Teenage love and first crush
The trees cast dense shade, the summer day is long. The building reflects in the pond. The crystal curtain flutters in the breeze, filling the courtyard with the fragrance of roses. Yes, last year at this time, when I first saw Du Xu, this poem came to my mind.
The high school entrance exam that year was grueling, but finally, I got into the best high school in the city. On the day of registration, my parents took me to the classroom and then had a lively discussion with the class teacher at the door. The three of them chatted happily as if they had known each other for a long time, while I stood by, bored to death, and started to survey the scenery in the garden in front of the building.
The school garden was beautiful. Though small, it had lush green bamboos, a trickling stream, and many elegant flowers whose names I didn’t know. But the cascading roses hanging from the top of the flower gallery were unmistakable.
As I admired the roses, Du Xu walked into my sight.
Du Xu was not particularly handsome, but what attracted me was his gentle, serene demeanor. I had never seen a boy with such a smooth forehead and calm eyes before. Especially his gentle manner, which was like a cup of green tea—fresh and fragrant. When Du Xu emerged from behind a rose bush, I felt he perfectly blended with this elegant little garden, evoking the essence of a classical poem.
Du Xu was the second-highest scorer in our entrance exams and quite a celebrity. He was in the class next to mine, so within a few days, I knew his name. Since childhood, I had always admired boys who excelled academically, as if being good at studies made a person strong. Thus, Du Xu naturally became my idol.
I later heard that his calligraphy was also excellent—his smooth clerical script was highly praised even by the senior members of the Calligraphy Association. I couldn’t help but think that his gentle demeanor surely captured the essence of clerical script.
For a long time, I had no contact with Du Xu. Our school had a rigorous academic environment; everyone prioritized studying and aimed for university, with no distractions. In our small town, interactions between boys and girls were still highly scrutinized. Even a few extra words could invite gossip; the highest form of early romance was passing notes.
I wasn’t infatuated enough to pass notes to Du Xu; I had other ways to get close to him. Girls have such little schemes. A middle school friend of mine (also a girl) was in his class and sat right in front of him. Every morning during the big break, I would go chat with her, stealing glances at Du Xu.
Really, just seeing him made my day feel fulfilling; if I didn’t see him, I’d find another chance to pass by in the afternoon.
Thus, months went by, and we finally had some interaction—discussing English grammar and chemistry equations. Pure and innocent. During those days, having a chance to talk to him made my world feel bright and fragrant.
The first year of high school passed quickly. When the roses bloomed again, we moved up to the second year. One week into the new semester, we had to choose between humanities and sciences. This was a great chance for me to be in the same class as him. But I didn’t know his choice. My physics was abysmal, so I had to choose humanities. What about him? His grades were excellent; he could choose either. What if he chose sciences?
Should I keep pretending to chat every day? What if our classrooms were no longer next to each other? Should I run across the corridor to chat every day? What would people think? These questions haunted me all summer. After much deliberation, I decided to talk to him. If he chose humanities, great; if he chose sciences, I’d follow him and try to get into the same class.
But how to talk to him? Asking in front of others was too blunt; it had to be in private. I spent a whole day planning this romantic conversation and another day mustering the courage. On the third day during the big break, I walked up to him and said, “Here’s that English book you borrowed from me last time, you can take a look.” Then I handed him the book and ran away without looking back.
Qian Zhongshu once said that lending books between men and women is subtle because it requires a return, creating two interactions. But I couldn’t wait for Du Xu to return the book. I slipped a note inside the book, saying, “At sunset, meet behind the roses.”
For the next two classes, my mind was blank. I guessed at Du Xu’s reaction, my mood fluctuating, and my deskmate thought I was unwell.
The issue was resolved by lunchtime. In the corridor, I met him, and he gave me a shy smile. That must have meant he agreed to the meeting. I skipped home for lunch.
The afternoon study session felt endless. I finished all my assignments, memorized all the examples, and even wrote an essay, but it still wasn’t time for dismissal. I was anxious. Finally, the bell rang. I dawdled with my books, waiting for everyone to leave, then sneaked into the garden, hiding behind the roses.
The roses were beautifully planted. The delicate branches hung like a waterfall to the ground, covered in layers of pink flowers, like an exquisite Persian carpet. I always enjoyed reading in the shade of the rose arbor, and today my feelings were even more special.
I softly recited: “The trees cast dense shade, the summer day is long. The building reflects in the pond. The crystal curtain flutters in the breeze, filling the courtyard with the fragrance of roses.” Yes, last year at this time, when I first saw Du Xu, this poem came to my mind. Tranquil, elegant, just like the feeling Du Xu gave me.
I waited with anticipation. Soon, a figure approached and stopped in front of the arbor, seemingly waiting for something. It must be him. I crouched and prepared to surprise him.
But what greeted me were the cold eyes of our class teacher.
I froze. The teacher knew everything; his look said it all. Du Xu must have reported me. It was over!
“Why aren’t you going home?” the teacher asked. I didn’t understand and stood still, dumbfounded.
“Go home!” he shouted.
“Ah!” I snapped out of it and ran home like a stray dog, burst into my room, and cried my heart out. I cried all night. My first crush, my first note to a boy, my first date, all ruined, betrayed. I vowed never to forgive Du Xu.
But why did Du Xu report me? Because I wasn’t pretty? I looked at my tear-streaked reflection—frizzy hair, ridiculous wide glasses. Such an ordinary girl, how could an outstanding boy like you? He must have found it insulting to receive my note. My grades didn’t match his either.
I found many reasons to calm myself down. I was proud and decided to fight back. I prepared to face my parents’ questioning and the teacher’s criticism, determined to excel in my studies.
Surprisingly, the next day, my parents didn’t ask about it (I realized they knew how to protect their daughter). I went to school and decisively filled in “humanities” on the form. The teacher said nothing but looked at me with approval.
The class assignments came out quickly: I chose humanities, Du Xu chose sciences. We moved to different classrooms and rarely saw each other. I didn’t reclaim my English book. Every day, I listened attentively, took notes, and worked hard to improve my grades.
When the college entrance exam results were out, I was slightly surprised. Du Xu and I had applied to the same university and were both accepted. He was in the combined bachelor’s-master’s medical program, and I was in the foreign languages department. On the train to the capital, we ended up in the same carriage.
I didn’t want to talk to him. He came to my seat several times, trying to start a conversation, but I glared him away. Later, in university, I switched to contact lenses and grew my hair long. Boys started to show interest—sending flowers, fetching water, even writing notes like “Under the moon, meet by the Weiming Lake.”
In the second year of university, we went to visit our high school teacher during winter break. We sat around the stove, chatting happily. Suddenly, the teacher started teasing me about passing notes to boys. My skin had thickened over the years; I laughed it off, saying excellence was attractive.
The teacher scoffed, saying Liu Jicheng had nothing but looks. I was stunned: who was Liu Jicheng? A classmate chimed in: the handsome boy who sat next to Du Xu. The teacher continued: he was reading an English book during Chinese class, and I confiscated it, finding a note inside with your handwriting: “At sunset, meet behind the roses.” Quite romantic.
Everyone laughed, but I was struck by lightning. I sorrowfully shouted, “That note was for Du Xu!”
Everyone fell silent.
On the northbound train again, I watched the flickering lights outside, thinking of my youthful folly and couldn’t help but laugh. A friend hesitantly said she heard Du Xu had a girlfriend, then quickly added that there were plenty of other boys. I finally couldn’t hold back and laughed out loud. I told her my biggest discovery this holiday: no matter how embarrassing the past seemed, looking back, it was all so beautiful.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
