The 250 days that burned out
The March rain always carries a lingering damp chill, pattering against the windowpane like someone weeping softly. I sit in the classroom, staring at the physics exam paper spread out before me, the formulas twisted into a jumbled mess, impossible to decipher.
The phone in the desk drawer vibrated; it was a message from Li Zichen: "Waiting for you downstairs, I brought you some hot milk tea."
I stared at that line of text for a long time, my fingertip hovering over the screen, before finally turning off my phone.
How many days has it been? Ever since I shook off his hand in the hallway last time, he's been showing up downstairs every day without fail, rain or shine. Sometimes it's milk tea, sometimes it's a hand warmer, sometimes he just stands under the sycamore tree, looking out our classroom window, like a silent statue.
My deskmate nudged me with his pen: "He's here again, aren't you going to go see him?"
"I'm not going." I lowered my head, pretending to organize the test papers, but my voice was a little tense.
“Actually,” my deskmate sighed, “he’s been acting really differently lately. Last time I saw him in the office, asking the homeroom teacher about heart medication, saying he was worried you might be feeling unwell again…”
"So what?" I interrupted her, the tip of my pen drawing a deep line on the test paper. "When he treated me badly before, it was true."
Like that mark, once it's made, it can never be erased.
The rain hadn't stopped when the bell rang for evening self-study. I packed my bag and deliberately lingered until the last person to leave, hoping to wait for him to go. But when I got to the entrance of the teaching building, I still saw him standing in the rain, holding a black umbrella and carrying a thermos in his arms. The shoulders of his school uniform jacket were already soaked with rain.
When he saw me, his eyes lit up, and he quickly walked over and handed me the thermos: "This is ginger soup my mom made, it's good for warming you up, drink it while it's hot."
Rain dripped down his hair, landing on the lid of the thermos with a soft pattering sound. His long eyelashes appeared even thicker when wet, and his expectant gaze was like that of a child awaiting praise.
“Li Zichen,” I took a step back, avoiding his outstretched hand, my voice soft yet clear, “we’re over.”
His smile froze, the thermos wobbled in his hand, steam from the ginger soup seeping out from the cracks, blurring his vision. "Zhi Xia, you..."
“From the end of October last year to today,” I looked at him and counted word by word, “it’s been 250 days. Consider these days a gift from me to you.”
250 days.
I remember the sweat on his palms when we first held hands, the candy he gave me after our first argument, his back as he waited for me downstairs on a snowy night, his indifference when he said "who cares," the glaring sight of him standing with Su Xiaoxiao, and his impatience when he yelled at me for being "sensitive" and "overthinking."
These days are like a grand fireworks display, shining brightly and then fading away.
"Give it to me?" He laughed, a laugh tinged with self-mockery and a barely perceptible sob. "Shen Zhixia, in your eyes, our relationship is just... something that can be given away?"
"Otherwise what?" I looked at him, the rain hitting my face, icy cold. "Keep it? Keep it so you can keep thinking about how you treated me? Keep it so you can't sleep at night because of the pain? Li Zichen, I'm really tired."
I'm too tired to guess his thoughts anymore, too tired to keep being torn between hope and despair, too tired to just want to be quiet, even alone, and catch my breath.
"I've changed, Zhixia, I really have!" He took a step forward, wanting to grab my hand, but stopped when he saw me back away. The light in his eyes dimmed little by little. "I know I was a jerk before, I didn't know how to cherish you, I took your sincerity for granted... Please give me another chance, let me prove it to you, okay?"
"Prove what?" I laughed, tears mingling with the rain. "Prove that you'll still flirt with other girls? Prove that you'll still joke about my wounds? Prove that when I need you most, you'll still say 'Who cares?'"
"No more! I promise!" His voice trembled, as if he were making a vow. "I've kept my distance from all the girls, I've changed my phone password to your birthday, I..."
“It’s all useless now.” I interrupted him, my voice as calm as a still pond. “Li Zichen, trust is like a shattered mirror. Even if you glue it back together, it’s still full of cracks. When I look at those cracks, I’m reminded of the pain.”
Just like now, when I look at him, I don't think of his current embarrassment and regret, but of his impatient words in the hot pot restaurant, "How old are we, what are you talking about forever?", of him yelling at me in the corridor, "Can't you be more mature?", of him mistaking my unease for "sensitivity" and my concerns for "overthinking".
These images are like needles, stuck in my heart, impossible to pull out or erase.
He stood in the rain, the umbrella handle slipping from his hand and falling to the ground with a dull thud. Rainwater instantly soaked his hair and clothes, but he seemed oblivious, staring intently at me, his eyes bloodshot like spiderwebs.
"So, from the very beginning, you never intended to forgive me, did you?" His voice was very soft, as if he were afraid of breaking something.
“Yes.” I sniffed and wiped the rain off my face. “From the first time you were ambiguous with Lin Wei, from the time you joked about me being bullied in junior high, from the time you said I was ‘immature’ when my family beat me… Li Zichen, disappointment accumulates little by little, it doesn’t just appear suddenly.”
Like sand in an hourglass, one grain at a time, once it's full, it can never be poured out again.
He didn't say anything more, just stood in the rain, looking at me. Rainwater streamed down his cheeks, indistinguishable from tears. His shoulders trembled slightly, like a trapped animal caught in the rain, clearly in pain but unable to utter a sound.
Occasionally, students passing by would look at us curiously, their pointing and whispering muffled by the sound of rain, yet still stinging like needles.
"I'm leaving." I turned around, not wanting to continue this stalemate.
"Shen Zhixia!" he suddenly called out to me, his voice hoarse as if sandpaper had been scraped, "250 days...you really don't care at all?"
I stopped in my tracks, turned my back to him, and my shoulders trembled uncontrollably.
How could I not care?
Those afternoons when we secretly painted together in the art studio, those evenings when we shared a pair of headphones by the playground, those moments when he stuffed a hand warmer into my backpack, those nights when he said, "I'll marry you when you get into university"... these are all real, and they were the only light in my dark days.
But when the light goes out, only darkness remains.
"I used to care." My voice was very soft, so soft it seemed like it would be blown away by the wind. "But now, I don't care anymore."
After saying that, I didn't look back and walked into the rain step by step.
Rain soaked my schoolbag and also brought tears to my eyes. The gazes behind me felt heavy, making it hard to move, but I gritted my teeth and shuffled forward step by step.
As I reached the alley entrance, I glanced back. Li Zichen was still standing there, like an abandoned statue, a black umbrella lying at his feet, rainwater pooling in small puddles that reflected his lonely shadow.
It felt like a piece of my heart had been hollowed out, and cold winds were howling inside. But I knew that this time, there was no turning back.
When I got home, I was soaking wet. My mother saw me and started scolding again: "You brat, where have you been running around? You're all wet, do you want to get sick?"
I ignored her, walked straight into the room, and locked the door.
Taking off my soaked school uniform, the scars on my wrists were particularly clear under the light. New ones were stacked on top of old ones, like an ugly map. I went to my desk, opened the drawer, and took out everything related to Li Zichen—the ring engraved with the character "Xia," the wrapper of the first White Rabbit candy he gave me, the crooked notes he wrote, and the only photo of us together, taken by a classmate during our autumn outing; he was handing me water, and I was smiling.
I put these things into a cardboard box, went downstairs, and threw them into the trash can.
The water in the trash can, mixed with rainwater, quickly submerged the cardboard box. Watching it sink little by little, the emptiness in my heart seemed to lessen.
Back in my room, I sat at my desk, looking at the physics exam paper spread out before me. The rain was still falling outside, the sycamore leaves pattering against the surface.
My phone vibrated again. It was another message from Li Zichen, containing only three words: "I'm sorry."
I stared at those three words for a long time, then pressed the delete button and added his number to my blacklist.
After doing all this, I let out a long sigh of relief, as if a huge burden had been lifted off my shoulders.
250 days.
Like a long dream, I've finally woken up.
Although waking up still means facing a terrible family situation, enduring heart pain, and licking my wounds alone in the dead of night, at least I won't have to feel anxious and restless anymore because of someone's words or actions.
I took out the physics notebook that Zheng Yiming had lent me and opened it to the first page. His handwriting was very neat, and the important parts were marked in red pen. Next to it was a small smiley face with the words "Keep it up, you can do it."
The lamplight fell on the notebook, warm yellow, with a touch of warmth.
I picked up my pen and wrote in the blank space: "Chen Zhixia, keep going."
The rain is still falling outside the window, but I know it will eventually stop.
And I should move on too.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
