The Fleeting Youth of Those Years

“This sentiment can be remembered in retrospect, but it was already bewildering at the time.” Every time I read this verse, an inexplicable feeling wells up in my heart-a mix of melancholy, joy, and other emotions that I can’t quite pin down. These feelings intertwine, impossible to untangle, like a mess of threads that refuses to be sorted out.

Perhaps youth is like a sandwich-a blend of sweet, sour, bitter, and salty all thrown together. When we take a bite, we experience all the flavors at once. Youth is a sandwich where the tastes can’t be separated. As you savor the moments of happiness, sadness is inherently mixed in.

The next day in class, Wen Youhan arrived early. The new semester had just started, and morning runs hadn’t been scheduled yet. But in this challenging third year of high school, maintaining good physical health was undoubtedly essential. To ensure she stayed healthy, she had already begun running on her own. Wen Youhan, this girl whom I suspected had flat feet, surely disliked running. She hardly participated in runs during the past two years. Maybe the way she walked-her legs barely bending-was also due to a lack of foot arches.

Wen Youhan buried her head behind a tall stack of books, diligently memorizing English vocabulary. As I walked past her, I didn’t dare disturb her. I quickly returned to my seat. Turning a corner, I accidentally brushed against a pile of books on a classmate’s desk. With a loud crash, the books scattered all over the floor. The classmate hadn’t arrived yet, but knowing her fiery temper-reminiscent of Niu Limin’s-I immediately crouched down, hastily gathered up the books, and stacked them back on her desk. Then, as if nothing had happened, I darted back to my seat.

In truth, I’d done countless similar things in high school. Honestly, if that girl weren’t such a fan of yelling at people, I wouldn’t have bothered picking up her books. Who puts their books so close to the edge anyway? The aisle was already narrow enough-how were others supposed to pass? I told myself I was merely carrying out justice, smugly justifying my actions to feel at ease.

But just as I reached my seat, I caught a glimpse of Wen Youhan out of the corner of my eye. She had gotten up and walked to that girl’s desk. Turning slightly, I watched from the edge of my vision as she carefully tidied up the books I’d hurriedly piled on the desk. In that moment, my heart melted. Watching her focus as she arranged the books, a thought suddenly crossed my mind like a shooting star: I have to be with Wen Youhan in this lifetime.

The most captivating girl isn’t the one with the most striking looks, but the one with an extraordinary heart. With someone as pure and kind as Wen Youhan, who wouldn’t fall for her? So this year, we weren’t just sprinting toward the National College Entrance Examination-it was also my sprint to win Wen Youhan’s heart.

Of course, the seating arrangement had to be adjusted. Wen Youhan was assigned to the third row near the classroom door, right by the wall. Meanwhile, Wang Bo, using the underhanded tactic of bribing Zhang Zhengxu with a week’s worth of ice cream, managed to secure a seat directly in front of her.

Bai Qi, who had often talked about Wen Youhan throughout our second year of high school, suddenly stopped mentioning her in third year. He started focusing entirely on his studies. I found it somewhat unbelievable-how someone could so calmly and serenely let go of a girl they liked. I couldn’t help but feel a little envious of his resolve. But by that year, my own defenses had already fallen; my whole heart was already captivated by Wen Youhan.

Our homeroom teacher told us that in a few weeks, there would be a unified test. The rankings from that test would determine the seating chart, and whoever scored first place could choose their seat first. Naturally, Wen Youhan would be able to pick the best spot since she’d always been a top student. Wang Bo still didn’t talk to Wen Youhan very much, but I knew he was ever-present-hovering around her persistently, like a green-eyed fly chasing an egg it couldn’t abandon. As the saying goes, “Flies don’t hover around eggs without cracks,” and perhaps it was something in Wen Youhan’s past actions toward him that kept him from giving up. Wasn’t my attachment to her much the same?

During breaks, Wang Bo still clutched my arm to chat about the way Wen Youhan looked at him-how tender her gaze supposedly was. My heart ached faintly each time. And every time, I’d say, “Then go for it. Pursue her.” That would always be the point where Wang Bo fell silent.

I knew Wang Bo was waiting. And so, as his rival in love, I still respected him. After all, when it comes to someone you truly care about, any wrongdoing toward a friend can be forgiven. If I’d had the chance that year to do something for Wen Youhan at the expense of a friend, I wouldn’t have hesitated, wouldn’t have regretted it either-simply because she was Wen Youhan. Yes, simply because she was Wen Youhan.

The days that followed passed uneventfully, neither exciting nor painful. But somehow, in the silence flowing through our class, everyone began to change. The reckless behaviors we’d indulged in over the past two years emerged only briefly, like short-lived blossoms that faded away. Perhaps this was the biggest difference between the third year of high school and the first two years-how, in the span of one summer vacation, people seemed to suddenly mature and grow composed.

Even Yuan Mei stopped obsessively practicing basketball every day. After all, with poor academic classes, even the best athletic skills couldn’t get her into a good college. My seat was in the second-to-last row by the back door. From there, all I had to do was glance up, and I could see Wen Youhan. Mo Shunlu sat behind me. He still occasionally told me inappropriate stories, while Lin Dashun remained in the very last middle seat. Lin Dashun hadn’t changed at all-always either reading novels or napping. That simple cluster of protein molecules lived a life as transparent as a chemical formula, with pursuits reduced to just three things: reading novels, sleeping, and repeating the cycle day after day.