Tangtang and Qingqing Are Like Meeting Each Other

That summer when her white skirt brushed the steps of the auditorium, Gao Tang saw Chen Yunzhi for the first time. He stood in the back row, his school uniform washed white, but his eyes were as bright as stars soaked in morning dew. Her hand holding the speech trembled slightly, and his quiet gaze became the softest footnote to the seventeen-year-old. Later he became the physics class representative diagonally behind her. A piece of eraser with a chipped edge fell on her crying physics paper, and the pencil word was crookedly written "F=ma"; when the 800-meter track was about to be unable to hold up, his voice broke through the crowd - "Gao Tang, come on", his T-shirt was stained with the sweat of the three-thousand-meter long run, and his eyes were filled with the light of the entire midsummer. The street lights on graduation night stretched the shadows very long. He handed over a notebook with a begonia flower cover and said, "There are questions inside," but on the last page he hid very light words: "Actually, I saved a lot of words." When we met again, she was an actor who shared joys and sorrows in front of the camera, and he was a firefighter with an orange life jacket cutting through the thick smoke. The words "call the police" always jumped out late at night, carrying the weight of life and death; the reply "return to the team" often came late, but it always made her hanging heart drop. She told him about the sunset on the filming set, with the clouds dyed orange; he told him about the sunrise at the training base, with the morning fog spreading over the runway - like foreshadowing laid in the time, they were busy running around, but never really drifted apart. Until the firelight of warehouses on the outskirts of the city illuminated the night sky. The burnt notebook was found from his pocket. The corners were curled like butterfly wings, but the handwriting on the last page was so clear that it was scorching: "Tangtang and I met each other." Hidden in these eight words were the arcs of her pen that he glanced at during self-study classes, the words "Don't worry" that he wanted to send and then deleted countless times before going to the police, and the words that he didn't have time to say when he rushed to the collapsed warehouse, "I like you, from the age of seventeen to this moment." He used his life to support the fireworks in the world, so she put on his training uniform to carry the hose he once carried. She said in the public service video, "Some people never say they love you, but spend their whole life answering." When the wind blew through the begonia flowers, she would always think of that unfinished meeting. It turns out that some worries are never spoken out, but they have been turned into eternity by time. It's like he never left, just turned into a star in the sky and continued to shine under her - living like what he said back then, clean and bright, like a begonia in early spring, and like a light that never goes out. Purpose: To pay tribute to the people's heroes