Unexpectedly, after the lunch break, the seat by the corridor that belonged to Zhinian was completely empty, with only the newly distributed textbooks piled on the desk.
In the following days, Zhinian did not appear in the classroom at all. Since the semester had just started, this conspicuous empty seat sparked curiosity among some classmates, who asked the teacher why someone had taken such a long leave.
As the endpoint of information circulation, I naturally learned from them the reason for Zhinian’s absence — she was feeling unwell.
Worried about Zhinian, after discovering her early leave during lunch break that day, I sent her a message through the contact number on my phone.
I wasn’t sure if Zhinian’s mood had changed or if some sudden family trouble had caused her to miss school for so many days.
But the fact in front of me was clear: the Zhinian who used to reply to my messages immediately had not responded for several days in a row this time. The greeting message I sent hung there with a lonely “read” mark beside it, but that passionate catgirl, who used to reply with awkward words, was nowhere to be seen.
“……”
Without the mischievous catgirl around, these days seemed to pass incredibly fast, like waking up from a heavy sleep to find it was already Friday, the weekend just around the corner.
The new homeroom teacher seemed very motivated. When rearranging seats, he let students freely choose their spots according to their academic ranking.
Therefore, the only absent Zhinian was assigned the gatekeeping spot by the classroom’s back door, and I was immediately beaten to the seat next to me by Bainiao, who ranked just ahead of me, becoming my new deskmate.
Within just a few days, I wore that well-practiced fake smile as usual, mingling and getting acquainted with unfamiliar new classmates, and was even elected class monitor.
This had become my most familiar daily routine. Before meeting Zhinian again, I had always lived this way, within the small social world called school.
Taking a deep breath, I leaned slightly against the chair back and stared up at the inspirational slogans above the blackboard, along with the assorted chatting of classmates beside me. It was as if I was back in last year’s old classroom, unchanged in the slightest.
Even though I had finally entered the same class as Zhinian, I still felt like a decayed old tree standing in place, stripped of passion. I didn’t send her any more messages; the source of my inner motivation felt as if a large chunk had been carved out, leaving me to merely follow the daily routine of going to school and coming home.
Would I just get buried again in this new web of relationships?
From graduating elementary school until now, about to enter university, I had made countless friends and acquaintances. But every time I arrived in a new environment, I threw all the past away. Unless the other person actively appeared before me, I wouldn’t actively seek them out after class reshuffles or graduation.
Summing it up this way, I realized I seemed good at socializing, but rarely maintained friendships. Most connections stayed only at one stage. I treated these so-called interpersonal relationships as tools for socializing, to help me live better in this world.
Do others do this too? Or am I the only cold-hearted and indifferent one?
However… having a friendship or romantic relationship that lasts eternally, enduring any hardship without faltering, such bonds almost don’t exist.
Though I used to comfort Zhinian with awkward vows and promises, deep inside I was very clear: such words are only truly fulfilled by the strongest, most determined people. I didn’t believe I was strong enough to that exaggerated degree.
Soaked in the torrent of time, any bond is mercilessly washed away by the rushing water, gradually breaking into fragments and dissolving into the current, becoming the catalyst that breaks the next bond.
Mocking my own fanciful thoughts, Bainiao suddenly poked my arm.
“Gu Fan, do you want to play Werewolf after lunch? I’ve organized it, and there are a lot of people.”
“Where are we playing? In the classroom? That might get a bit noisy.”
Although class was in session, the Chinese Classics teacher wasn’t strict. He often taught with a smile and, upon seeing students asleep, would joke about letting kids get some extra rest due to the heavy pressure nowadays.
Bainiao shook her head and then, as if to avoid disturbing the teacher’s lecture with too loud a voice, leaned closer. Her smooth hair slid onto my arm as she lowered her voice.
“I’m planning to take everyone to the auditorium. There are plenty of empty seats there, and the space is wide. During lunch, the people who go there usually play badminton or table tennis, so it won’t be a big deal. Don’t worry, Gu Fan.”
The auditorium?
Hearing that word from Bainiao, I suddenly remembered the few times I had skipped class with Zhinian to come here, to this secluded corner of the school auditorium.
We picked two relatively intact chairs and sat in the sunlit second-floor compartment, chatting leisurely like retired old couples. On the worn wooden table between us sat the drinks we had bought from the Snack Shop.
Hmph, I wonder if Zhinian ever secretly stayed there, just like those days when she didn’t message me to skip unimportant classes but wandered the campus alone.
She would ramble on about seeing some pretty bird or send me photos of colorful flowers, asking me to rate her photography skills.
Of course, more often she used “taking photos together” as an excuse, using flowers as a backdrop to show me her outfit and hairstyle of the day. Then, with clumsy hints, she tried to get me to praise how gorgeous she looked.
Every time I replied during breaks, I crafted perfect compliments that made Zhinian smile brightly, flooding me with adorable emoticons showing her happiness.
“Gu Fan? Don’t like the auditorium? We can pick somewhere else. The school is big, there are lots of places to choose from.”
Having spaced out too long, Bainiao poked my arm again, worried.
I quickly tidied the chaotic thoughts in my head, smoothed over the slight change in my expression, and turned to her with a flawless smile.
“No need. The auditorium is fine. Bainiao, you’ve thought it through carefully.”
More than where to play the game, what I really cared about was whether the table and chairs Zhinian and I had brought to the auditorium’s second-floor compartment were still there.
I didn’t even know what I was searching for. Even if they were still waiting in their original spot, it couldn’t change the fact that only I returned there.
The traces left by time had covered them again with a thick layer of dust.
And the black-haired catgirl who wiped away that dust had long since disappeared without a trace.