The Memory of First Love
It was inevitable that he and I would meet.
We came from all corners of the country, brought together by a shared goal: the pursuit of education. At that time, we were both sixteen, in the springtime of our youth.
He came from the heartland of China, with the typical determination and diligence of people from that region. He wasn’t much of a talker, constantly focused on his studies, seemingly indifferent to the world outside. As a result, he didn’t catch my attention at first.
One day, during a break between classes, I accidentally bumped into him and knocked his books to the floor. I quickly helped him pick them up, but not before hearing his scolding words, which were harsh and offensive. I was furious and, not one to back down, snapped back at him. From then on, my impression of him was set: rude, crass, and unreasonable. For the next two years, I never looked his way, nor did I ever speak to him. Despite the fact that he was one of the top students in our class and the teacher’s favorite, my pride and self-respect as a young girl made it impossible for me to befriend any boy, let alone him!
He threw himself into studying his major, while I spent my time playing music in the school orchestra, singing in the choir, or wandering through the library, lost in books. We went our separate ways, coexisting without any interaction.
The seasons came and went, and our three years of school life were drawing to a close. As graduation approached, everyone was busy with internships and preparing for life after school. I, too, began to buckle down, making up for the time I had neglected my studies. By then, he sat right behind me in class, and I grew accustomed to hearing him recite English and Japanese all day long. It wasn’t unpleasant. Occasionally, I would ask him for help with schoolwork, and I began to notice him more. I realized that he wasn’t bad-looking after all—thick eyebrows, bright eyes, fair skin, and an air of intelligence and wit.
One day, during a study session, I suddenly realized that a small photo I had tucked under my desk was missing. I loudly asked, “Who took my picture?” He glanced at me with an odd expression and said quietly, “It must have been some guy who likes you who took it. Why are you making such a fuss? Do you want everyone to know?” Embarrassed, I lowered my head. I guessed that he was the one who had taken it. And that was the beginning of my growing affection for him. After all, “A girl always wants to look her best for the one she admires.”
One night, under a moonlit sky, the fields outside the campus were filled with the sweet scent of freshly turned spring soil. In the moonlight, tiny wildflowers swayed gently in the breeze. We walked along the narrow paths between the fields, admiring the soft, dreamy landscape. The night was quiet and serene. A cool breeze stirred, and I instinctively pulled my coat tighter around me. At that moment, I felt the warmth of his body close to mine. He cupped my face in his hands and, with a quick, nervous gesture, kissed me lightly on the cheek. I could hear his heart pounding as he whispered, “I like you.”
Shyness spread like a soft breeze through the spring air, and sweetness unfurled in my heart…
Graduation came, and we went our separate ways. I returned to my hometown, while he was assigned to teach at a middle school over a hundred miles away. In those days, communication was not easy, and we relied on letters to express our feelings and longings for each other. But the sweet days didn’t last long. One day, I received a letter from a familiar hand but with a strange address. It turned out he had left for Gannan, thousands of miles away, because he was unhappy with his situation at the school. I had no chance to stop him from making that decision. From then on, we were worlds apart.
Later, I met the man who would become my husband. In January 1990, he suddenly appeared in front of me again, telling me, “I’m back to retrieve my personal records because I’ve been accepted into a graduate program at Guangdong Foreign Studies University.”
After so many years, we talked for a long time. It was late, and yet he was reluctant to leave. When he tried to kiss me, I rejected him. I was a married woman now; I couldn’t let him into my life again. This deeply hurt him, and the next morning, he left in a hurry, leaving behind a farewell letter.
Though I felt a sense of loss, there was nothing I could do. I could only sigh: “Falling flowers flow away with the current; spring has passed. Heaven and earth have drifted apart.” We were destined to meet but not to be together. Through the years, with all the comings and goings of life, it was his sudden departure that caused us to miss each other. Time had stretched the distance between us.
More than ten years have passed since then. He has become successful and now owns a company in the south. By chance, I met his aunt, who, upon learning of our past, eagerly offered to contact him for me. That afternoon, she told me that his secretary said he had recently married and was busy moving into a new home. I calculated that he was already middle-aged when he finally settled down and started a family. How could I disrupt his peaceful life now? That phone call, I never made. From afar, I silently wished him peace and happiness.
In truth, first love is like a green apple—something we don’t yet know how to cherish. In our first love, we don’t understand what love really is. As Valentine’s Day approaches, “I wish all lovers in the world may finally come together and be happy!”
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
