The high school classroom in midsummer is like an airtight steamer. In the sound of test papers flying, there is a secret that has been hidden for two years - she likes Shen Zhiyi.
He is the kind of boy who shines when he walks among the crowd. The figure sweating on the basketball court, the light in his eyes when solving a difficult problem, and even the way he just takes a nap on the table wearing a white shirt, are all quietly written into the corner of the diary. They were sitting next to each other, classmates who could naturally borrow an eraser and discuss a math problem. They were close enough that she could smell the faint fragrance of laundry detergent on his body, but so far away that she never had the courage to say that she liked him.
The cicadas chirped from noisy to sparse, and the numbers on the countdown card decreased day by day. Later, as I watched Shen Zhiyi chatting and joking with other girls, and watching him fill in distant cities on the application form, I slowly understood: some youthful secret loves, just like the end of this summer, are destined to quietly end with the graduation bell, and even saying "I like you" has become an eternal regret.
The pantomime of youth.
Intention: secret love