Looking up at the starry sky

     The night is deep, and I can't fall asleep alone. I open the window and see the twinkling stars, but are you the brightest one?

    I remember the first time I saw you was in my final year of junior high. I stood nervously behind you, watching my classmates register one by one, and my name was left unassigned. Yes. I was timid and cowardly, and because I didn't have the money for tuition, I didn't dare to speak to you. I just stood there, standing there.

    Later, you noticed me, smiled slightly, and asked, "Have you registered?" I shook my head. You asked again, "Are you having trouble?" I nodded. "Come with me!" When I took out my blankets from a corner of the school, I saw tears in your eyes; and I couldn't hold back anymore and burst into tears. You took the blankets, took my hand, and walked towards the dormitory building.

    I've always thought of myself as a stubborn child, someone no one could melt the thick ice in my heart, but that day, when I saw a tall figure and a small figure walking side by side, I seemed to hear the sound of ice melting and water hitting the ground.

    And that's how you entered my life!

    I started looking forward to your class, eagerly hoping to see you, so I wouldn't feel lonely and afraid in the crowd. Even though I sat in the last row, I paid more attention than anyone else, afraid you'd ignore me, forget me, or disregard me because I was disobedient.

    One sunny day, you said something, and then tears welled up in your eyes. When you started reading the list, I felt a surge of panic. When you read my name, you paused, and my pen fell to the ground with a thud.

    I asked you if I could stay in this class, and you shook your head: "It's the school's arrangement. There's nothing I can do." You walked me to the door of the classroom across the street, saying, "Go ahead. I'll take care of you."

    Between the two classes was a short, yet long, pedestrian bridge. I stubbornly chose a seat near the door, so I could see your every move. I often stared blankly at the classroom across the street, like gazing up at the unreachable Milky Way and the people living in it. That place, once mine!

    You would occasionally come to see me, but that was all. Every time I watched you leave, I felt an indescribable bitterness. I felt like a child abandoned for no reason, lonely and helpless.

    Once, the teacher asked me to speak to the class about learning methods for Chinese. I said, "The reason I was able to achieve such good grades is because I have such a good teacher..." I habitually looked up and saw you walking towards me. In that instant, I froze, speechless. My gaze followed your movements, and then tears streamed down my face.

    Every night, I would lean against the dormitory window to memorize my lessons. There was no light, yet I persisted for a year. Just because it was the route you took home every night. I got used to watching you walk towards me from afar, your tall figure first shortening under the dim streetlights, then lengthening, and then disappearing.

    One snowy night, I saw you walking so laboriously. In what moment did you become so haggard? I couldn't help but cry again. You noticed someone at the window and asked with concern, "Why aren't you asleep so late? Is something wrong?" I pulled my head back, the sound of my tears hitting the ground so crisp and ethereal in the quiet night.

    I'd gotten used to reading and doing homework on the balcony. To be precise, I'd gotten used to studying while watching you and being watched by you, and the balcony was undoubtedly the best choice.

    The high school entrance exam was over, the results came out, and I stood dejectedly in the administration office, not wanting to look, nor daring to look. A teacher walked by, beaming with excitement, "You got in! You got in! A top high school! That's wonderful!" I politely smiled back, continuing my dejected state. You walked by, silent. My tears welled up again. You spoke: "If you want to cry, just cry it out. I know you've suffered. Cry out all your grievances; it'll make you feel better."

    So, on that afternoon, a frail girl, in front of the teacher she'd cherished for a year—no, the tall boy—cried unrestrainedly for a long time.

    In the following days, you made excuses about being busy and asked me to do some things for you. As the atmosphere of parting grew increasingly heavy, I silently did my work, silently shed tears, silently thought, "I'm about to leave you; I really don't want to."

    At the graduation ball, everyone was chattering, saying I'd gotten into a top university and I absolutely had to sing a song. Okay, for our reunion, I was willing, so let's sing "Meeting is a Song," but there had to be a lead role. I waited, until the very end, when I heard from you that you were preparing for your wedding and couldn't come. Standing on the stage, I hesitated for a long time before finally speaking:

    "I'm most afraid, most afraid of the misty rain, unable to see clearly, unable to see your figure..."

    My youth, my youth, finally ended in a torrent of tears. Farewell to that ball, and farewell to my naive, fragile youth!

    Now I've come to this unfamiliar city far away, beginning a new journey in life. Every time I look up at the night sky, I believe that in the vast galaxy, there are two stars, with a story only they know and understand! Isn't that right?