The Road I Loved Most

The road I loved most

was the one where we bumped into each other in the corridor in the height of summer, cicadas ringing all around us;

was the one home after tutoring, when school was over and the sun was sinking in the west, heavy clouds looming overhead, and the boy wore his clean blue-and-white school uniform;

was the one around the track, where he ran alongside me for 800 meters, while sweat glistened on our skin;

was the one through darkness and thorns, when I was too timid to take another step, and the boy trampled the thorns, struck back the darkness, and took a hundred steps forward. All he said was, “Kang Xi, you don't have to do a thing. I'll always be the one running toward you, every single time.”

It was the road that began in the height of summer and ended in the depths of winter.