Many years later, Wen Zhixia returned to that senior high school classroom.
The tables and chairs are still the same, the windows are still the same, and the sunlight is still slanting in, casting bright spots on the floor, exactly the same as before. She walked to the window seat in the third row and sat down gently. She seemed to still be able to feel the breath of the thin boy, as if she could still see him lowering his head while doing the questions, and as if she could still hear him whispering, "When the college entrance examination is over, I will tell you something very important."
She walked to the window seat in the last row where she had sat and gently closed her eyes. It seems that I can still see the thin young man, arranging books with his eyes lowered, quietly and not disturbing the dust. It seems that I can still hear the "thank you" that was so soft that it was almost blown away by the wind. It's like the fingertips still retain the coolness from that second of inadvertent touch.
Some people say that time will heal everything. But only Wen Zhixia knows that some regrets will not be diluted by time, but will only be turned into a small mole in the heart by time, which does not hurt, but will always exist.
Purpose: To write about a youthful secret love that was blown away by fate, and to tell a story that was missed.