It must be summer. When I met you.
I remember that day, the sun shone slantingly into the classroom through the thick branches and leaves outside the window. The cool wind blew the scattered small advertisements on the ground, and there was no one in the big room except me.
Then you opened the door and walked in, put down the heavy book in your arms, and started studying quietly.
Maybe, on such a quiet and beautiful afternoon. In this quiet and comfortable atmosphere, I suddenly feel that I have an inexplicable familiarity and tacit understanding with you.
Then I suddenly felt like I wanted to know who you are.