The bells and drums are ringing late at night - did you hear it? The bells have been ringing for a long time. I have waited for a long time and finally waited for you to come back.
During her sophomore year in high school, he sat in the window seat behind her. Wen Zhi didn't know when he started looking at her - maybe it was the sun falling on her shoulder when she was choosing a seat on the first day of class placement; maybe it was the moment she bent over his desk while collecting her homework; maybe it was the small curved shadow cast by her eyelashes on her face when she fell asleep on the table.
He said nothing. He just stuffed a note into her drawer on the day she came back from leave with a cold, saying "Are you over the cold?"; He just stayed an extra twenty minutes after school every day, waiting for her to finish wiping the blackboard before getting up; just when the wind blew through the cherry blossom tree on the day of the spring outing, he quietly caught a petal that fell on her shoulder and put it in his book.
Wen Zhi wrote everything in her diary. Eight books, eight years, written from the age of seventeen to twenty-five. She thought it was her secret.
Later he went to Beijing and she went to Nanjing. In the past four years, they have only met a few times, and there are always only a few words in the WeChat dialog box - he is slow to reply, and she is waiting for a long time. She thought he had forgotten about it, or didn't care at all. What she didn't know was that there were hundreds of sketches in the iron box at the bottom of his desk, all of which were of her back. From the drawings made in the third year of high school to work, there is a line of words in the lower right corner of each picture, with the date down to the hour and minute. "She took a look at me today" "She got a new headband" "She graduated, it's time for me to go back."
He knelt down and placed the box of paintings in front of her. The edges of the pages are frayed, and each picture has been turned over many times. He said: "You have been writing for eight years, and I have been painting for four years. Those words that I did not dare to say are all here."
When Wen Zhi turned to the first page, sunlight poured in from the window and covered the floor. The person in the painting is sitting in the third row by the window, lowering her head to write something, and the light from the window falls on her shoulder. The words in the lower right corner read through the back of the paper—she was sitting there today. I watched another class
It turns out he had been watching. From the age of seventeen to now. After watching it for so many years.
Concept: All the "hate you" moments in youth are another way of writing "like you".
