The first gift I ever received from a girl was a scarf. It was dark green, not made of pure wool, a bit rough to the touch, and the knitting wasn’t very delicate, but it was warm. When wrapped around my neck, it felt fluffy and had a faint, fresh scent.
I had wanted such a scarf for a long time. That year, I was 16 years old, in my third year of junior high school, and had started to care about my appearance. I had a very nice brown down jacket, under which I wore a red sweater with a V-neck. It looked great.
The only thing missing was a scarf, one that was both warm and fashionable. But my mother didn’t know how to knit, and in my impression, that seemed to be a skill exclusive to young girls. Almost all the girls in my class were good at it. With a pair of silver or bamboo needles and a ball of yarn, their slender fingers would twist and turn, weaving patterns without missing a beat in their conversations. It was truly amazing. I always regretted not having an older sister; otherwise, I could have had a pair of beautiful gloves or a warm scarf.
One day in the cold winter, I didn’t go to the gym class because of a cold. When the classroom was empty, I somehow noticed my deskmate’s purple scarf. Though it was a bit old and dirty, I couldn’t help but take it out and wrap it around my neck, admiring myself in the window reflection…
Just then, the classroom door was suddenly pushed open, and Yingzi walked in with a gust of cold wind. Her face was red from the cold, and she was rubbing her hands, probably coming back to get something.
In that moment, my face turned beet red. I wanted to take off the scarf and put it back, but it was too late. Embarrassed, I held the scarf in my hands, not knowing what to do.
Yingzi paused, then seemed to understand, her face also turning red. She smiled at me and said, “It’s too cold, I came back to get my gloves.” She quickly grabbed her gloves from the desk and hurried away.
Sitting in the classroom, my face was burning with shame. Stealing someone’s scarf was not a respectable act, and being caught by a girl made it worse. If word got out, how could I face my classmates?
However, I had a feeling that Yingzi wouldn’t say anything. Firstly, because she and my grandmother were from the same village and our families were quite close. Secondly, I sensed that she seemed to like me. She often asked me math questions during breaks, we frequently bumped into each other on the way to and from school, and when I forgot my textbooks, she would quietly lend me hers, sharing a book with her deskmate. She would also read my essays when our work was handed back. Some boys would tease me about her, but I always just smiled it off.
At that time, I was skinny, plain-looking, and shy, with nothing remarkable except for good grades. Yingzi, on the other hand, was tall, with sloping shoulders, a slim waist, a pointed chin, and fair skin—a real beauty in the making. The only downside was her awkward gait, slightly bowlegged, and her head held high. Locally, there was a saying about people who walked like that, suggesting they had difficult personalities. Indeed, Yingzi was known as a “little pepper” in our class, sharp-tongued and never backing down, causing many boys to keep their distance. Naturally, I never thought of her in that way and rarely spoke to her.
Despite everything, I felt uneasy whenever I saw Yingzi again, though she acted as if nothing had happened, chatting and laughing with other classmates without even glancing at me. Gradually, I began to relax.
A few days later, after school, I was delayed by something and was riding my bike home alone. Just as I left the school gate, I heard someone call my name. I turned around and saw Yingzi standing by the roadside with her bike.
Puzzled, I stopped and looked at her. Before I could say anything, she quickly took out a bulging red plastic bag from her backpack, handed it to me, and said, “This is for you.” Her face turned red, and she quickly rode away.
Stunned, I opened the bag to find a dark green scarf, fluffy and, in the cold wind, almost burning my fingers. I quickly stuffed it into my bag, glanced around to see if anyone had noticed, and then pedaled home as fast as I could, my heart racing.
After dinner, I finished my homework and took the scarf out of my bag in my room. I touched it, feeling a rush of emotions. Why did Yingzi give me a scarf? Why did her face turn red? Could it be that she really…
I dared not think further, my face reddening and heart pounding again. I put the scarf around my neck, donned my down jacket, and looked in the mirror repeatedly. It looked great.
However, I never wore that scarf in front of others, not even my parents. It was a secret from my youth, something that belonged to me alone, and of course, to Yingzi.
After that, though I acted nonchalant when seeing Yingzi, I felt uneasy inside and blushed when talking to her. Yingzi, on the other hand, remained her usual carefree self, asking me math questions or other things as if the scarf had never existed. But I could sense a subtle shyness in her stolen glances.
Soon, junior high ended. I got into a teacher’s college, and Yingzi went to a vocational high school. We never saw each other again. The scarf got lost during a move when my family built a new house. I gradually forgot about it.
Later, in teacher’s college, I developed a secret crush on a girl. After much hesitation, I finally waited for her one fragrant evening at the entrance of the teaching building. I clumsily handed her a collection of poems by Xi Murong that she liked. At that moment, seeing her surprised expression and her nervousness as she quickly returned the book, my face turned red, and I fled into the night.
In that instant, I suddenly remembered the green scarf from my youth and Yingzi’s star-like eyes.
I realized then that this was the feeling of love: a mix of sweetness and a touch of sourness, yet pure and beautiful.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
