Teen Romance Stories: Sixteen Year Old Love
On an early autumn night, I sat in the doorway of a hutong in Wudaoying, having had a few rounds of drinks. Outside the window, a handsome boy rode his bike into the courtyard. He wore a clean blue shirt, neatly tucked into his jeans, as if he were going on a formal date.
Inside the shop, aside from my friend and me, there was only a young waiter. The boy was evidently very familiar with the waiter, nodding in greeting. Before long, the boy approached us, sat on a chair, and asked with a rebellious air, “Drinking?” I asked, “It’s late at night. What’s a kid doing in a bar?” “I’m not a kid. I’m 16! If you don’t believe me, look at my ID.” With that, he jumped off the chair.
Indeed, he wasn’t lying. I smiled, “Alright, sixteen-year-old adult, what brings you here?” The boy blushed, lowered his head, and smiled shyly. The young waiter called out, “For Xiaoman, of course. Too bad, she’s off duty.”
It turned out that Xiaoman was also a server here, the girl the boy admired. Young people always enjoy talking about their love lives in front of others. The boy excitedly and mysteriously asked, “Want to see her photo?” Without waiting for an answer, he had already pulled out his phone and showed it to me.
The photo was of a clean-looking girl with bangs, smiling with crescent-shaped eyes and a round face. “She’s not that pretty,” I teased him.
“Liking someone isn’t about their looks,” he said, looking at the photo repeatedly, “I’m staying here tonight because she’s working the morning shift tomorrow. That way, I can see her as soon as she arrives. How wonderful.” He seemed to be talking to himself.
“Do you know why I’m wearing a shirt? I usually wear sports clothes,” he suddenly stood up and showed off his shirt, “because she said I look best in a shirt, so I wear one every time I see her. Hehe.”
“First love?” I asked.
“Alas, no.” He recalled a bit wistfully, “In elementary school, I liked a girl. I saved my breakfast money to buy her stickers, but she liked another boy and gave all the stickers to him.”
“And this one now, does she like you?” I asked. The quiet waiter behind the bar stifled a laugh. The boy glared at him angrily, then turned back to me with a world-weary expression, “Liking someone is your own business, it doesn’t matter if they like you or not.”
“So what do you like about her?” I pressed.
“I don’t know.” The boy had a mix of confusion and sweetness on his face, “Just seeing her makes my heart race, and I really want to see her. Oh, you wouldn’t understand.” Yes, my early autumn at sixteen had indeed faded into the footsteps of the cat walking through this alley, silent and elusive, impossible to capture.
The boy thought for a moment and decided to go to the attic to take off his shirt. “Otherwise, it’ll wrinkle.” Before he finished speaking, he was gone. His presence lingered, and the sound of footsteps on the stairs echoed loudly in my tipsy ears.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
