Jiang Yubai wrote a note on pink cardboard with four words: "Don't leave after school."
After he finished writing it, he read it for a long time and felt that it was too stupid, like a date, not like a confession. But he didn't buy a second one. Three yuan of paper, the courage to write everything down in one go, was stuck in the Chinese language book from the second year of high school to the time when I graduated from the third year of high school.
Su Wanhe is his deskmate. She would hand over a piece of paper with auxiliary lines drawn on it when he was distracted, pick shredded onions onto his plate in the cafeteria, fall asleep on his shoulder on the bus on the way back to the provincial capital, and write "See you in the provincial capital, please drop in" in the graduation album.
She never asked him what was in his Chinese book. He never handed over those four words.
On graduation day, he put the cardboard into the hole of the old elm tree at the school gate. The edges of the paper were fluffed, and the writing had faded to dark gray. The piece of paper never reached the person it was supposed to reach. But those unsaid words have been answered by another person in her own way in countless daily gaps.
Purpose: This novel is not about secret love, but about how one person uses actions to accompany another person, and how the other person responds in the same way.
Some words were never said, but they each did everything that weighed more than those words. A piece of paper was not delivered, but the intention was not lost.