Days turned like pages stirred by the wind, slipping past to the scratch of pens and Chen Jingming’s occasional calls of “Nian-Nian.” The end of the first semester of our sophomore year drew quietly closer beneath the enormous pressure of final exams, carrying a stifling, anxious air with it.
The classroom smelled of paper and books, and an invisible tension hung over everything. The stacks on our desks grew higher and higher, like silent hills hiding the bowed heads of boys and girls. Chalk squeaked across the blackboard, teachers raised their voices as they explained key points, and discussions rose and fell through every break—forming the familiar soundtrack of finals season.
Yet beneath that oppressive surface, anticipation for the long summer vacation moved like an undercurrent. Many classmates could barely contain themselves. During breaks, they huddled together to discuss travel plans, tutoring schedules, or the new season of whatever online game they were playing.
Chen Jingming was undoubtedly the most excited of them all. Two weeks before the exams, he had already begun eagerly making plans—no, more precisely, plans for our summer.
“Nian-Nian, that dessert shop is hiring summer staff. The hourly pay is pretty good! Let’s go together, okay? It’s close to home, too!”
“Nian-Nian, once we get paid, I’ll take you to the new amusement park in the next city! I heard the roller coaster is insane!”
“Nian-Nian, this weekend, let’s go...”
The word we came more and more naturally from his lips—and more and more often.
Somewhere along the way, Chen Jingming and I had developed a strange sort of inseparability.
Whenever I went to the city library to study on weekends, he would somehow “happen” to be on the same bus, carrying two steaming breakfasts in his hands.
When I worked part-time at the fast-food restaurant, he would show up just in time to pick me up after my shift, claiming it was “on the way.” Then he would ride my battered bicycle, carrying me home through the brightly lit night market.
Even when I helped Grandma watch her vegetable stall, he would appear with a grin and naturally roll up his sleeves to carry produce and call out to customers.
“Hello, Grandma! These celery stalks look so fresh today!”
“Grandma, let me take the money for you!”
“Grandma, take a break. I’ll straighten up the vegetables!”
His mouth was sweet as honey. He called her “Grandma” again and again with effortless affection. He was quick and capable with his hands, never complaining about carrying or lifting things; sometimes he even copied Grandma’s sales calls, making the wrinkles on her face unfold as she laughed until she could not close her mouth. He had a natural gift for making people want to be close to him. Even my usually quiet Grandma had become especially fond of him.
And without realizing it, I discovered that I had grown used to having him beside me. Used to his noisy voice breaking through my quiet. Used to him bursting into my life with one novel idea after another. Used to the milk or bread he handed me, still warm from his body heat. Used to the foolish way he would frown over a problem, think hard, then slap his forehead and say, “I’ve got it!”...
To me, Chen Jingming was like a beam of sunlight breaking through the clouds, scattering warmth everywhere. He had become... more and more important. The realization made my heart uneasy, but it carried a secret sweetness, too.