Ten Years to Thaw

[Campus youth + love at first sight + quiet devotion + love that goes both ways] If youth had a sound, it would be the answering “Here” when two people with neighboring student numbers are called, the low timbre of his voice as he reads poetry, or a heartbeat quickening on the basketball court for reasons no one can name. Lin Wan’s college years begin with two adjacent numbers on a bulletin board: 202011 and 202012. Their neighboring student numbers bring them closer, but the gulf between their worlds leaves them silent and distant. She treasures every kindness he gives her, yet backs out when he invites her to celebrate his birthday. He understands every one of her fears, but after she graduates and leaves for a distant place, he chooses to marry someone “like her.” Their paths may seem parallel, but deep down, fate has long since entwined them. In the depths of the night, as depression closes in, her name is still the one he murmurs unconsciously. When they meet again in a hospital room filled with the smell of disinfectant, she finally clasps his cold hand and says the words she has held back for ten years: “I’m here.” This is a story about being “next to” one another: neighboring student numbers, a youth spent close but never touching, and lives that ran side by side only to miss each other. It has not only the falling leaves of campus plane trees and the fragrance of soy milk, but also the storms of depression in adulthood, the chasm between families, and the weight of reality. Ultimately, though, it is about a quiet kind of courage: when the cocoon of insecurity has been worn away by time, and a long-hidden love has gathered enough courage, can two souls cross a sea of people and find their way back to the place where they were meant to stand side by side? From number 11 to number 12, from youth to the rest of their lives. This time, they won’t miss each other.