A pot of succulents to welcome
September is the start of the new school year, and the air is filled with the scent of new book pages and the dampness of fallen leaves.
Pan Qiu walked back to the School of Psychology along the familiar tree-lined path, her steps light, yet a faint, indescribable flutter in her heart.
Back then, she walked this path carrying thick textbooks and a pile of unfinished assignments; now, she's taking it again with a laptop and lesson plans.
As soon as I pushed open the somewhat old glass door of the Psychology Department, a gentle yet tentative voice came from beside the reception desk—
"Panqiu? Is that you?"
Pan Qiu turned around and was stunned—it was her former counselor, Teacher Li, who was now working in the same college doing student affairs.
Teacher Li's surprise wasn't the kind that's outwardly expressed, but rather the quiet warmth of "seeing an old student come home": "Oh dear, I heard you were coming back to teach, I thought I wouldn't see you until the end of the month."
Pan Qiu smiled and said, "I just arrived and was thinking of getting the formalities done first."
Teacher Li nodded, her gaze lingering on her for a few seconds, as if she couldn't express her gratitude: "It's so good... We all feel so fortunate to see you back."
Then, as if remembering something, she softened her tone and said with natural concern, "By the way, our department has a new young teacher this year, about your age. He did his PhD in the UK, specializing in language psychology. He's a very down-to-earth young man. You two might get to interact more in the future."
Pan Qiu didn't think too much about it and just nodded politely: "Okay, we'll talk about it when we meet later."
As if seeing through her restraint, Teacher Li chuckled softly: "Don't feel pressured. I just wanted to say that you're back, and you have colleagues of the same age in the college, so you won't be too lonely."
Pan Qiu was touched by this simple expression of concern.
A student carrying a backpack walked by in the corridor. Seeing the name tag with her name on it, the student paused slightly, then politely called out:
"Hello, teacher."
As the word "teacher" gently fell, Pan Qiu's heart suddenly softened.
She has truly returned—no longer a student, but an adult standing on the other side of the podium.
Teacher Li led her to the office, chatting as they walked: "If you need anything in the future, just let me know. We've been teachers for so long, and seeing you come back to teach feels like... time has come full circle."
Pan Qiu lowered her head and smiled softly.
Yes, time has come full circle, bringing her back to the starting point, but she is no longer the person she was when she was young.
Teacher Li accompanied her to the office, exchanged a few casual pleasantries, and then left.
The office wasn't large, but the south-facing window bathed the entire room in warm light. The desk was simple, with only a light-colored terracotta pot—a succulent that looked carefully tended—placed in the corner by the window.
Pan Qiu was stunned.
It was like a gentle breeze blowing from long ago, carrying a pause that lightly touched the heart.
She bent down and gently touched the succulent's leaves with her fingertips. The leaves were thick, plump, and a soft green, instantly reminding her of the past year.
She recalled entrusting the succulent plant to Chase after her thesis defense: "I'll return it to him when he comes back."
That succulent plant accompanied her through the most isolated yet strongest period of her life in the United States. She took good care of it until she left.
Unexpectedly, when she returned to her alma mater, she was greeted by... a pot of succulents.
Could it be a coincidence? It's normal for teachers to keep some green plants in their offices; their ex might have just left them behind.
Panqiu tried to convince herself to think that way, but a subtle unease still lingered in her heart.
She stood up and placed her bag on the table. As she was tidying up, there was a gentle knock on the door of the next office, and a warm-hearted female teacher peeked in: "Hi, are you a new teacher? Welcome to our team."
Pan Qiu smiled and said, "Thank you. I'm a little nervous since it's my first day here."
The other person's gaze fell on the succulent, and they smiled: "That plant was left behind by your former office mate, a visiting scholar. He left in a hurry at the end of his semester. I thought it would wither, but it's actually survived. If you like it, you can keep taking care of it."
Pan Qiu paused slightly: "What kind of person is he?"
"He's a very nice person, and the students really enjoy his classes," the female teacher said casually. "He's a very distinctive person, um... kind of like an artist."
“An artist?” Panqiu repeated.
"Yes," the female teacher smiled. "Her hair is a bit long, and her beard is quite long too, but she is very gentle and patient. She is especially focused when teaching."
Panqiu blinked.
—Long hair?
--beard?
On the day at the botanical garden, Ethan, dressed in a dark gray suit and looking sharp, was completely unrelated.
She breathed a sigh of relief: "I see. That sounds quite unique."
Seeing that her office was still empty, the female teacher guessed that it would take time to tidy up and set it up, so she waved to her and said, "I'll go back now. Come knock on the door anytime if you need anything."
The door closed gently, and Panqiu was once again the only one left in the office.
She sat back down in her chair, her gaze involuntarily falling on the bookshelf against the wall again. Apart from a few books casually placed on the middle shelf, it was mostly empty. A quick glance revealed that most of the books were related to psychology, with a few non-professional books, probably left behind by her "artistic" ex.
When Pan Qiu stood on the podium for the first time, her heart was still beating a little fast, but the students were even more nervous than she was.
When she lectured on "Introduction to Cognitive Psychology," several rows of students sat upright, their phone screens face down. She couldn't help but chuckle, recalling the relaxed, "carefree" attitude of American students. The Q&A session was also very serious; some students even came to discuss their papers with her after class.
For the first time, she truly felt a sense of accomplishment.
It turns out I really can explain a course clearly.
Pan Qiu usually teaches in the morning and focuses on writing papers when she doesn't have classes in the afternoon. She often writes in her office until five o'clock, when it gets dark and the ginkgo leaves outside the window rustle in the wind.
Occasionally, she would take a walk in the small garden behind the psychology department building. In the chemistry lab building next door, people often worked overtime, and she would hear a student shout, "Teacher, the equipment is broken again!"—all of this was so familiar, so familiar that she felt as if she had never truly left the campus.
The new young teacher that Teacher Li mentioned is named Chen Lv, who specializes in language psychology and returned from studying for his doctorate in the UK. He speaks softly but is very observant.
When he first met Panqiu, he held a coffee cup, nodded to her, and said, "I heard you're also a returnee from overseas? Then... let's stick together for warmth from now on."
His tone was relaxed and friendly.
Pan Qiu smiled and said, "Sure, we can discuss cooperation sometime."
After that, the two would occasionally bump into each other in the office corridor and chat about trivial things: which printing shop was the most reliable, how students always got the citation format wrong in their papers, whose class was interrupted by the PE class next door, and which teacher's PPT was more terrifying than the students'. It was relaxed and natural, without any ambiguity or deliberate attempts to get closer; it was just the kind of "just right colleague relationship."
The university arranged a faculty apartment for her, a ten-minute walk from the School of Psychology. The neighborhood was mostly inhabited by young teachers and their families, and the lights were all neatly lit at night. Her apartment was on the third floor, a one-bedroom, one-living room unit, with a south-facing window overlooking a row of ginkgo trees. When she returned home in the evening, those trees were always as quiet as a dark painting.
She bought herself a small coffee machine, a set of mugs, an aromatherapy diffuser, and a soft rug.
It wasn't as big as an apartment in the US, but it had a familiar campus culture vibe, like a different kind of "starting point".
On weekends, she would take the subway back to her parents' home.
Mom always prepares her favorite dishes in advance, while Dad pretends not to care, but will still ask, "How's work?" "Are the students obedient?" "Are your colleagues easy to get along with?"
Every time Panqiu hears these questions, she feels like she's her daughter again, just starting college. She realizes that after being away for a long time, home becomes even more welcoming than she remembered.
Every morning when she goes to the office, the first thing she checks is the condition of that succulent. Its leaves are glistening, like a small anchor firmly planted in her heart. Sometimes the sunlight falls perfectly on the edge of the terracotta pot, as if telling her: Look, your life has grown back.
She would occasionally think of the succulent in America, but only for a fleeting moment.
This is her new life now—students, new colleagues, courses, experimental plans, and the autumn campus. Everything is like a freshly polished wooden tabletop, warm, calm, and inviting to be gently touched.
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