The Gardenias Bloom in the Monsoon Breeze

During the gardenia season of their second year of high school, Su Wan bumps into Lin Yan’s line of sight as she picks up a notebook in the library. She’s the quiet girl who always sits by the window, writing sentences, and grips her pen tightly when she’s nervous. He’s the dazzling boy on the basketball court, seemingly carefree, yet he remembers she takes two spoonfuls of sugar in her coffee. From half an eraser borrowed to sharing an umbrella on a rainy day; from walking side by side along the tree-lined path after evening study to marking important points on each other’s test papers. They share songs through their headphones amid the cicadas, whisper their feelings into the frosty air as snow drifts down, and, amid the chaos of their final year of high school, quietly write each other into the rough drafts of their futures. There are silences born of misunderstandings, growing pains that pull them in opposite directions, and hesitations when they face reality. But the monsoon winds blow again and again, and the gardenias bloom and fade, only to bloom once more. The boy who once made her so nervous she could barely speak never leaves her side, his eyes holding her entire youth. This is a story about waiting and finding your way to one another. It turns out the distance from school uniforms to wedding clothes is simply the distance I walk toward you, while you happen to be walking toward me too.