When the evening breeze turned over the last page of the lesson plan, Wang Qingyan's chalk dust fell on the top of Tang Ruoyu's hair.
She is the light on the podium, the name repeatedly traced on the back of the draft paper, and the thoughts about the moon that I dare not express in my mouth in the midsummer of seventeen.
Later I learned that the moment the starlight fell in front of the podium, I had already had eyes on him, waiting for him from afar.
Intention: secret love