At the parent-teacher conference of the third year of high school, my mother stared at the photo of Jiang Yu, the top grader, and her eyes lit up: "Only this kind of academic master is worthy of my daughter!"
I blurted out: "We have been together for a long time!"
Before I finished speaking, I found that the client was standing behind me, holding my 59-point physics paper in his hand.
He thought he would be exposed on the spot, but he nodded to the teacher: "She has been helping me sort out my wrong question book recently, which delayed my review."
From then on, the whole school knew that the flower of the high mountain had a little tail.
When he was giving me extra lessons, the tip of his pencil would accidentally scratch the back of my hand, and the umbrella we held together would always tilt toward me on rainy days.
When I finally plucked up the courage to do it for real, I heard him say to others: "It's just acting. Who would like a fool?"
He disappeared that day due to family changes.
We met again in the university laboratory three years later. He pressed me in front of the instrument: "Classmate Lin, your wrong question book..."
"... The last page is missing."
Suddenly heavy rain poured outside the window, very much like the day we first met.
