The tug-of-war between superiority and loneliness
The identity of "teacher's child" seems to have put a transparent shell on her. To her friends rolling in the dirt, she seemed to be the epitome of "behaved" and "sensible," but she couldn't learn to chatter and share snacks like the girl next door, and she couldn't help but secretly feel in her heart - those chasing and fighting scenes were not as interesting as the stories in the book.
She didn't take the initiative to get closer, but she always secretly observed during class: to see whose rubber band jumped the highest, and to listen to who was telling jokes she had never heard before. When someone accidentally asked, "What is the book in your hand about?" She would suddenly blush and stumble, unable to explain the reason, but it felt like a pebble had been thrown into her heart, filling her with a circle of secret joy. This contradiction of "wanting to be seen but afraid of being seen through" is like the chirping of cicadas on a summer afternoon, noisily lingering in her heart - she feels that she is different from others, but she also longs to prove that she can be liked even if she is "different".
So, most of the time, she was still the lonely child holding a book. The wind blew in from the classroom window, stirring the pages of the book and stirring up her unspoken thoughts: It turned out that "understanding" and "being understood" were never the same thing.
