At that time, we were in a classroom on the second floor of the school’s activity center, and I remembered we were having a music class (that’s what the schedule said, but there were a bunch of people yelling at the big screen on the wall, and I heard they were singing, which was really… unbearable).
I was sitting in my seat, holding A novel called, “Dear Wife,” and was reading the part about American love, which was a letter written to his wife. To be honest, I didn’t have much time to pay attention to her; I just wanted to finish reading the article in one go, but she sat next to me, patiently accompanying me until I was done. I glanced at her sideways, and she smiled back at me.
“I’m from Class 1 of the Industrial Department, how about you?” (Oh my! I took ten minutes to answer her question and even asked a completely unconstructive question. If she wasn’t a classmate, would she really sit next to me? And she sat there for ten minutes.)
“Are you the one who mentioned in your self-introduction that you studied wind instruments in vocational school?” she asked with an admiring expression. Although this was my experience and interest, I never thought it would become a topic of conversation, so I nodded nonchalantly.
“Can you teach me the flute?” Again, that irresistible cute expression. My face revealed some doubt; teach you the flute? Before I could voice my question, she told me her reason for wanting to learn the flute.
It turned out that her brother had a flute, but no one used it. She wanted to learn the flute but had no one to teach her, and upon hearing that I had studied wind instruments, she became quite excited.
The next day in physical education class, she really brought a flute (I had no idea how she got that flute; maybe she really had a brother who just happened to own one!). Anyway, because of that flute, I had another opportunity to talk to her.
The time spent teaching her the flute was about two minutes; she only learned how to produce sound, and I didn’t even teach her the scales or fingerings because we spent the rest of the time chatting. In short, the flute was merely a bridge for communication between us, not the focus of our interaction.
Besides music and physical education classes, she didn’t miss any other time either, even during class, she would chat with me through notes. Of course, as per usual, she was the one talking, and I was the listener; she asked questions, and I was responsible for answering.
Basically, she was a very smart girl. Although she didn’t take classes very seriously and never took notes, she could digest the content of a class in less than five minutes. This had a prerequisite: someone had to be very diligent in listening to the class and understanding it; notes couldn’t be too extensive (it was best if they didn’t need to take notes at all). Don’t doubt it! That person was me, which meant someone had to digest the information for her first.
Sometimes I admired myself quite a bit; not only did I have to listen attentively and take notes diligently, but I also had to turn back occasionally to look at her and answer her questions. However, I was often thrown off by her questions, unsure how to respond.
“Tomorrow is Saturday, which happens to be my birthday. Would you like to celebrate with me?” This was a very important class, so why did she suddenly ask such a question? After she repeated the same question twice, I began to have the aforementioned doubts.
“Well… I guess it should be fine!” From my response, it was clear that I was a bit hesitant, but I still agreed to her. My hesitation wasn’t due to unwillingness; it was just that she had a boyfriend—why did she want me to accompany her? A day like a birthday, which is worth commemorating, shouldn’t it be… spent together as a couple? My mind was filled with questions, and the pen in my hand came to a halt as I pondered over these issues.
Before I knew it, class was almost over. When I turned my attention back to the blackboard, I realized my notes were already a whole blackboard behind, not to mention what the teacher had been teaching. I used the break to organize my unfinished notes and tried to figure out what the teacher had covered in class. At that moment, she returned to the classroom from outside, looking like she had just come back from the canteen, holding snacks in her hands like trophies, quietly standing next to me, seemingly waiting for my response.
