After the gathering, Qianye withdrew from the flute club. The seniors were puzzled by her decision, but Qianye insisted, and they reluctantly agreed. On Thursday, the flute club practiced in the square, and the somewhat awkward sound of the flute drifted toward the library. Qianye stood by the window of the library, looking in the direction of the sound, as though she could pick out Han Chao’s note from among the others.

“Hey, Qianye, there’s a letter for you. I’ve left it in your dorm,” said the dormitory manager. “Thanks,” Qianye replied, then immediately went back to her dorm.

She saw a pale purple envelope on her desk, with a neat and elegant handwriting on it—Qianye.

In the letter, Zhou Ran shared a lot with her. Qianye didn’t know why Zhou Ran had written to her. Perhaps she was the only one who had witnessed Zhou Ran’s youthful struggles, or maybe, in Zhou Ran’s eyes, Qianye was the closest person to Zhao Nanzhuo.

“Qianye, after the college entrance exams, I came to Hangzhou with so much joy, thinking I would be living in the same city as him. But, even fate played a joke on me. He wasn’t admitted to his first-choice university, and ended up studying in a university in Chongqing. Such a long distance… thinking about it now, I wish I could go back to high school, at least I could sneak a glance at him during breaks. Later, during the holidays, I took flights again and again to see him, and he would come to pick me up as promised. But in the end, it wasn’t love.

I went all the way across half the globe to see someone who, in the end, was never meant to be mine. I wonder how I’ll feel when I’m old, looking back at this time.”

Qianye folded the letter neatly and placed it into a small box. It was autumn, and the yellow leaves had piled up on the ground in Beijing. This city, with its distinct four seasons, unknowingly affected people’s emotions. She didn’t reply to the letter, probably because Zhou Ran hadn’t expected her to. She just needed someone to confide in. And by reading the letter, Qianye felt that was already a form of response. Which required more courage, to love ardently or to hide it deep in your heart?

As the end-of-semester exams approached in the second semester of her first year, the study committee posted the exam schedule on the bulletin board, and the seating arrangements were posted on the classroom doors.

College exams were different from high school exams; there were no rankings, and after the results came out, no one remembered them. As long as you passed, everything was fine. Maybe because of the habits formed in high school, Qianye still worked hard to prepare, but this effort was already lacking the determination of the past when everything seemed to be at stake.

On the other hand, Yuqin worked even harder as the exam period approached. Every time Qianye got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, she would see the faint glow of a flashlight coming from Yuqin’s bed.

On the first day of exams, Qianye arrived a little early, but the classroom door hadn’t been opened yet. She stared at the seating chart on the wall, filled with unfamiliar names. It wasn’t until she reached the second-to-last row that she saw the name “Han Chao,” as if it had cleared the mist to appear before her. It was such a coincidence that they were in the same exam room, sitting at the same desk. The only difference was that she was in the morning session, and he was in the afternoon.

During high school, she had imagined sitting at his desk, breathing in the air he left behind. Now, fate had brought them together so casually. Qianye’s heart started to beat faster. As the exam was about to end, she secretly wrote on the corner of the desk with a water pen: “I like you, Han Chao.” The two words were written small and subtly—an ambiguous confession. Whether he would notice or not, Qianye left it to fate.

After the “Architecture” exam, the next one would be the following day. Qianye spent the entire afternoon studying in the library. From time to time, she wondered if he had seen it. Or, even if he had, would he be able to guess that it was from her, and that it was meant for him? Boys’ hearts probably wouldn’t be so easily read, she thought. She regretted being too subtle in her confession. On the other hand, maybe it was better this way. At least, in the position of a friend, even if she failed, she hadn’t truly failed.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the afternoon exam, she looked at the crowd walking out of the Lishizhi Building. A fog seemed to settle in front of her eyes.