Unexpected reconciliation
The September wind carried the lingering heat of late summer, making people feel drowsy. I sat in my studio, staring blankly at the blank canvas, the pencil twirling between my fingers before finally landing on the paper, drawing a crooked line.
A month has passed since Zheng Yiming returned to school.
He had lost a lot of weight and spoke even less than before, always keeping to himself like a silent shadow. When we met in the corridor, he would immediately lower his head and walk away quickly, as if I were some kind of monster. And I, too, had long since grown accustomed to this deliberate distance; the scar on my collarbone had faded to a light pink, but the hurdle in my heart remained uncrossed.
That afternoon, as I was packing up my art supplies after the art club activity, Lin Xi suddenly nudged my arm and gestured towards the door with her chin: "Look who's here."
Su Yaqi was standing at the door.
She was wearing a simple white T-shirt and jeans, her hair tied in a ponytail, a shy smile on her face, and carrying a paper bag. She was completely different from the flamboyant girl in the red trench coat I remembered.
"Long time no see." She walked in, and when her gaze fell on me, it carried a hint of cautious apology. "I came... to ask for your help."
Lin Xi and Meng Meng exchanged a glance but neither spoke.
“I transferred back to repeat my senior year, and I’m in the class next door.” Su Yaqi put the paper bag on the table; inside were several boxes of chocolates. “What happened before was my fault. I was too immature and caused you all a lot of trouble… especially Shen Zhixia. I’m sorry.”
Her apology was sincere, unlike her previous defiant ones. Looking at her, I suddenly felt a little dazed—it turns out that time really can change a lot of things, including those people and things that I once thought were unforgivable.
"Let bygones be bygones." I packed up my art supplies, stood up, and said, "If there's nothing else, we're leaving."
"Wait!" she called out to me quickly, taking out an invitation to an art exhibition from her bag. "This is a youth art exhibition organized by my dad's gallery. I saw your work from the last competition, and it was very well done... I'd like to invite you to participate."
I looked at the invitation and hesitated.
“Zheng Yiming will be there too.” She added, as if she had made up her mind, “His mother is a friend of my mother’s, and she mentioned that he hasn’t been doing well lately, always staying at home drawing… I thought, maybe you two could have a good talk?”
Mentioning Zheng Yiming made my heart sink slightly. What should we talk about? The knife? Or the days of hurting each other?
"I'm not going." I pushed the invitation back, my tone resolute.
“Zhi Xia,” Lin Xi tugged at my arm and whispered, “Actually… Zhou Hang told me that during the time he was on leave from school, he locked himself in his art studio and painted many portraits of you, with ‘I’m sorry’ written on the back of each one…”
My steps faltered.
“He didn’t do it on purpose.” Su Yaqi looked at me with a serious expression. “He called me that day, crying and saying he was no human being, how could he hit you… He was just too afraid of losing you, so he used the wrong method.”
Fear of loss? Using the wrong approach?
These words, like needles, gently pierced my heart. I remembered his panicked eyes after he threw away the knife, his emaciated figure during his leave of absence from school, and the hastily written "I'm sorry" on that note... My heart suddenly felt a little heavy.
“I’ve kept the invitation.” Su Yaqi placed the invitation on my art supply bag. “Whether you go or not is up to you. The exhibition starts Saturday afternoon. I’ll be waiting for you at the gallery.”
After saying that, she picked up the chocolates and gave them to Lin Xi and Meng Meng, saying with a smile, "Even if you don't participate in the art exhibition, please accept these as an apology."
As I stepped out of the studio, the setting sun cast a deep, warm orange hue over the sky. Lin Xi looked at the invitation in my hand and asked cautiously, "Are you really not going?"
I held the invitation in my hand, my fingertips a little cold. "I don't know."
On Saturday afternoon, I still went to the gallery.
Standing at the gallery entrance, looking at the banner for the "Youth Art Exhibition," my heart was pounding like a rabbit's. I took a deep breath and went inside. The gallery was quiet, with all sorts of paintings hanging on the walls, mostly showing youthful yet vibrant brushstrokes.
Zheng Yiming's painting is in the innermost corner.
It's a drawing of me.
In the painting, I sit by the window in my studio, sunlight falling on the paper, a faint smile on my lips. It's very similar to the sketch he gave me last time, but with something more—perhaps the tenderness in my eyes, perhaps the carefulness in my brushstrokes. In the lower right corner of the painting, there's no signature, only a line of very small words: "What I owe you, I'll repay with the rest of my life."
My heart felt like it had been gently bumped by something; it was a little sour and a little bitter.
"You've arrived."
Zheng Yiming's voice sounded behind me, trembling slightly. I turned around, and there he was, standing not far away, wearing a clean white shirt, holding a glass of lemonade, his eyes filled with tension and anticipation, like a child awaiting sentencing.
"The painting...it's not very good." He lowered his head, a little embarrassed. "I didn't originally intend to hang it up, but Su Yaqi said...maybe you'd like to see it."
I looked at him and suddenly couldn't say a word.
“About that day,” he looked up, his eyes brimming with guilt, “I know no amount of apology will help, but I still want to tell you that I really regret it. I shouldn’t have argued with you, shouldn’t have thrown things, and most importantly… I shouldn’t have hurt you.”
“During the time I took a break from school, I thought a lot.” His voice was soft but clear. “I used to think I was right, that you were too sensitive and too dramatic… Later I realized that I was too selfish and never really thought from your perspective. You have suffered so much, I should protect you, not become the one who hurts you.”
The gallery was quiet, with only the soft hum of the air conditioner and his sincere words. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, gilding him and enveloping him in a gentle glow.
“I dare not ask for your forgiveness,” he looked at me, his eyes filled with a cautious expectation, “but I think… could you give me a chance to learn again? To learn how to cherish you, how to protect you, how… to never let you suffer again.”
Looking at him, at the seriousness and regret in his eyes, and at the gentle reflection of myself in that painting, I suddenly felt that the hurdle in my heart wasn't so hard to overcome anymore.
Yes, he used the wrong approach and hurt me. But didn't I also push him further and further away with my silence and avoidance?
“Zheng Yiming,” I sniffed, my voice trembling slightly, “the knife hurts a lot.”
"I know." His eyes reddened. "It will never happen again."
“From now on, if there are any problems, we’ll solve them together. No more arguing, no more throwing things, and definitely no more… saying hurtful things to each other.” I looked at him and said, word by word.
He nodded vigorously, like a child who had received a promise, his eyes shining brightly: "Okay! We pinky swear."
He stretched out his hand, his little finger slightly raised, the sunlight falling on his hand, warm and comforting. I hesitated for a moment, then stretched out my hand and hooked my finger with his little finger.
The moment their fingertips touched, it felt like a faint electric current surged through them, carrying with it the thrill of something lost and then regained.
At the gallery entrance, Su Yaqi looked at us, smiled secretly, then turned and quietly left, like a messenger who had completed her mission.
Sunlight streamed through the French windows, bathing us in its warmth and also in the painting. The image of me in the painting was smiling, and so were we outside the painting, like a reconciliation long overdue.
Perhaps true love isn't about never arguing, but about arguing, getting hurt, yet still being willing to trust each other, change for one another, and hold each other's hands again.
Just like now.
Although the scars are still there, and the pain from the past may still occasionally come to mind, as long as he is by my side and I have the courage to start over, there is nothing to be afraid of.
After all, the future is long, and we have plenty of time to learn how to love someone properly.
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