His White Moonlight Is Me

That year, a taciturn boy was transferred to the class and became Lin Xi's deskmate. She thought it was just a secret love that ended in vain - he was so cold, like a crescent moon hanging high in the night sky, and she was just one of the countless people on the ground looking up at the moon. But he would quietly push the thermos cup over when she was lying on the table in pain during her menstrual period; he would carry her along the long sycamore path from the teaching building to the dormitory after she sprained her ankle; he would patiently tell her physics questions that she could never understand after everyone left during evening self-study. The sycamore leaves had fallen and turned green again, and she thought they had a tacit understanding. Until the end of the exam, she held the sketchbook she drew by herself and heard him say to someone else at the corner of the corridor: "She? She's just a deskmate." Later, she became famous at a young age, and her paintings were printed as bookmarks and postcards and placed in bookstores in countless cities. She met him again at the celebration party - the man who had made her secretly shed tears for countless late nights. He blocked her in the corner with red eyes: "That sentence back then was because I was afraid of delaying your exam." She pushed him away with a smile, but tears fell: "I'm sorry, my Bai Yueguang died a long time ago." "Die in that unsent hug." ——This is a story about "I thought I didn't deserve it" and "I thought you understood". The love when I was young was always clumsy and cautious, like the white mist on the glass, so clear and so easy to dissipate. But some people, after going round and round, will eventually return to their original seat.