Jiang Yu first noticed me in the summer when he was eight years old.
He moved next door and stood on the steps of my door, thin and small, holding a pot of withered mint in his hand. My mother said that it was the only living thing they brought with them when they moved. She had raised it for several years and was reluctant to throw it away. That day he asked me cautiously if he could put it on the window sill of my house for a while. His tone was as soft as if he was afraid of disturbing something.
That pot of mint came alive. Later, a second and third pot were added to the window sill. Gradually, the south-facing window of my house became his small botanical garden. He would come over every morning, water them on tiptoe, and knock on my window. Seven minutes past three, exactly on time, even more punctual than the alarm clock.
When I was sixteen years old, the mint blossomed into tiny purple flowers. It was also that year that I found that the sound of my heartbeat drowned out the chirping of the cicadas outside the window. He began to secretly stuff mints into my pencil case while watering. The flavors ranged from original to strawberry, lime, passion fruit, and all the packages in convenience stores. I asked him why, and he said he was afraid that I would fall asleep in class, but his eyes were looking elsewhere, and the tips of his ears were so red that they could bleed.
Later we all grew up. Before the college entrance examination, most of the oldest pot of mint suddenly withered. He was so anxious that he climbed over the wall at night and knocked on my window. His hands were full of soil and his eyes were red. He said that this pot of mint had been with him for ten years and had been there since he could remember. I sat with him on the window sill overnight, changing soil and pruning. At three o'clock in the morning, he leaned on my shoulder due to sleepiness and said vaguely: "Actually, it's not the mint that I can't bear to part with."
He paused and his voice became smaller and smaller: "It's the reason why I can knock on your window every morning."
At that moment I understood that the most touching thing about childhood sweethearts is not the love that lasts for a long time, but the fact that the promise made at 7:03 every day is never broken, the taste of mints that quietly appeared on the windowsill is always remembered, and the little thoughts you pretend not to know, he knows all, but he has acted with you for ten years.
Later, the mint grew more and more vigorously and covered the entire window. He finally stopped secretly stuffing me with candies. Instead, he held my hand openly and said, "Hey, you will buy me mint candies every day from now on. I want passion fruit flavored ones."
The mint on the windowsill swayed, as if nodding.
There is no thrilling plot between us, but there is a window that will always be reserved for him, and a love hidden in every mint that is never spoken but known to everyone.
The following are the points you should pay attention to for lightning protection:
This novel is a pure substitution novel
Banned BL, female protagonists, condoms and anti-Otome dreams, boys, Otome rotten
You = heroine, heroine = you
You want to be the heroine
The novel is mainly from the first-person perspective, and everything happens from the reader's perspective. Dream girls are allowed, but CP fans of the male and female protagonists are prohibited.
Intention: Companionship is the longest confession of love. The knock on the window at 7:03 every morning for ten years is not a habit, but a deliberate approach. Every mint that is secretly stuffed is a "I like you" that I dare not say directly.