When she was seventeen years old, Lin Xia met transfer student Zhou Yu.
He is taciturn and has top grades. He is like a fir tree growing in a corner, cold and distant.
But he would silently hand over an umbrella on rainy days, put a bottle of water on her desk after gym class, and draw her bowed profile over and over in the drawing book on the rooftop.
Lin Xia was moved.
But my best friend said he liked her first, but because of the inferiority complex in his bones, the word "like" was like a thorn stuck in his throat, and he couldn't say it out.
So she backed away, she lied, she denied it out loud in front of the class: "I never liked him."
Fortunately, he heard it.
Later, Zhou Yu left.
Later, Lin Xia found the confession letter that had never been delivered in the drawing book he left behind.
The letter read: "Lin Xia, I like you. Can you wait for me?"
But fate didn't give her a chance to answer.
At seventeen, she missed someone. Later I realized that what I missed was the only light in my entire youth.
Intention: Some misses are not due to lack of fate, but that we personally hid our love in silence at the age when we should be bravest.