Touching Campus Love Story: The Scent of Fallen Flowers
There’s a saying that if a girl doesn’t showcase her beauty by the age of 20, she might never get another chance. I suppose no girl would want to miss such an opportunity.
In the second semester of my sophomore year, the feelings I had for him, initially quiet and beautiful, were spread like wildfire, exaggerated and distorted as they were passed from person to person. What started as a silent admiration became a twisted tale after being carried by gossiping mouths from one ear to another.
For a while, the girls around me found endless amusement in discussing this “big news.” Some would say, “Oh my God, isn’t this like a toad wishing to eat swan meat?” Others, with a sneer, would declare, “She shouldn’t even think about it; not in this lifetime!” Some were even harsher: “Look at her—she’s clearly desperate, but she’s still picky about her food.” And then someone concluded, “We should tell her to look in the mirror and recognize herself first.” These spiteful comments were repeated over and over, and they never seemed to tire of it. When they had nothing better to do, they’d huddle together, whispering. As I passed by, they would suddenly shout “Wow!” and scatter, only to quickly regroup and continue their “meeting” once I was gone.
I was furious and anxious but utterly helpless. Having my feelings turned into gossip was the most painful experience. The saying “Go your own way and let others talk” started to lose its comforting effect on me, like an anesthetic that gradually wears off. I was caught between trying to avoid the overwhelming rumors and the pain of my longing.
At that time, I didn’t even dare to look at him. I avoided everything, retreating to an empty classroom to sit in a daze. In those moments of reflection, I could feel a subtle pain deep within my heart.
My suppressed emotions finally erupted one afternoon. As I walked into the classroom that day, the back row burst into laughter. I looked up and saw a hideous frog drawn prominently on the blackboard, standing next to a handsome prince. Below it, a large caption read: “A Fairy Tale in the Chinese Department: The Frog Princess and Her Prince Charming.”
Without thinking, the pain struck like a sudden storm. I slammed my book onto the blackboard and ran out of the classroom in tears, leaving behind the sound of synchronized laughter.
Under the clear, bright blue sky, a few pigeons flapped their wings and gently flew by. The rows of acacia trees were lush, their branches covered in tiny yellow flowers, with a soft, golden layer blanketing the ground. I hid under the tree and cried until the world seemed to turn upside down. A pure and innocent feeling is always fragile, unable to withstand even the slightest hurt.
Just as despair and sadness were about to consume me, I saw him approaching through my tear-blurred vision. He was smiling gently, glancing at the beautiful yellow flowers on the ground, then looking at my tear-streaked face. He said, “I was wondering which girl was crying here, causing all the flowers to fall.” I turned away, suddenly breaking into a smile through my tears.
Later, under the acacia tree covered in yellow flowers, he told me, “There’s nothing wrong with liking someone, but do you really know him? Maybe he hasn’t washed his feet in ten days. Maybe he drools in his sleep. Isn’t it silly to like someone without truly knowing them?”
I laughed, brightly. He said my smile was as radiant as the beautiful yellow flowers on the ground.
After that, he brought me back to the classroom. And then, those chattering girls were shocked and envious to see the changes. In class, he would save me a seat. During breaks, he’d give me a small box of snacks. More often, he’d stand at the spot I always passed, giving me a gentle smile. It felt like, all of a sudden, I had the happiest life in the world. I cherished this sincerity, and that was enough. I thought, really, it was enough.
Then, one day, a quiet and graceful girl appeared by his side. I gave them a bright smile, just like those beautiful yellow flowers on the ground. I thought, such a smile was the perfect gift for them. I was genuinely happy—truly happy—that someone cared for him now.
And then, later, I found someone who cared for me too. I realized that a girl’s first love is just a seed of kindness; it may or may not be related to love. Luckily, my seed encountered the right warmth and care from his understanding and kindness, blooming into a flower called beauty, even if it had nothing to do with love.
Many years later, when I think back to that clear, bright afternoon, and remember him smiling gently and saying, “I was wondering which girl was crying here, causing all the flowers to fall,” I still feel a warmth wash over me. A boy like that, I believe, is someone I will remember even when I’m 80 years old.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
