When I was nineteen years old, Lin Zhao chose my composition among five people.
She said: "Teachers can only choose one to guide students, and I am willing to bet on you." From then on, I remembered this sentence for five years.
The day her arm was injured, I didn't say anything. I just stared at the bruise and thought about how much pain she must have had.
From then on, I began to secretly worship Buddha as I did not believe in ghosts and gods. I don't believe this, but I make a wish - let her get better soon and let her arm not hurt.
On the day of the coming-of-age ceremony, I brought an old mobile phone with me, and the camera followed her all the time. If she takes pictures of others, I will take pictures of her.
Before graduation, I gave her a book. The title page reads: Teacher, I wish you happiness and success and a worry-free life.
What is written in this book is everything between us. It's not an earth-shattering story, no exciting moments, no ending, just some ordinary moments.
I wrote it because I was afraid I would forget. I'm afraid that one day I won't be able to remember her voice when she spoke. I'm afraid that I won't be able to remember how many times I read that sentence silently while lying on the desk when she chose me to write my essay when I was nineteen years old.
These words that I didn't dare to say back then are now written here.
Even though I don't believe in gods and Buddhas, I still go in when passing by temples. The wish I made has never changed: I hope she is safe. Hope she is treated gently.
This is my story with her.
I write very slowly, my words are long-winded, and there is no plot. There is only one person who spends three years hiding his thoughts and four years waiting for a reply.
If you want, come in and sit down.
