My name is Xie Muxun, and I was a solid sophomore in high school. He secretly read martial arts novels in class and angered the teacher by shouting the line "The sword is here and the man is here"; for the sake of brotherly loyalty, he deliberately lowered his scores in exams every time, firmly sitting on the second place in the grade, and willingly followed Qian Wuchen and called him "Brother Xiaoqian".
I thought we would be lifelong good brothers, until my senior year of high school, something happened at home, and I was forced to transfer to another school and cut off all contact with him.
This separation lasted six years.
In the past six years, I struggled hard, squeezed into the subway during morning and evening rush hours, was harassed by clients to the point where I stayed up all night to change plans, and had several relationships that ended in vain. My life was mediocre and busy. I occasionally think of the boy who always ranked first in the exams, but I only think of that period of youth as a yellowed old photo, buried in time.
Until one day, I was dragged back to his world by Qian Wuchen, and he pulled me back into the vortex called "preference".
He was no longer the taciturn deskmate. There were emotions in his eyes that I couldn't understand, and I was shocked to realize that this man had become someone I didn't recognize.
On the wall of the room, in his world, there was only room for my shadow. There is the silly smile when I was chewing sausage in high school, the profile of my face when I was punished to sweep the corridor, and even the embarrassing look when I squeezed the subway and worked overtime after graduation - those candid and honest moments were densely packed and overwhelming, like a grand secret love.
It turns out that in the six years since I left, the boy's worries have grown wildly, and I am his only nourishment.
He said: "Xie Muxun, I have been looking for you for six years."
Only then did I finally realize that there was something hidden in his eyes when he was sweeping the corridor that summer, something called love.
Intention: Love is forbearance, longing, and fulfillment