Those Years I Was a Simp

Sheng Qi had eyes that looked tender even when gazing at a dog, yet his chin was always raised. He never deigned to lower it for anyone.

He was the undisputed belle of the school, a lofty flower no one dared to pluck.

Liang Yun did.

She brought him breakfast for two years and wrote him 188 letters. At last, one evening after self-study, she managed to grab the cuff of his school uniform in the hallway.

Sheng Qi glanced down at her clenched fingers and sneered. “Liang Yun, you’re so pathetic.”

Liang Yun didn’t let go.

He looked again, but didn’t pull away.

That was their unspoken understanding:

He complained that her lunchbox was ugly, but ate everything in it every time.

He said her letters were old-fashioned, but folded every one and tucked it into a compartment in his schoolbag.

The day they broke up, leaves from the plane trees carpeted the ground beside the sports field.

Liang Yun said, “Sheng Qi, let’s end things here.”

His hand, still in his pocket, slowly clenched. His expression remained as infuriatingly calm as ever. “Liang Yun, think it through before you talk to me.”

“I have.”

She turned to leave. He grabbed her wrist.

At last, his voice cracked. “...Say that again.”

Years later, at a class reunion, someone mentioned Liang Yun.

Sheng Qi toyed with his glass, his expression indifferent, as if listening to someone else’s story.

When the gathering ended, someone saw him leaning at the far end of the hallway, an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

“Back then, she wore that blue-and-white uniform. The sleeves were a little long, and whenever she wrote, she’d fold them up twice.”

“When she tugged my sleeve, her hand would tremble.”

“She wasn’t exactly striking...”

He paused, his voice hoarse. “But one look from her, and I was done for.”

Theme: Loving one another.