I've Waited Seven Years for You to Say You Like Me

The seventeen-year-old wind is always wrapped in the fragrance of sycamore leaves and blows into the red brick alley of Linchuan Middle School. Su Wan is a quiet girl hiding in the back row. She shuttles between the classroom and the studio with her drawing book. She paints a variety of scenery, but she only dares to paint the boy diagonally in front of her who always wears a white shirt. Jiang Yi is a dazzling star on the basketball court, with precise and neat three-pointers and flamboyant handwriting on his homework book, but he always inadvertently sets his sights on the figure with his head down as he paints. An unexpected partner on duty, and sharing an umbrella on a rainy day, allowed two people who had never met each other to gradually enter each other's youth. They walked together on the moonlit path after evening self-study, shared songs from the same pair of headphones, cheered each other up in the days when test papers were flying around, and agreed to go see the distant sea together. But youth is never just sweet and greasy. The pressure of further education, misunderstandings, and comments from others come over like a tide, making the tightly held hands almost loosen. When the college entrance examination bell rang and the cicada chirping in midsummer came to an end, they were separated in the sea of ​​people, leaving only a picture book full of young people and an unspoken confession. We met again many years later in the familiar Wutong Lane. The sunshine was still there and the boy's eyebrows had not changed. The long-overdue "I like you" finally passed through time and fell softly on my ears. Love in youth may be clumsy and timid, but as long as it's you, it doesn't matter if it's later.