In my final year of high school, I tore up the love letter I’d written to top student Jiang Yu and told him, “I hate you.”
Three years later, we met again in a repeat-year class. He was now the assistant homeroom teacher, and he returned the letter, which he had carefully pieced back together.
“Lin Xia, this time I’m going to pursue you, and make up for the three years you missed.”
From testing the waters through a shared diary, to standing side by side in the night breeze on the rooftop, to the long-awaited letter that arrived after the college entrance exams.
This time, I don’t want to run away anymore.
