"When Jiang Yubai turned around, I hurriedly buried my face in page 237 of the English dictionary.
That page contains ginkgo leaves from last autumn, the veins of which spell out the abbreviation of his name - unfortunately he will never discover it, just as he will never know that the number of dog-eared pages in the dictionary, taken together, is the number of days since we met. "
Everyone thought he and I were the best strangers in the library. He sits by the window in the sixth row every Wednesday afternoon, and I peek at his side face framed by sunlight through two pots of pothos. We always close the exercise books at the same time, but never say goodbye. Until a rainstorm day, when his soaked shirt stuck to his back, he suddenly turned around and grabbed the tissue I was about to take away: "You frown every time I finish drinking coffee, and you rummage through the medicine box every time I cough - this classmate, do you dare to make your care more obvious?"
But I didn't tell him that it was the book "One Hundred Years of Solitude" that really exposed me. The day he borrowed it, I wrote on the title page, "Aureliano should not have fallen in love with Remedios," and when he returned it, he added a scrawled pencil mark at the end of the sentence: "But it rained in Macondo for four years, eleven months, and two days."
Intention: Don't cry when you have a secret love