Paper Airplane on the Rooftop

This is a story about hindsight. Shen Huai, a top student in the Department of Physics, and Lin Wan, a painting girl, shared their rooftop time from the age of seven to eighteen. They grew up separately in the same concrete square, one immersed himself in solving problems, the other daubed the sky, and they existed silently on the edge of each other's youth. Until the day when Lin Wan was 25 years old, on the day she moved, she found a box of paper airplanes on the old rooftop - each one was folded with thoughts that the youngster dared not express, starting from "She came to draw again today" and ending with "I want to tell her that I like her." The paper airplane connects two periods of time and space: one is the silent companionship of shared experiences, and the other is the regret discovered alone many years later. There was no grand confession, only the soaked coat on a rainy night, the umbrella that I was reluctant to take out, and the letter that I never handed over when I was eighteen. When the paper planes spread out in the dusk, those thoughts that had been dusted by time finally echoed - it turned out that all the absences were because they were afraid to get close; all the waiting was for an opportunity to "go back and see". Some people say that the most touching thing about youth is not perfection, but the words that have not yet had time to be spoken, are collected into a corner by the wind, and blown back to you many years later.