Teenage romance short story
It was a spring day when I was sixteen. Our class was engaged in a fun activity: to encourage harmony between the boys and girls, our teacher declared that the following Monday would be Girls’ Day. Each boy in the class was asked to do something nice for a girl and give her a meaningful little gift.
I chose her—Ye Xiaohua—a rural girl who had almost been forgotten by all the boys in the class. She sat quietly in a corner by the window, her head lowered. When I loudly called her name from the podium, she was startled. The boys in the class began to tease and laugh.
In the midst of their laughter, I, along with her, was engulfed in the awkwardness of youth.
She and I were different. I chose her out of sheer kindness, even pity. Although I knew the word was cruel to her, I couldn’t think of any other reason. She accepted my choice, likely out of helplessness because everyone knew that if I hadn’t chosen her, no one else would have.
She took every class seriously, especially English. But I despised every subject. I was familiar with all the troublemakers in our grade, even the entire school. We would stay up all night at internet cafes, smoke, occasionally take out our frustrations with our fists on others’ noses, or sneak into orchards to steal fruit, stuffing ourselves and leaving the scraps on the seats of the classmates in the front row during class…
I had done almost every bad thing possible. I hated English so much that during every exam, I would finish all the multiple-choice questions before the listening section even started, just waiting for the time to hand in my paper.
Our class had a tradition: after every midterm and final exam, there would be a major seating reshuffle. The entire class would leave the classroom, and we would re-enter one by one according to our exam scores, choosing our seats.
I remember clearly that Ye Xiaohua ranked first in the class that time. Amid the admiring gazes of everyone, she slowly walked into the empty classroom and headed for the dark corner by the window.
The moment she sat down, I don’t know why, but it felt like something heavy pressed against my chest.
She timidly responded to the teacher, stopping her from moving her: “I’m taller than the other students, so I can still see from the back. If I sit in the front, I might block someone’s view.”
On a morning when I was fifteen, a boy who hated English to the core caught a whiff of kindness.
The news that I had chosen Ye Xiaohua for Girls’ Day spread quickly and wildly throughout the school’s bad boys’ alliance. While smoking in the bathroom, Lei Ming and a group of older troublemakers approached me and asked if I had a crush on Ye Xiaohua. I said, “Bullshit. I’d rather fall for a pig than fall for her.”
Everyone knew that I rarely lost my temper. Seeing my expression, they stopped talking. Finally, Lei Ming left with one parting remark: Ye Xiaohua was just a country bumpkin who would end up going back home to farm and raise pigs.
Suddenly, I felt uncomfortable inside. I knew I had nothing to do with her, but why did I feel upset? So what if she went back to farm or raise pigs? Why did that bother me?
One morning, while the teacher was lecturing, I was dozing off in class. When I opened my eyes, I was directly facing her seat. She was tightly gripping her pen, writing away. A wave of sadness washed over me as I noticed the large frostbite sores on her thin hands. She would occasionally rub them to ease the pain.
Passing by Lei Ming’s clothing store, I noticed a pair of pink gloves with a small flower on them quietly displayed in the window. I insisted on spending 9 yuan to buy the gloves, which were priced at 32 yuan. Lei Ming cursed at me from behind, saying I must be giving the gloves to that country bumpkin, Ye Xiaohua. I didn’t look back. But as I got on my bike, I shouted, “Yes, I’m giving them to her. These gloves are for her to wear when she farms with me.”
Lei Ming fell silent. I laughed loudly as I sped off into the wind.
When Ye Xiaohua put on the gloves, she didn’t dare look at me. Because every time she wore them, the boys in the back row would shout and make a scene. I couldn’t be bothered with them; I didn’t have time for those commoners. Besides, I didn’t understand why, after giving her the gloves, she started avoiding me. Whenever she saw me, she would quickly run away, blushing furiously.
At first, I thought I was just being overly sensitive, but as time passed, everyone got used to it. Or perhaps, they simply forgot about it.
She began to take the initiative to give me her English notes, urging me to study them. I accepted them, but I never actually looked at them. Heaven knows how much I hated English.
Finally, the college entrance exams were over. My years of schooling, including my days as a bad boy, had finally come to an end.
Just as I was about to get drunk with a group of friends, Ye Xiaohua suddenly appeared in the bar. Gone were her old clothes, and her new outfit made her look stunningly beautiful. At seventeen, she was as radiant as a beam of sunlight piercing through my eyes.
Everyone present shared the same look of surprise as me—at her transformation.
She said to me, “Thank you for the gloves you gave me. They were very warm.” I didn’t respond, just smiled.
Then, she teased me by asking, “Honestly, do you know how to spell ‘gloves’ in English?”
She knew full well how much I hated English, yet she deliberately asked me this question. At that moment, I replied that the only English phrase I knew was “I love you” because that’s what you use when pursuing girls. As for everything else, I had no clue.
That was probably the last conversation I had with her.
Later, with the help of my parents, I got a job as a secretary at a power company. But after just a few months, I couldn’t bear the feeling of being looked down upon, so I quit and started an advertising company with some friends.
In the hectic life of society, I gradually forgot everything from my school days, including that country girl, Ye Xiaohua.
Sometimes, when I think about it, it’s really funny. Back then, I called her a country bumpkin destined to go home and farm. Now, she’s at a prestigious university with a bright future ahead of her—how could she ever go back?
I can’t remember how many years later it was when I received a request to work on a promotional plan for clothing and gloves. Due to the times, working in media meant I had to deal with English, so I had to look up the English spelling for clothing and gloves on my computer.
Glove—handwear. When this short word appeared on the screen, I suddenly understood something. That girl who kept lending me her English notes, who always avoided me whenever she saw me—what kind of passion had she carried in her heart? Back then, with her excellent English skills, she must have known what those gloves represented.
“Give love.” I repeated the words in English over and over, suddenly recalling that afternoon when I was riding my bike, loudly saying I wanted to farm with her while giving her those gloves; I remembered the day I called her name from the podium; I remembered that day when she, for the last time, shed all her girlish pride and asked me what the gloves meant. In that moment of reflection, a sudden realization, tinged with regret, flashed through my mind—was there something I needed to make up for?
I began to desperately search for news about Ye Xiaohua. Eventually, through other classmates, I learned that she was married. I followed the address given by a friend and went to find her. Finally, I saw her at a restaurant in front of her house.
She called out my name, and I smiled and nodded, suddenly at a loss for words. With her tall husband beside her, she showed no sign of surprise at my sudden appearance.
She simply joked, “Make sure to learn your English well.”
Back at home, staring at the string of English words I had copied over and over, I suddenly broke down in tears. The indescribable pain, along with the regrets of my youth, flowed heavily through me.
That night, I submitted the glove advertisement plan to the client, and it was unanimously approved.
At dawn on that spring day, the entire city’s outdoor billboards and buildings were covered with the same glove advertisement. The slogan was a simple phrase: “Glove—Giove—Give Love—Warmth for a New Era.”
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
