Wait Until You Finish Class

When I was sixteen, someone stopped for me in the corridor. He said: "You go first, I have to wait for zzz." I thought it was just a casual companionship, but later I found out that he was always waiting for more than just a way back to the classroom - he was waiting for me to enlighten myself, for me to be brave, for me to let go of my guard, and for me to learn to be loved. I was the boy in the class who always hung out with girls. I was clean and soft-tempered. I was teased as gay, but I had a badass relationship to prove that I was "normal". Until in the corridor of the first year of high school, a young man named hzl stopped in the noise, just to wait for me alone. From that day on, he would wait for me to go back to the classroom together, flick my bangs when I was sleeping, draw split hearts on my notebook, change seats to sit next to me, and hug me from behind to sleep late at night. I thought it was him taking the initiative to walk towards me, but little did I know that he had already been preoccupied with me even before I was paying attention. From school uniforms to fireworks, from youthfulness to calmness, he spent his entire youth teaching me what "preference" is. And I, after a long period of time, finally dared to reach out and receive this tenderness. The college entrance examination was in a different place, there were quarrels, cold wars, I personally proposed to break up - but he appeared downstairs of my dormitory across the four-hour high-speed train, with red eyes, opened his arms and said "come here". The sentence "You can't help but play with hzl" destroyed all my pretense. It turns out that "waiting for you to get out of class" is never a temporary stop, it is the beginning of the heartbeat at the age of sixteen, and it is the persistence year after year. A secret love that goes both ways, a gentle and healing growth. It started with a wait in the corridor in midsummer and ended with spending the rest of my life together day and night. Intention: True love is never expressed in words, but is hidden in the waiting in the corridor, the graffiti in the textbooks, the late night hugs, and the persistence of several years. Some people are not good at words, but they tell you with a lifetime of actions: Don't be afraid, I am always here and I will never leave. In the summer when I was sixteen, someone stopped for me, and they haven't let go year after year. From a coward who was used to being closed off, afraid of losing, and used to push away everything with cold violence, I slowly learned to receive love, respond to love, and believe in love. It was he who spent his whole youth telling me that I deserve to be firmly chosen. I hope that everyone who lacks love when growing up can meet someone who is willing to stop for you. I hope every cautious secret love will be caught gently in the end, from school uniforms to fireworks, from youth to old age.