The Wind Comes from Late Summer

Every day at 4:20 pm, I wait for her by the old wall for twenty minutes. Until she replied under that line of chalk writing: "Let's be friends." Lin Che had a secret: he sketched beside the old wall of the campus every day, but he was actually waiting for a girl wearing a light blue school uniform. Yun Ruolan also has a secret: she always writes her thoughts on the wall with chalk, knowing that the boy who draws will read it. "Wall, wall, do you know when summer will end?" "When the wind begins to smell of osmanthus." A conversation that started with chalk words, a heartbeat hidden in the light and shadow. He taught her how light can turn dust into stars, and she made spring grow for the first time in his barren paintings. But she is a senior in high school and he is a junior art student. "I'm afraid of delaying you," she said. "I can afford to wait." He didn't say it. Later, the chat history stopped three days ago, and the words on the wall were diluted by the rain. She disappeared into his summer, like a wind that cannot be caught. Until we met again at the art exhibition many years later—— Next to the signature of all his works, there is a line of small words: "To Ruolan". And she stood in front of the painting "Old Wall in Late Summer" with tears streaming down her face: "It turns out you were drawing me all along."