had no idea that the word "like" would later become a thorn stuck in my palm.
Li Zichen's way of pursuing me was very flamboyant. Every morning, there would be hot milk in my desk drawer. He would snatch my water cup to get water during free time in PE class. After evening self-study, he would take a long way to accompany me to the alley entrance, saying, "It's too dark around your house, I'm afraid there might be bad people there."
The streetlight at the alley entrance had been broken for a long time, its dim yellow light barely illuminating a small area. He stood outside the light, watching me walk into the dark stairwell before turning and leaving. I leaned against the second-floor window and looked down, able to see his bouncy figure, his school uniform jacket slung over his shoulder, like a carefree little deer.
Back then, my father was always out drinking, and my mother would take out all her anger on me, saying, "What's the use of a girl studying so much? She should just get married early." When my brother broke my grandfather's favorite vase, my mother grabbed my arm and yelled, "It must be because you didn't watch your brother properly!" Her hand landed on my back, stinging painfully.
Only at school, when I was with Li Zichen, did I feel cared for. When my eyes were red, he would magically produce a White Rabbit candy and say, "Eat this candy and the pain will go away"; when the boys teased me, he would pull me behind him and say, "She's someone I'll protect."
One Friday at the end of October, he called me from the alleyway. The evening breeze carried the sweet scent of osmanthus blossoms. He scratched his head, his ears turning red: "Chen Zhixia, be my girlfriend."
I looked into the light in his eyes, like the stars that held the entire summer within them. I nodded, my voice barely audible, like a mosquito's hum.
His smile was brighter than the streetlights, and he reached out to take my hand. His palms were warm, slightly sweaty, yet he held mine tightly. We stood there at the dark alley entrance, listening to the distant cicadas gradually fall silent, listening to our heartbeats pounding together.
Back then, I naively believed that holding hands meant forever. I thought the light in his eyes would always shine for me. I thought this autumn, with its lingering cicada chirps, was the beautiful beginning of all our stories.
I didn't know that some holding hands is destined to lead to a more painful letting go; some light will turn into flames that burn everything away in the days to come.
The bell for evening self-study rang in the distance. He let go of my hand and said, "Hurry up and go upstairs, don't get scolded by the auntie." I turned and ran upstairs. When I turned the corner of the stairs, I saw him still standing there, waving at me.
The moonlight fell on him, casting a long shadow.
It was autumn of my first year of high school, and I thought I had captured all the light in the world.
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