The November parasol wind carried golden and red broken leaves across the open space between the two teaching buildings, and also blew a white badminton astray, causing Zhou Qi to catch Shen Yan's gaze. It was the most ordinary scene during the break in the first year of high school. The silence of the third floor contrasted with the bustle of the first year of high school. The cool fingertips of him bending down to pick up the ball, the thin red at the tip of her ears, and the faint scent of lemon in the wind all became the sweetest marks of first encounter in youth.
Their story begins in the shadow of the parasol tree, hidden in the corner of the eye when they pass each other during class, and falls in her eyes when she watches him playing badminton after class. The leaves of the sycamore tree grew and fell, and the distance between the two buildings became the reason for them to get closer. The chance encounter on the court, the deliberate slowing down in the corridor, and sitting side by side in the cafeteria all made the young heart slowly bloom with sweetness over time.
I originally thought that the fate of youth would stay green like a sycamore leaf year after year, but I didn't know that the wind of growth would eventually blow away the joy of youth. The bifurcation of studies, the estrangement of time, those unspoken thoughts, and the tenderness hidden in the eyes, all slowly cooled down due to repeated hesitations and misses. When the sycamore leaves once again covered the open space, when the familiar figure no longer appeared in the stadium, when the distance between the two buildings became a gap that could no longer be crossed, they realized that some encounters were just for the purpose of separation.
The wind picked up again, and the sycamore trees fell on my shoulders. The badminton that deviated that year failed to fall into the eternal palm. This fate started with the wind of the parasol trees and ended with the fall of the parasol trees, leaving only a touch of youthful regret, hidden deep in the years, reminding me of the unexpected heartbeat and the final end of youth.
Intention: The wind of the parasol trees in November rolled up the broken leaves, breaking away the young heartbeat, and also blew away this encounter called fate in time.