When calling out that deskmate: our youth did not say goodbye
On an ordinary afternoon six years later, the smoke of fireworks next to the medicine stall caught the eye of a familiar figure. The girl with the ponytail turned around, and I hesitantly called out "my deskmate." The surprise that instantly lit up in her eyes was like the sunshine outside the window of a high school classroom.
Back then, she was the "Big Mouth" of the school committee who borrowed me to copy my homework. She was a naive girl who was not picky about food and drink, and her laughter could dispel boredom. She was a friend of mine who chased essays in Biquge and passed the four-line poem "You know things will be hard at an early age" to the class. Now we are standing in the crowd and chatting. I hold my phone and the sentence "Add a WeChat" has not been uttered after all.
She waved and turned to leave, her back melting into the crowd, while I clutched the hot medicine bag and suddenly wanted to write all the memories about her into a book.
This is not a plot with ups and downs, but the stubborn nostalgia of a science student - about the fireworks of Class 92, about the regret of not adding WeChat, and about the classmate who made me write five million words and still can't forget it.
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Concept: Youth Campus