April 28, 2025
Today, Jingyan and Liwei locked eyes, but in that moment, the familiar flutter in his heart was gone. Liwei's eyes were still bright, yet Jingyan felt as if he were peering through a haze, unable to recapture the racing heartbeat of before.
April 29, 2025
Liwei seemed to deliberately circle near Jingyan today. Jingyan could feel his gaze lingering, but he lowered his head, pretending not to notice. It was as if they were perpetually out of sync—when Liwei looked at him, Jingyan dodged; and when Jingyan mustered the courage to respond, Liwei had already averted his eyes. "I arrive when spring is absent, I leave when spring fills the city." They were like two people toyed with by fate, both aware of the unspoken feelings, yet neither daring to speak first, letting this affection slip away in silence.
That night, Jingyan dreamed. He dreamed Liwei died in a sudden fire, and he himself wept uncontrollably from grief. The sound of his crying seemed to spill from the dream into reality.
April 30, 2025
Jingyan woke up still unsettled. He went to ask the AI: "What does it mean to dream that someone I've had a crush on for a long time dies in a fire, and then I cry for them?"
The AI pondered for a moment, then, as usual, launched into a lengthy explanation of dream theory before finally pausing and saying: "Dreams are the most honest theater of our hearts. That figure fading in the flames might be the part of yourself you dare not face yet cannot let go of. The tears aren't weakness—they're your heart holding a silent but necessary funeral for those unspoken regrets and unseen wounds."
At school, Jingyan entered the auditorium and took a seat. Soon after, Liwei walked in. Spotting Jingyan from afar, he hesitated, then sat down a little distance away. When Liwei lowered his head to organize his books, Jingyan quietly turned to look at his profile, and his heavy mood seemed to lighten slightly. A while later, Liwei looked up again, his gaze unconsciously settling on Jingyan, watching him quietly for a long time. And when Liwei lowered his head once more, Jingyan looked at him again—but this time, his view was blocked by someone passing by. Between them, it was like the movie *Meet Joe Black*—so close, yet separated by an insurmountable distance.
When the bell rang, Jingyan headed to the basketball court as usual and sat alone. This time, though, he wasn't waiting for friends but staring quietly at the entrance. When Liwei appeared, his eyes followed. Liwei seemed to sense something and glanced over. Their gazes met—one second, two seconds… Jingyan's lips curled into an involuntary smile before he hurriedly looked away, feigning nonchalance. Only when Liwei's figure faded into the distance, disappearing down the hallway, did he finally lower his eyes.
After school, Jingyan didn't wait for his friends as usual but quickened his pace toward the school gate. Tomorrow was a holiday, and if he didn't see Liwei today, he'd have to wait another day. From afar, he spotted Liwei standing there and pretended to pass by casually, though his peripheral vision caught Liwei looking at him before turning away again. This time, Jingyan mustered his courage and didn't avert his gaze as he had before, letting it linger until he walked past. Though Liwei didn't look back, that one glance was enough to brighten Jingyan's mood.
Late at night, the room was lit only by a dim desk lamp. Jingyan sat at the piano, fingers slamming heavily on the keys, producing a chaotic jumble of notes. The sound was harsh and abrupt, but he played even more forcefully, as if trying to smash all his unspoken emotions into the instrument. He didn't understand himself—his playing was a mess, yet the suffocating ache in his chest seemed to dissipate bit by bit with the discordant melody. His fingers danced wildly across the black and white keys, and he suddenly felt like a madman. But somehow, only this madness allowed him to breathe.
May 1, 2025
Since falling for Liwei, Jingyan had grown fond of going to school—not because he loved studying, but because only there could he see him. On days without Liwei, time passed unbearably slowly, stretched like a rubber band, each second carrying a faint ache.
May 2, 2025
While washing dishes, a magpie-robin suddenly landed on the windowsill, tilting its head and chirping brightly at Jingyan. Its feathers were stark black and white, its eyes gleaming as if carrying some message. Compelled, Jingyan pulled out his phone and searched, "What does it mean when a magpie-robin calls?" The results flooded in—good luck, happy news, a turning point… but his gaze lingered on one word: "Love."
His heart skipped a beat. Instinctively, he looked out the window, but the bird had already flown away, leaving only swaying branches and an indescribable sense of anticipation.
Jingyan noticed the contradiction. At school, he could clearly sense Liwei's feelings—the deliberately slowed steps, the hesitant pauses, even the occasional tentative glances. Yet strangely, when this affection was so plainly before him, Jingyan felt an emptiness.
He didn't understand his own fickleness. One moment, his heart raced at Liwei's presence; the next, he felt nothing at all. These shifting emotions terrified him, as if he were capricious, incapable of sustaining even his own feelings.
May 5, 2025
Jingyan realized Liwei always put on a deliberately cute act around him—the slight head tilt when smiling, the intentionally softened voice, even the occasional clumsy gesture, all seemed like carefully crafted performances. Jingyan knew he no longer felt that heart-pounding excitement, yet whenever Liwei did these things, he couldn't help but think… how adorable he was.
It was like the tide—receding with cool detachment, then surging back with such intensity that he wanted to pull Liwei into his arms. He hated this back-and-forth, hated feeling like a fickle observer, simultaneously seeing through Liwei's act yet falling helplessly for it.
"Do I… actually like him, or just the way he likes me?"
May 6, 2025
Jingyan could tell Liwei's gaze no longer lingered on him as it once had.
Their eye contact grew fleeting, like the cicadas at summer's end, each cry softer and more hesitant than the last. Liwei no longer took detours just to pass by him, and Jingyan no longer slowed his steps, waiting for that familiar figure.
Two and a half months of longing had been like an unclaimed rain—falling, falling, then stopping.
Sometimes Jingyan wondered if they were both waiting for the other to give up first—Liwei no longer cautiously approaching, Jingyan no longer feeling his heart race at his presence.
Perhaps this affection had never truly begun, so its end was soundless, like a snowflake landing on a warm palm—gone before it could even be seen.
"Their longing was like a mutual retreat. No one said goodbye, but no one took another step forward."
May 7, 2025
When their eyes met, Jingyan's breath hitched.
Liwei stood at the end of the hallway, the setting sun casting a golden outline around his silhouette through the glass. Their gazes connected—one second, two seconds—neither looked away, yet neither stepped forward.
A dull ache spread through Jingyan's chest.
He hoped this was goodbye, yet feared it truly was.
If this was the last glance, then at least, in this moment, Liwei's eyes still held his reflection.
But if it wasn't… then what were they still waiting for?
The noise in the hallway ebbed and flowed, muffled as if behind frosted glass. Finally, Liwei turned away and melted into the crowd of students. Jingyan stood still, suddenly realizing that some things could be lost before they were ever truly his.
May 8, 2025
In the hallway, they began a tacit game of circling each other.
Jingyan slowed his steps when passing Liwei's classroom, his peripheral vision sweeping over that familiar seat; Liwei always appeared by the water fountain during breaks, right at the corner Jingyan had to pass. Their paths were like asymptotes—infinitely close yet never intersecting, every near-miss a deliberate accident.
Sometimes they came so close he could smell the faint detergent on Liwei's uniform, only to avert their eyes the next second, pretending they hadn't paused. This push-and-pull was more torturous than outright avoidance—both orchestrating encounters, yet neither willing to admit it aloud.
May 9, 2025
During a break, sitting alone on the basketball court, Jingyan realized it had been a long time since he'd last seen Liwei nearby.
After school, mid-laugh with friends, his gaze was abruptly pulled away by a figure in the distance—
It was Liwei.
He stood under a phoenix tree, backpack slung over one shoulder, dappled sunlight dancing across him. Jingyan's voice trailed off, his friend's teasing fading into background noise.
Only when Liwei's figure disappeared behind a car door did Jingyan snap back to reality.
In that moment, he understood:
Some people, just seeing them is enough to quiet the entire world.
And others, no matter how long you look, are meant to be watched as they walk away.
May 10, 2025
The midnight lamp cast a dim shadow on the wall as Jingyan stared blankly at his journal. The inexplicable ache in his chest wouldn't fade, like a sodden cotton ball lodged in his throat.
He picked up the pen, ink blooming into tiny circles on the page:
"I think it's time to let you go, Liwei."
The pen paused, then continued:
"I can openly miss you, but not openly walk toward you;
I can rightfully like you, but have no right to openly claim you."
The moonlight outside was faint, glazing the words like a thin frost.
"The world is too vast. Without deliberate encounters, two people really will never meet again."
He recalled those secretly treasured moments—Liwei's tousled hair as he bent over his desk, the glistening sweat on his neck after P.E., the near-collision at the hallway corner that sent both their hearts racing.
"You were the warmest light I've ever seen, but sunsets always return to the sun."
The pen suddenly trembled. Jingyan sniffled and pressed down hard to write the final line:
"If only you'd truly liked me too."
As he closed the journal, a drop fell onto the cover, seeping into the leather. It was impossible to tell if it was dew or something else.
May 14, 2025
Amid the cafeteria's noise, their eyes suddenly met.
As if pulled by some invisible force, across the sea of bobbing heads, Jingyan and Liwei's gazes locked. One minute, sixty seconds—long enough for everything around them to blur into the background, yet too short for a proper goodbye.
Liwei's eyes were still so bright, like lakes holding shattered glass. Jingyan saw his own reflection in them and suddenly remembered how, two months ago, he'd first fallen for that very gaze.
Then, without warning, they both smiled. Not the cautious, tentative smiles of before, but full, unreserved ones.
The most dignified goodbyes need no words.
Turning away, Jingyan heard something in his heart land softly. It didn't hurt—just left a hollow echo, like a classroom emptied after school.
He knew this smile was the period at the end of their story.