It took Su Xingye the entire senior year of high school to understand how fragile the love of a seventeen-year-old is. She was the quiet girl in the third row by the window, and he was the dazzling boy on the basketball court. She had been at the same table, at the back table, and next to him in the cram school for six years. She thought that the tenderness hidden in oranges, notes and iodine was her unique preference. It wasn't until the rain on Christmas Eve that he said he wanted to transfer to another school and that he was with someone else. The apricot leaves fell on the old steps, like her unspoken confession, wrinkled by the rain. We met again in the university library many years later. He was holding in his hand the postcard that he had not sent back then, but she had already learned to hide her tears in the pages of the book. The cruelest thing about youth is not missing out, but the farewell you thought was actually the unspoken "I like you"
Intention: Missing and redeeming in youth, we will eventually learn to love and grow from regrets