That year, he was seventeen years old, sitting at the back of the classroom, holding his head on his wrist, looking lazily out of the window, the corners of his mouth slightly raised in a frivolous arc, and his eyes full of careless smiles.
Suddenly he heard the familiar little milky voice coming from the front, and the smile in his eyes gradually became warm and enthusiastic.
Concept: Love in the blooming season of youth is always sweet.