Mint and Midsummer

Seven years ago, he left behind a box of mints and vanished. Seven years later, he wrote in a medical chart: “Lin Xiaoman, I still like you.”

On the third day of her senior year of high school, Lin Xiaoman accidentally took the wrong textbook from her deskmate.

The boy was named Zhou Xubai. His left leg was slightly lame, he was as cold as ice, and his school uniform was always as spotless as a lab coat.

She cheerfully offered him a mint. He pushed it away without a word.

Only later did she learn that he hated sweet flavors, yet had secretly saved the wrapper from every mint she gave him.

“Zhou Xubai, do you like me?”

On the night before the college entrance exams, she caught him by the hem of his shirt. He said nothing, gently pried her fingers loose, and walked into the rain.

Seven years later, at a medical conference, Lin Xiaoman, now a child psychologist, sees a burn case projected on the screen.

Patient’s name: Zhou Xubai.

Cause: Laboratory explosion. Third-degree burns on his left leg. Delayed treatment after he tried to protect the experimental data.

And the man at the podium is wearing a white coat that barely hides the mint-candy bracelet she gave him all those years ago.

“The most irrational thing I ever did was deliberately make you hate me in our senior year.”

“But did you know? The name I put down for my early admission to B University was always yours.”