Winter Love Stories: That Winter, When I Met You
It’s been a long time since I last picked up a pen to write something. What should I record about this uneventful life? A few days ago, a friend asked me, “Xiaobei, can you tell me about your past?” Only then did I suddenly realize that I indeed have a past, one that I’m reluctant to mention—a past buried deep within me. My mind is like a graveyard filled with memories. I just want to sit here in front of my computer, typing out, word by word, the past I’ve already buried.
Another winter has arrived. I wonder if you still remember the scene of our first meeting. It was the same season. I had wrapped myself up tightly, leaving only a pair of unfocused eyes and eyelashes turned white from my breath exposed. I walked with my head down, hoping that if the wind could just blow over my head, it might warm me a little. Whether by fate or by chance, I ended up bumping into you, who were walking carelessly ahead of me. I remember vividly the look on your face at that moment—a complex mix of anger and surprise. But the instant I said, “Sorry,” your face blossomed into a smile, a smile as warm and bright as the sun, lighting up my entire winter. I knew when you left that I would never see that smile again. Even after all these years, that smile remains the most profound memory you left me.
I’ve always believed that our meeting was a deliberate arrangement by fate.
Since our families lived close to each other and shared a distant, barely-there kinship, you often helped me with my studies because you were a year ahead of me and excelled academically. As a result, my grades were decent. Over time, I found myself becoming more and more dependent on you. I couldn’t understand the lessons from our teachers, but I could always understand your explanations.
You were accepted into Fudan University, the university of your dreams—one that I could never hope to reach. I knew that no matter how hard I tried, I would never catch up to you; I wouldn’t even be able to see your shadow.
I remember how you used to gently tap my head with your fingers, affectionately calling me a “silly girl.”
Yes, I was indeed a silly girl!
You liked the song “Hair Like Snow.” Back then, we didn’t have cell phones or computers—only an old, worn-out tape recorder. We would put in a cassette and listen to that song over and over again, slowly letting it become a part of my world.
Apart from the music, you also became a part of my world.
After we parted, I knew that it might be a permanent goodbye.
From then on, our lives would never intersect again.
Whenever my uncle came to visit, he would mention something about you or your family, more or less. These occasional updates allowed me to know how you were doing in recent years.
I keep telling myself that I shouldn’t dig up the past and make myself sad. I don’t dare to delve too deeply into those memories; I just want to stop right here and tell myself that the past is gone and won’t come back.
Some people pass through your life without staying too long, but the emotions they once brought you are unforgettable. They are like angels sent by heaven, giving me strength and warmth when I needed it most. I never even had a chance to say thank you before they returned to their own realm. Even if our time together was just a fleeting moment, I will always cherish it, because no one else in this world will ever warm my heart the way they did.
This has made me realize even more deeply that the depth of emotions is not measured by time. When someone insincere is exposed, they continue to pretend to be genuine. Don’t you think such people live a tiring life? But actually, seeing through them and yet saying nothing is even more exhausting.
My life feels like an unfinished book. Some people passing through it require long chapters to record, while others don’t even deserve a punctuation mark. So, what part of the story are you?
This piece could truly be considered a “prose of prose”—informal, without a central idea or a theme to express. It was written freely.
Right now, my computer is playing “Hair Like Snow.” Time has passed, you’re no longer here, the song remains, but everything else has changed.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
