Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I was trembling all over as I rushed into the crowd to find him.

Class 8’s line was right next to ours, and I spotted Lu Chen instantly.

At sixteen, Lu Chen hadn’t yet grown into the lean, upright figure he would later become. His shoulders were a bit narrow, and his school uniform was washed thin and faded. He stood quietly at the edge of the crowd, like a silent stone. He glanced up at me for a fleeting second, likely startled by my near-tearful expression, before quickly averting his gaze.

But seeing him only made me want to cry harder.

He was still alive.

His breathing was steady, his features were clean, and he stood there under the sun-a world away from the person in my memory lying in the back of an ambulance.

From that day on, I devoted all my attention to Lu Chen.

I knew his father had passed away early and his mother worked the night shift at a garment factory. I knew he arrived at school every day at 6:30 AM and spent his lunch breaks solving problems in the row of seats by the library window. I knew he would participate in a physics competition in his sophomore year, and that in the spring of his senior year, he would encounter a child chasing a ball at the school gate-and then die right before my eyes.

I lived my life counting down the days, as if guarding a time bomb.

To prevent fate from repeating itself, I tried to get close to him.

I began intentionally passing by the door of Class 8, purposely leaving my workbooks in the library, and deliberately walking alongside him for half a flight of stairs in the hallway. Yet Lu Chen remained Lu Chen-taciturn and quiet, helping me without ever saying more than necessary. Only I knew that he would silently move the podium aside while I was mopping the floor for my cleaning duties; that on rainy days, he would lean his old umbrella against the back door of my classroom; and that while I dozed off during evening self-study, he would watch me for a long time through the two windows separating us.

During those three years, for the first time, I no longer dared to only love him from afar.

I learned to turn my affection into small, simple sentences.

“Lu Chen, let me see your notes.”

“Lu Chen, how did you solve the last problem on the weekly test?”

“Lu Chen, today the library is full again. Do you want to go to the stadium bleachers to do your homework?”

He would always pause for a moment before responding softly, “Okay.”

The distance between us finally shortened, inch by inch.

But I never dared to breathe a sigh of relief.

Because I knew that the true spring had not yet arrived.

On the third day of the second semester of our senior year, I took a leave of absence and waited at the school gate before dawn.

I knew better than anyone that at 5:47 AM, a child would chase a ball into the road, a truck would come rushing around the corner, and Lu Chen would lunge forward.

This time, I stood in advance exactly where the child would rush out.

At 5:47 AM, the ball really did roll out.

The little boy had just broken free from his mother’s hand when I scooped him up. The ball hit the curb, and the truck roared past, bringing with it a gust of cold, metallic wind.

I held the child, my back drenched in cold sweat.

Lu Chen stood behind me, looking as if he were in a complete daze.

After a long while, he asked in a low voice, “How did you know he would run out?”

I looked up at him, my lips pale.

“I had a dream.”

He fell silent for a long time, as if he didn’t believe me, yet didn’t dare to ask further. Finally, he simply handed me the White Magnolia Hair Clip held in his palm.

“Yours. It just fell off.”

I looked at the hair clip, and my eyes instantly welled up with heat.

For the first time, I had truly dragged him back from that car accident.

I thought everything had changed.

But a week later, Lu Chen died anyway.