Growing towards the sun
As the winter snow melted, I wrote the last formula in my physics workbook, the sound of the pen tip gliding across the paper crisp and clear. Outside the window, the magnolia buds were plump and full, as if they held the anticipation of an entire spring.
Three months have passed since I completely lost contact with Zheng Yiming.
The early days were indeed tough. I would subconsciously avoid the direction he might appear in when walking in the corridor, I would suddenly look up when I heard the teacher call out "Zheng Yiming" in physics class, and I would stare blankly for a long time when I saw the pencil he gave me in my art supplies bag. Lin Xi was always worried about me and secretly observed my expression, but found that I was quieter and more focused than before.
I put all my energy into studying and drawing.
When I get tired of doing physics problems, I go to the art studio and spend the whole afternoon painting still life. The smell of paint, the spiciness of turpentine, and the fragrance of pencil shavings are like a soft cocoon, isolating me from the outside world. Mengmeng said my paintings have changed. Before, they always carried a lingering melancholy, but now they exude a resilience, like grass sprouting from the frozen earth in the cold winter.
When the results of the first monthly exam came out, I looked at my name on the ranking list—I had improved seventeen places in physics, and my total score had broken into the top fifty in the grade. Lin Xi hugged me and screamed, while Meng Meng laughed and said, "I knew you could do it." Even the physics teacher praised her in class, saying, "Chen Zhixia has found her rhythm. Everyone should learn from her."
Holding the report card, I felt calm yet couldn't suppress my joy. It turns out that setting aside all those chaotic emotions and focusing on one thing really does bring rewards.
During winter break, I enrolled in an online physics crash course. Every day, I listened to lectures and did practice problems in front of the screen, filling two thick notebooks with notes. When my mother came into my room, she no longer looked worried but smiled and brought me a cup of hot milk: "Don't stay up too late, take care of your eyes."
My dad has changed too. He no longer drinks alone all day. Occasionally, he'll sit next to me reading the newspaper and suddenly ask, "Does this problem use the momentum theorem?" Although he's usually wrong, it makes me feel that our family is gradually becoming warmer.
After the spring, my art teacher recommended my painting to the city's youth art exhibition, and it actually won an award. Standing on the podium and receiving the certificate, I remembered Zheng Yiming's words, "Your paintings should be seen by more people." I felt no ripples in my heart, only a sense of certainty that "I really can do it."
After the awards ceremony, Su Yaqi came over and handed me a glass of juice: "Congratulations."
"Thank you," I said with a smile, taking the cup.
She looked at me, hesitated for a moment, and said, "Zheng Yiming... he's here too, over there."
I followed her gaze and saw Zheng Yiming standing in the corner of the exhibition hall, wearing a dark coat, holding a catalog, his eyes fixed on my painting, his expression complex. Our eyes met in mid-air, he paused for a moment, then lowered his head and turned away.
I looked away and continued chatting with Su Yaqi. My heart was like a lake touched by the wind, with only a few ripples that quickly subsided.
It turns out that it really is possible to let go.
It's not about deliberately forgetting, but rather that as you're busy growing and moving forward, those people and events that you once thought were unforgettable will gradually fade into the background, becoming blurry shadows.
In the second mock exam, my physics score remained among the top three in the class, and my drawing was selected for the school's graduation yearbook. My homeroom teacher talked to me, smiling and saying, "With your current form, getting into a good university shouldn't be a problem. What major do you want to apply for?"
"Physics or art is fine," I said with a smile. I used to think these two were contradictory, but now I understand that true passion doesn't require choosing between them. Being able to do both well is the best way to be true to yourself.
On my way home from school, Linxi, Mengmeng, and I would go for ice cream, listening to them complain about the melodramatic plots in idol dramas and discussing where to travel during summer vacation. The sunlight fell on us, warm and cozy, and our laughter carried far away on the wind.
Occasionally, I would see Zheng Yiming playing basketball on the playground. He had grown taller and his movements were more agile, but his teammates had changed. We no longer deliberately avoided him; when we met, we would nod to each other, like ordinary classmates—polite yet at ease.
Once in the library, I reached for a physics workbook on the top shelf, and he happened to be passing by and took it down for me. "Thank you," I said.
"You're welcome." His voice was calm. He put down the book, turned around, and left without saying anything more.
Looking at his back, I suddenly felt that this was fine too.
We are all striving forward on our own paths, turning that entangled past into nourishment for growth, and growing into more upright individuals.
The June breeze carries the fragrance of gardenias, making one's heart sweet. I sit at my desk, looking at the certificates and drawings covering the wall, and suddenly remember what my grandfather once said: "People are like plants, they must grow towards the light."
I used to think that light shone on others, and I desperately tried to grasp that warmth, forgetting that I could also shine. Now I understand that true light comes from within—it's the certainty when solving a difficult problem, the satisfaction of finishing a painting, the peace of mind when looking at a report card, and the courage to know "I can do it."
The magnolias outside the window were in full bloom, white as clouds, shimmering in the sunlight. I picked up my pen and wrote in my new notebook: "Chen Zhixia, keep moving forward, don't look back."
The moment the pen tip touches the paper, it's as if I hear the sound of life sprouting, crisp and powerful, growing wildly towards the sunlight.
Those past hurts and entanglements have ultimately become stepping stones, allowing me to stand taller and see further. The road ahead is paved with sunshine, just waiting for me to walk step by step and create my own radiant path.
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