New Dream

(Please throw away the crude cover and give me a chance to come in and take a look) Male protagonist's perspective: you're my new dream He suddenly wanted to get drunk. Not because of sadness. It was because he needed to stop thinking about her for a while. Don't think about what she is doing now, don't think about what she will do tomorrow, don't think about whether that senior will appear in her future life. He just wanted to go back to the confused state he was in before he met her - not caring about anything, not taking anything to heart, and not wanting anything. But he knew he couldn't go back. The man stepped on the land that had been deserted for twenty-two years and made a footprint. The footprint is now filled with water, grass has grown, and flowers have bloomed. He can't go back. He could only move forward. Even if there is a road ahead that he cannot see the end of. — He accidentally wrote the word "wen" in his notebook, and then quickly crossed it out. He looked up and around - no one was paying attention to him. He lowered his head and wrote the word "Zheng" next to the crossed-out word "Wen". Grass and trees compete for spring and grow upward. She had explained her name to him. The word "Zheng" in the dictionary means the sound of metal hitting, but she prefers another understanding - grass and trees competing for spring, growing upward. He thought this explanation was really good at the time. Her name is exactly like her person - not ostentatious, not noisy, but with a vigorous and upward force in her bones. The way she studied seriously, listened intently to lectures, and looked at a painting in the museum for ten minutes were all manifestations of that power. And there was never anything in his life that could give him that upward impulse - until he met her. He looked down at the word "Zheng" in his notebook, and suddenly drew a small leaf next to it with the tip of his pen. The painting is ugly, like the graffiti of a primary school student. He looked at it for two seconds, then tore off the corner, folded it into a small square, and stuffed it into the phone case - together with the faded band-aid. He knew exactly what he was doing. He is collecting everything related to her. A band-aid, a note, and now a corner of notebook paper with leaves drawn on it. These things may seem like rubbish to others, but to him, they are evidence - proof that there was a person in his life who transformed him from a wasteland into a land where leaves grow. — He remembered that Zhao Kai asked him after he drank too much at the bar last time: "What kind of person do you like?" He didn't answer at the time. But a picture immediately appeared in his mind - not her most beautiful appearance, but her most ordinary appearance. Wearing that beige knitted vest, she sat by the window in the library, frowning slightly as she read a thick book. The sunlight outlined a soft outline on her side face. That's who he likes. Not because he needed her light to illuminate his own darkness, but because her presence itself made him want to crawl out of the darkness. Female protagonist's perspective: She looked at the bare branches outside the window and suddenly asked herself a question that she had been avoiding before. How did she feel about Gu Shiyan? This was not the first time she asked herself this question. Ever since that night in the bar, when she saw him being pushed but not fighting back, she felt that there was something contradictory about this person that made her curious. Later, in Fountain Square, when she walked up to him and asked him, "Do you want to be friends with me?", The reason she gave herself was that she would only stay here for a year, and there was nothing wrong with getting to know one more friend. Her concern for him she explained to herself as sympathy and understanding. Anyone who sees a rich young man who is neglected by his family, taken advantage of by those around him, and doesn't know how to express his emotions will soften their hearts. She just went one step further than others and reached out her hand. That's what she always told herself. Talked about it for more than two months. But now, as she looked at the WeChat messages she had deleted, and saw herself hesitating about whether to go on an appointment with another person because of someone she didn't even say she "liked" - she suddenly felt that she might not be able to lie to herself for much longer. She doesn't just see him as a friend. In other words, she felt more than just a friend to him. This thought was like the cold wind outside the window, finding a gap and getting in. Subconsciously she wanted to shut it out - she couldn't. She couldn't feel more than a friend to him. She will only be here for a year. As soon as the exchange period is up, she has to return to her country, study, graduate, work, and follow the path she planned step by step. Her life trajectory has no intersection with his - her family is an ordinary working-class family, and her parents are middle school teachers. It is already a big expense for her to go abroad for exchange. His family is a real estate group, drives a Bugatti, and has an apartment in midtown Manhattan. What separates them is not just a few subway stops, but a whole world. More importantly, she always felt that his feelings for her were mixed with too many other things. He regarded her as a life-saving straw - she happened to appear on the night when he was most embarrassed and loneliest. She didn't even think for a second as she handed him the band-aid. But for him, that was probably the only unconditional kindness he received in that cold bar. He amplified this kindness into a kind of light, and then ran towards the light desperately. This feeling is more like dependence than love. If a person has been in the darkest place for a long time, he will rush towards any light he sees. She didn't think it was true love - she just happened to be there at the right time. She didn't want to take advantage of this "just right". She didn't want to be a brief episode in his life, and when he got out of that dark stage, he discovered-oh, it turned out that she wasn't that special, she just happened to be there. So she kept telling herself: You are just his friend. You are just the person who accompanies him for a while when he doesn't know how to establish a normal relationship with others. That's all. But the image of the red ears hiding the note came to her mind again. Her heart moved again - that feeling was not sympathy, not understanding, not any emotion that could be rationally classified and analyzed by her. It's a very simple, pure, warm current that comes from the deepest part of my heart. She closed her eyes and pressed her forehead against the cold glass window. She didn't want to admit it, but she seemed to like him a little bit. Just a little bit. She repeated to herself four times: just a little. A little bit. Concept: the collision of one soul with another