The Fleeting Youth of Those Years

“Every time I hear about your heartbreak, I get a toothache. But it usually goes away in two days.” I smiled as I tapped Wang Bo’s face in the photo with my finger. His head in the picture had already been scratched out by me.

“But this time it’s different!” Wang Bo’s voice was on the verge of breaking into sobs.

“Different how? Do you love her more than Wen Youhan?”

“It’s not the same, okay?” Wang Bo’s voice grew sharper, as if Wen Youhan herself had the power to clear his mind and reawaken his senses.

“We were about to get married.” His voice rasped slightly, hoarse with emotion.

Yes, they were about to get married-until they broke up suddenly. That kind of wound runs deep. Isn’t this how life often feels? Walking side by side until the road splits; living until one is no longer alive. I hung up on Wang Bo with a cold, humorless laugh. My own emotions, unclear even to myself, pressed heavily on me.

We meet people with whom we could weave stories-people with whom we envision a vague yet certain happiness in the future. Through contradictions, entanglements, and growth, we stumble forward. We can’t grasp the gains or losses of tomorrow, nor anticipate its joys and sorrows. And so, we keep walking. Our youth is like aging plaster peeling off a wall-ultimately destined to fall away. It is like the frost that settles in the creases of our hands, whitening someone’s hair along the way.

Wen Youhan-she was like a brilliant pearl, embedding the loveliest years of our lives into seasons swept by wind and light. She illuminated our past and our future. Because of her, my memories were no longer lonely.

“Why did you hang up on me?” Wang Bo fumed over the phone. This man, so in need of comfort, triggered in me no sympathy to extend.

“When you were chasing Wen Youhan, didn’t you swear that you’d never marry anyone else but her? If you could go back on that vow and pursue someone new, then surely you can forget this heartbreak and move on to the next one?” I threw down the photo I was holding onto the table and raked my fingers through my hair, speaking to Wang Bo slowly.

“Damn it, it’s not the same, okay?” Wang Bo repeated the same line again.

Not the same? Yes, of course. It really isn’t the same. Wen Youhan was different from everyone else. Perhaps everyone had a similar story during those years. Perhaps you, too, had your own “Wen Youhan.” Perhaps you were someone else’s “Wen Youhan.” Back then, the feelings were so genuine, so deep they left us shattered. Yet, in the end, two people still couldn’t stay together. We are left with regrets in our hearts, aching sadness that never quite goes away.

But we will absolutely start anew. We’ll embark on new stories, tucking away these moments-whether they were promises that never sprouted, or seeds that briefly germinated. We’ll let them rest at the origin of memory, to age into a fine wine or bloom as an evergreen sprout, bringing coolness and hope to our withered hearts.

I won’t deny that we may meet people we like or love even more in the future. But deep in our hearts, no one will ever reach that corner of our youth where “Wen Youhan” exists.

Wen Youhan and Xiao Mi ran slowly together on the playground, letting the wind sweep through their hair. Wang Bo grasped my hand tightly, then ran over to Xiao Niao, grabbed his hand firmly, and said, “Xiao Niao, wish me luck! I’m going to chase after Wen Youhan. I’m sorry, but if I succeed, I might not have time to hang out with you guys as much anymore.” As if love were something he could claim merely by announcing it.

“I’m really rooting for you!” Xiao Niao replied, rubbing his freshly buzzed hair. “That way, I can see less of you. Honestly, I look forward to that kind of life.” He said it casually, but who knows-perhaps somewhere in his mind, he wondered why his hair could never grow as long and smooth as Wen Youhan’s.

“Damn it, Xiao Niao, what’s that supposed to mean?” Wang Bo’s face darkened as he caught sight of Xiao Mi and Wen Youhan walking side by side out of the playground gates. His expression suddenly turned menacing.

“Oh, nothing really. I just know I’d feel much better not having to see you around.” With that, Xiao Niao gave Wang Bo’s head a playful shove before darting off.

Wang Bo’s face dropped into a scowl as he immediately gave chase. With a quick flick of his leg, his flip-flop went flying toward Xiao Niao. But before any satisfaction could land, a sharp cry of pain echoed through the air. Wang Bo crouched to the ground with his hands clutching his foot, his brow furrowed tightly, his mouth twisted as if he had just bitten into something unbearably spicy.

On the asphalt of the playground-blackened over time until it showed no trace of white-a vivid crimson flower slowly bloomed, stark and unsettling.

Moments earlier, when Wang Bo had flung his shoe at Xiao Niao, he hadn’t noticed the rusty metal post sticking out of the ground nearby. A remnant from the long-forgotten installation of a basketball hoop, the post’s jagged surface had grown irregular with rust over the years, its edges now resembling the teeth of a blade. Though not as sharp as a knife, the force with which he kicked it caused a wound far deeper and more painful than anyone could have predicted.