The love of girlhood is that as long as we hold on to each other's vows, we can fulfill them forever.
The fate at that time was like two plants planted in adjacent flower pots. Their roots had been carefully touched under the invisible soil, and their branches and leaves had gently greeted each other in the same sunlight when the wind came.
We shared the rainbow outside the window after the same rainstorm, and we also left symbols that only each other could understand on each other's reports.
Later, a quiet rain fell in my world. The rain washed the names lined up side by side on the blackboard, blurred the brief conversations in the margins of the textbooks, and turned the handwriting on the passed notes into a blue that was no longer legible.
Those soaked moments did not dissipate; they settled and became a soft, moisture-rich subsoil in the soil of memory.
From then on, whenever there is a similar humidity in the air, or you hear the rustle of the pen tip across the page - the soil will wake up and exude a familiar scent.
And all stories start from that ordinary afternoon.
You picked up the pen I dropped and gently put it back on my desk.
The sun shines just past your fingertips, illuminating the slowly floating chalk dust in the air.
We didn't know at that time that once some paths of light intersect, they would leave a lasting, warm and melancholy mark in our lives.
Concept: Youth is a magnificent voyage. We once mistook the isolated island for the other shore and lost our way in the wind and rain. It wasn't until one day when I looked back that I discovered the light that was always on for me. The real arrival is to pass through the illusion and see the reality; to fade away from the hustle and bustle and understand the silence; to recognize each other as home with another equally complete soul after wandering.