♪~~♬♪~~~~
You had to turn on the TV while eating.
Not that it made the food taste better—just that silence felt hollow. Tonight, he sat beside Yan Ningning on the sofa, their meals on the coffee table facing the screen.
A wildly popular girl group survival show played.
Such programs were everywhere—almost visually exhausting.
Lu Huai occasionally watched *Produce Camp*. He knew plenty of guys secretly enjoyed it. They’d scoff, “What’s the appeal of this assembly-line stuff?” But the moment dance practice began, every lecherous guy turned into Doraemon, eyes glued to every detail.
Denying it was all about seeming refined—claiming BBC documentaries or *China’s New Rap* were their true passions.
Lu Huai watched sometimes when bored, but with no one to discuss it with, he’d lose steam.
Yan Ningning, ever graceful, cradled her rice bowl and glanced at the singing, dancing girls.
“You watch this show?”
“Occasionally…”
Claiming he never did would’ve been pretentious—and she’d see right through him.
“Who do you like? I love Liu Tangtang. She’s so cool.”
A popular androgynous contestant—tall, short boyish hair, that effortlessly cool aura. Every Chinese girl group seemed to need one.
*Can I just say it?*
Lu Huai kept his eyes on the screen. “Bai Xiaotan’s… not bad.”
On screen, Bai Xiaotan stood center stage—elegant curves, unpolished dancing, cold beauty, a husky voice.
Yan Ningning glanced at her, then down at her own chest. Nodded, satisfied.
“So you like *this* type? The aloof, cool older sister?”
“…Not really. Just… she’s good.”
The tongue-tied boy couldn’t carry fun banter. *She must think I’m lame.*
“She’s solid. Definitely a vocalist—she’ll debut.”
“I don’t really follow it. Just casual viewing…”
“Hey~ You didn’t secretly spend money voting for them, did you? I heard guys who pretend not to watch love doing that.”
“I said *casual*…”
“Or are you like your classmates—secretly crushing on Teacher Xu Zhixi?”
Yan Ningning smirked like a sly fox.
(If only a grain of rice hadn’t clung to her lip. Still, her crinkled eyes shone so brightly they stole his breath.)
Lu Huai ached to brush it away like a drama hero—but they weren’t that close. Too forward. Even as friends… she’d prefer a prince on a white horse, not a guy on a bicycle.
He could bike every alley in the city, yet had no right to step into her heart.
Maybe not even the courage to knock.
“That’s not it…”
“Right. You can’t even look at *me*.”
She let out a light scoff.
Lu Huai shot her an annoyed glance. “What’s ‘can’t look’? Do I have to stare to prove it?”
“Then hold my gaze for five minutes. You win.”
Her eyes challenged him—but his, half-hidden by messy bangs, faltered.
A glance was fine. *Eye contact?* Too much.
Just as he turned away, Yan Ningning leaned in, palms pressing his cheeks, squishing the soft flesh, locking his gaze.
“Go on. Look properly. Let’s see how long you last.”
Smirk sharp with mischief.
But the second their eyes met—her smirk wavered.
TV audio faded. The room stilled.
Light above blurred like mist. Her scent drifted—unnameable, gentle.
An invisible pull. His breath hitched. Never having shared a heartbeat moment with any girl, Lu Huai felt his pulse race wildly.
Her eyes were lovely. Not as striking as Liu Qianxun’s today… but with Yan Ningning’s face? Perfect.
A girl like her felt irreplaceable. The warmth of her palms on his cheeks…
*Time blessed her. She’s warmed my life too.*
He shifted his gaze—not from her face, but to the rice grain at her lip.
Better.
Yet regret lingered.
They say prolonged eye contact sparks something… a chance. But like a dream—wake up, and she’d see his flaws: no bright future, no standout traits, no charm.
Why begin a story destined to end in her seeing his insignificance?
Afraid of pain he couldn’t control, he chose silence.
*We live in each other’s eyes… but long to live in her heart.*
His briefly hopeful heart sank deep.
A boy without a dazzling youth—just wild grass burned by wildfire. Spring returns… but who cares if the grass is beautiful?
“Am I not pretty?”
Sensing his shift, she withdrew her hands. Her scent lingered—like light fruit wine; drink too much, you drown.
Her laugh held a strained edge. Not real. Forced.
“It’s… you know my issues…”
He wanted to explain—but couldn’t. Couldn’t say *she* was too dazzling. One more look, and his heart would shatter later. This “embarrassment” was just armor for his fragile pride… maybe hurting hers.
He knew his flaws. Always retreated.
Lu Huai hated himself.
She looked down. Smile gone. Her ache wasn’t about *that*.
“I thought… at least to you, I was different.”
*She should’ve been the one who could help him.*
But apparently not.
Her words jolted his heart. He gripped his wrist—pain to anchor himself.
“You’re beautiful. Truly. And you *are* different… I’m just bad with words. Thank you… for helping me.”
*She’s just being kind. Nothing more.* He numbed the thought before it bloomed.
Yan Ningning dropped her chopsticks, hugged a cushion, silent.
*How am I not special? How high are his standards? Why?!*
Lu Huai thought he’d wounded her. Felt spineless.
“Sorry. Don’t be mad.”
Saying it took courage. Easier while staring at the TV.
“I’m *not* mad!” She punched the cushion.
*Idiot. Won’t even look at me while apologizing!*
“Okay…”
*He actually believes me?!*
She glared at the dishes. “Aren’t you washing these? Expecting *me* to?”
“Oh… right.”
He stood, gathered the bowls, and muttered passing by: “And you say you’re not mad…”
She hammered the sofa. “I AM NOT MAD!!”
In the kitchen, Lu Huai watched water swirl down the drain—and smiled.
Life held worries, regrets, uncertain futures.
But this small joy was enough.
Even if she became just another passerby someday…
She was *here* now. Friendship was enough. Should be enough.
His smile curved upward—lonely, but real.
He returned to the living room.
The sofa was empty.
*Gone home?*
Then he saw it—his bedroom door, which he’d closed, stood open.
*Wait…*
Heart hammering, he crept closer.
Yan Ningning sat in his desk chair, holding the notebook he kept by his PC for writing.
Lu Huai flushed hot. Hands trembled.
Unaware, she read aloud:
“*Actually, the stars hanging in the night sky are all scars. The moon is just a surgical lamp.*”
His eyes widened.
Panic. Defenses shattered. *Socially dead!!*
Like a man jolting upright on his deathbed—
*The clown was me all along.*
