high school short stories: If You Appear, the Sky Clears
Everyone who doesn’t fall in love has someone impossible living in their heart. I’m one of them. That person has been in my heart for fifteen years. Her name is Liu Shiqi.
I met Liu Shiqi when we were in the first year of middle school. Perhaps from the very beginning, the paths we took already determined that we could only walk side by side. She was the teacher’s favorite, beautiful, academically excellent, and the vice class monitor. I was the troublemaker, the poor student, the hot potato in the teacher’s hands. Her path was to go to college and have a bright future, while I was just trying to complete the country’s nine-year compulsory education.
To get her attention, I thought of many ways—talking during self-study, confronting the teacher, putting snake toys in the girls’ desks—but she remained indifferent. In the second year, I had a huge disagreement with the class teacher. I remember one day during a break, I don’t know why, but we started chatting, and she suddenly said, “Let’s make a bet and see who can come first in the class?” I gladly agreed and ended up getting the first place in the class in the final exam. This was the only time in all my years of schooling that I came first.
I knew she liked the class monitor. In her grass-green diary, she wrote daily about her secret love. Every one of his actions, every glance, affected her hidden joy and sorrow. I honestly couldn’t see what was so special about that boy—he was too delicate, too pretty.
In my idolization of “heroes,” he was too “effeminate.” But she liked him.
That was the source of all my adolescent sorrow—coming last in class, being called to see the principal, getting beaten by my father—none of that pain compared to this.
The most vivid memory I have is of our middle school graduation. There was no “graduation party” like in the movies; we just packed up our things and left, not even thinking to exchange addresses.
That afternoon, I saw her standing in the corridor, hugging a stack of books, looking preoccupied, her eyes fixed on the class monitor who was busy packing up inside the classroom. She seemed like she wanted to say something but hesitated, walking back and forth with a sorrowful expression. She looked at him, while I stood hidden at the corner of the stairs, watching her, with a strange feeling in my heart. We stayed like that for a long time until it got dark.
In the end, she left without saying anything, looking dejected. I gathered a group of my usual troublemaker friends and ambushed the class monitor on his way home, giving him a good beating.
I didn’t know why I beat him up—maybe out of jealousy, or maybe because he had rejected Liu Shiqi. What right did he have to make her sad? But even now, I’ve never told Liu Shiqi about this, and I never will.
For three years in high school, we were in different schools—she in the best high school in the county, and I in a third-rate school in a small town.
During those three years, the most serious thing I did was write letters to her, and the happiest thing was receiving her letters. Her letters never touched on feelings; she just talked about her weekly life—what subject she didn’t do well in, what silly thing the teacher who looked like a hippo did. And I was there to listen and encourage.
Many times, I would secretly go to her school, smoke a cigarette at the spot where she always passed, and watch her hurriedly walk by or chat happily with her friends.
We barely had any contact during college. By the time I finally found out which university she attended, she was already about to graduate, while I was studying at a private college in Jiangxi. We only started to contact each other frequently, like friends, after graduation.
She initially worked as a DM magazine editor at an advertising company in Nanjing, while I was an administrator at a company in Jiangxi. We would talk on the phone weekly, sharing our lives.
From her voice, I could tell if she was happy. She often worked overtime writing articles, and I would sit in front of the computer, watching her online status come on and go off. I would check her QQ status updates, her blog entries, see if she was in a relationship, broken up, scolded by her boss, or promoted. I would guess the emotions behind each of her words, and my mood would fluctuate accordingly.
At that time, I felt very inferior. The total amount of books I’d read in more than ten years probably didn’t add up to what she read in a year, and she was a deep thinker, always surprising me with her insights.
One day in 20xx, during a phone call, she suddenly asked, “Why don’t you go for an adult education course?” It was a revelation for me, and I immediately enrolled at the Communication University of China, completing all the exams in two years.
We lived in our respective cities, occasionally keeping in touch. I foolishly loved her, walking the streets she walked, seeing the world she saw. I thought that by doing this, I could be closer to her, but in the end, I wasn’t her Mr. Right. It wasn’t that I couldn’t make her happy, but that I wasn’t her choice for happiness.
All my friends knew I loved Liu Shiqi, loved her humbly yet nobly.
Every time we drank, when the mood was right, they would egg me on to call her and confess. I even pretended to be drunk once and confessed to her, but she either hung up coldly or stayed silent on the line. My father also knew that my heart was only for Liu Shiqi and often suggested finding someone to propose to her family, but I always stopped him.
But over the years, what were Liu Shiqi and I? This is a question I only dared to ask after I learned she was getting married. She was like a dream to me, a pillar of my spiritual world, a direction. And we were more like companions. When she was heartbroken and threw up after drinking, I comforted her over the phone and coaxed her to sleep. When I was lost, I regained my confidence by listening to her encouragement. I also knew that she wasn’t as perfect as I imagined—she had a bad temper, was moody, and spoke harshly. But didn’t every boy have a girl living in his heart during his growing years? Just like how Ke Jingteng felt about Shen Jiayi in “You Are the Apple of My Eye,” they are our reflection.
But I don’t deny that I truly loved her. During the days when I couldn’t reach her, I was restless, irritable, and anxious as if I had lost the whole world. I couldn’t stand seeing her hurt, and I couldn’t bear to see her sad. I wanted so much to be her hero, like in Jackie Chan’s movies, bravely sheltering her from the storms of life. But I wasn’t her hero. When she was hurt, frustrated, or sad, all I could do was watch from a distance.
Three months before her wedding, I practiced the song “I Think I Won’t Like You” by Bolin Chen every day. I wanted to sing it at her wedding, like how Li Daren sang to Cheng Youqing in the TV series “In Time with You,” as a way to commemorate the years we grew up together. But when I stood at her wedding, I suddenly lost the courage. I couldn’t bring myself to do something so artistic. I watched her cry happily on the groom’s shoulder, went to the restroom to smoke a cigarette, shed a few tears, and then came out feeling relieved. It was like a bet I had made with someone over who would marry Liu Shiqi.
Out of curiosity or fear of losing, I had never dared to take my eyes off her until that moment when the answer was revealed, and I let out a deep sigh of relief. Or perhaps, like an elder brother, I had protected her all the way until I finally delivered her into the arms of someone I could trust, completing my task, and felt a great burden lifted.
This is a pale story. From the age of 12 to 27, we never held hands, never said “I love you,” and when I think back, there isn’t even a complete story to tell. But it ran through my entire youth, spurring me to grow until I reached the threshold of today, giving me a deeper understanding of love.
My friends around me are all having children, and seeing them, who once were carefree, now holding their little ones with happiness on their faces, touches me and makes me long for love and marriage. I will treat you with the same sincerity I had for Liu Shiqi, for longer than fifteen years. I will cherish you even more than I did her. I can’t promise ten thousand years, but I can promise a lifetime.
You will be my first love, my only dedication.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
