A boy smiled at me, and that was the beginning of my heartbeat.
I gave him a lighter, but he ignored me for a week. Later, he chased me up the stairs, grabbed the railing and said, "Lan Lingling, the lighter you gave me leaked oil." I said, "Give it back to me." He said, "It works, but I won't give it to you."
Every day he makes me a cup of milk tea that is never well stirred, and puts a piece of chocolate into my desk pocket. During evening self-study, I fed the steamed oranges, which were too bitter to be eaten, into his mouth one by one.
Years later I dreamed about him. In the dream, I asked him if I could go out for a meal, and he replied with two words: "Yes."
This is a story about poverty, inferiority, heartbeat and regret. At an age when we were least capable of loving others, we loved each other the most. The sunshine that hit the stairs that year has always hit a corner of my heart.
Intention: Some people appear not to be with you until the end, but to leave an eternally gentle corner in your life. You learned to like and regret there; you learned to feel inferior, and you also learned to straighten your back and say "then let's go." You are not with him, but the self you have experienced with him is worth liking for a lifetime.