Physical education was a rare break from the usual quietness of Class 11A1. Students lined up on the track under a pale blue sky, the morning sun making everything shimmer faintly.
Lin Keqing stood near the back, arms folded as she glanced around. She wasn't particularly athletic, and the thought of running laps didn't thrill her. Just as she sighed, a familiar voice piped up beside her.
"Let me guess—you hate running too?"
It was Le Yahan, ponytail bouncing as she grinned.
"I hate it more than I hate math," Keqing muttered.
"That's impressive," Yahan giggled and nudged her chin toward someone walking up. "See that guy? That's Tran Vuka. Transferred from Class 11A2. Supposedly good at literally everything."
Keqing followed her gaze. A tall boy in a black sports jacket was casually spinning a basketball. Tran Vuka had a confident grin and the kind of relaxed charisma that turned heads without trying. As he walked past, he offered a casual nod.
"You don't look like you wanna run," he said, glancing at Keqing. "If you trip, I'll rescue you. Deal?"
Keqing blinked, surprised, then gave a small laugh. "I'll think about it."
A few meters away, Gu Yuyan sat on the bleachers, scribbling something in his notebook. He wasn't participating—medical exemption, probably. Still, Keqing could feel his presence like gravity. When she looked up, he wasn't looking at the track—he was looking at her.
Their eyes met.
And then, just as quietly, he looked away.
But her heartbeat didn't calm so quickly.
Later in class, Keqing opened her literature book and found a folded slip of paper inside. She already knew whose handwriting it was.
"He talks a lot."
— G.Y.
She smiled.
"You're observing me?"
— L.K.
A reply came during math, tucked beneath her assignment sheet.
"You were laughing."
— G.Y.
At lunch, Keqing sat by the window, sketchbook open but untouched. Le Yahan was across from her, stabbing tofu with mild annoyance.
"You know, you're only this quiet when you're daydreaming about something."
"Not daydreaming," Keqing mumbled. "Just thinking."
"About our poetic deskmate?"
Keqing smiled softly but didn't answer.
A chair scraped back behind her. Someone sat down.
Tran Vuka, tray in hand, settled beside them.
"Mind if I join you two?" he asked, already seated.
Yahan raised an eyebrow. "That was less a question and more an announcement."
"I'm a man of action," he said cheerfully. Then to Keqing: "What're you drawing?"
Keqing instinctively closed her sketchbook. "Just lines. It's not finished."
"Can I see it sometime?"
"Maybe," she said. Funny—it was the same answer she had given Gu Yuyan. And somehow, it meant something entirely different now.
During break, Keqing found herself walking alone. Her steps took her to the school's rooftop—technically off-limits, but no one really enforced it.
She stepped into the wind, standing near the railing, pulling her scarf tighter. The breeze was gentle, like fingertips brushing her thoughts aside.
Behind her, soft footsteps.
She didn't turn. She didn't need to.
Seconds later, Gu Yuyan stood beside her, leaning against the railing, silent.
They didn't speak.
Below, the world was filled with laughter, movement, noise. But up here, it was still.
"I didn't know you came up here," she finally said.
"I do. Sometimes."
A pause. Then:
"You don't like people?"
"I don't like noise," he said. "But I like moments."
Keqing turned slightly toward him. "Is this a moment?"
He looked at her.
And this time, neither of them looked away.
After school, she opened her sketchbook and found another note, carefully placed:
"If you stop writing, I would notice.
If you stop showing up, I'd notice more."
— G.Y.
Her fingers hovered over the ink. It wasn't just about words—it was the quiet between them that spoke the loudest.
She smiled and folded the note neatly.
Outside, Chen Yuke caught up to her at the gates.
"You dropped this," he said, handing over a pencil she hadn't realized she lost.
"Thanks," she said.
He walked beside her for a few seconds, hands in his pockets. "You looked like you were in another world."
"Maybe I was," she replied, then turned to him. "But it's nice to have someone pull you back."
Chen Yuke gave a small laugh. "Well, anytime you need a landing strip, I've got you."
From across the walkway, Le Yahan watched with interest, lips pressed into a small knowing smile. The breeze tugged gently at her hair, and for a brief second, she looked more thoughtful than usual.
Later that evening, Keqing sat at her desk, flipping through her sketchbook. On a blank page, she began a new drawing: not just lines this time, but silhouettes.
Two figures on a rooftop. One umbrella in the rain. A pencil between fingers.
Between steps, notes, and silence, something was beginning to bloom.
Maybe more than one thing.