Touching student love story: Crying Until the Flowers Fall
Some say, if a girl doesn’t shine at 20, she might never have the chance to shine again. I believe no girl would want to live with such a regret.
In the second semester of my sophomore year, my feelings for him, after being exaggerated and distorted, spread like wildfire among the students. What was once a quiet and beautiful admiration turned into something completely different after being passed from one gossiping mouth to another.
For a while, the girls around me loved nothing more than to gather together and share their thoughts on this “big news.” Some said, “Oh my God, isn’t this just like a toad wanting to eat swan meat?” Others sneered, “She should forget about it. Even in her next life, she wouldn’t stand a chance!” Some were even more cutting: “Look at her—clearly desperate, but still picky about her food!” Finally, someone concluded, “We should tell her to look in the mirror and recognize herself before dreaming.” These girls would repeat these harsh words with great pleasure. They would gather together and whisper whenever they had the chance. When I passed by, they would let out a loud “Wow!” and scatter. But as soon as I was out of earshot, they would quickly regroup, continuing their “meeting.”
I was both angry and anxious, but there was nothing I could do. It was agonizing to have my private feelings turned into a public rumor. Walking my own path and letting others talk became less and less comforting, like a fading anesthetic. I tried to avoid the overwhelming rumors while drowning in the pain of longing. At that time, I didn’t even dare to glance at him. I avoided everything and sat alone in empty classrooms, lost in thought. During these quiet moments, I could always feel a deep ache in my heart.
The pressure finally exploded one afternoon. I walked into the classroom, and immediately there was a burst of laughter from the back. I looked up and saw a hideously ugly frog drawn prominently on the blackboard, standing next to a handsome prince. Below was a large caption: “A Fairytale of the Chinese Department: The Frog Princess and Her White Knight.” Before I could think, pain hit me like a sudden storm. “Smack!” I threw the book I was holding hard against the blackboard, then turned and fled from the classroom amid their mocking laughter.
Under the crystal-clear blue sky, a few pigeons flew softly overhead, while the lush trees full of tiny yellow flowers swayed gently. The ground was covered with a thick layer of golden blooms. I hid beneath the trees and cried my heart out. Innocent feelings are always so fragile, unable to bear even the smallest wounds.
Just as despair was slowly consuming me, I saw him approaching through my tear-filled eyes. He smiled gently, looking at the soft, beautiful yellow flowers on the ground, then at my tear-streaked face. He said, “I was wondering which girl was crying here, making all the flowers fall.” I turned away, but couldn’t help smiling through my tears. Later, under those same trees, he told me, “There’s nothing wrong with liking someone, but do you really know him? Maybe he doesn’t wash his feet for ten days. Maybe he drools in his sleep. Isn’t it foolish to like someone without really knowing them?”
I laughed, a bright, radiant smile. He said I had a smile as beautiful as the yellow flowers scattered on the ground.
After that, he brought me back to the classroom. And after that, those gossiping girls looked on in shock and envy at the changes that followed. In class, he saved me a seat. During breaks, he’d hand me a small box of snacks. More often, he’d wait for me at the path I walked, giving me a light, gentle smile. It felt like, all of a sudden, I had the happiest life in the world. This sincerity, I cherished carefully. And that was enough, I thought—more than enough. Then, later, there was another quiet, graceful girl by his side. I gave them both a bright smile, as radiant as the beautiful yellow flowers that had fallen to the ground. I was genuinely happy for them. Finally, someone was there to care for him. Later on, I too found someone who cared for me.
I realized that a young girl’s first admiration is just a seed of kindness. It may blossom into love, or it may not. I was fortunate that my seed encountered his warmth and care, the perfect conditions to bloom into something beautiful, even if it wasn’t love.
Many years later, when I think back to that bright afternoon, when he smiled and said, “I was wondering which girl was crying here, making all the flowers fall,” I still feel a warm wave wash over me. I believe that even when I’m 80 years old, I will still remember him.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
