Lin Ruoxing, long known as the bespectacled class monitor, truly had a lovely face. A few years older, she’d easily be everyone’s image of a cool, aloof mature beauty—radiating an irresistible aura, yet intellectual and charming with glasses on.

Something like that.

Sure, the trope of an “ordinary” girl stunning everyone after removing her glasses occasionally happens. But Lin Ruoxing never looked plain—even with glasses.

This time… it was just perfect sunlight. Perfect atmosphere.

Life has moments like this—no camera, no filters needed. Your eyes are the perfect lens.

And the scene captured there stays vivid in memory, glowing with that heart-fluttering brilliance.

Lin Ruoxing seemed not to notice Lu Huai’s brief daze.

Odd. She didn’t reach for her glasses. To seem normal, Lu Huai had to pick them up and offer them.

But… no hand met his in the air.

He blinked. Was she really ignoring her own glasses?

He looked up. She’d already taken her summer homework, flipping it open right before him—as if forgetting she was without glasses.

What…?

So strange even Lu Huai, who always avoided awkward girl-talk, had to speak:

“Monitor?”

Softly spoken.

Yet it stirred her. Lu Huai saw her eyes shift… a nerve twitched. Her ear—peeking from long hair, round and cute—twitched slightly.

So… adorable.

Lin Ruoxing gazed at him, vision blurred by nearsightedness. No precise eye contact, nothing “guided-missile” sharp. Still, Lu Huai guiltily looked away, lifting the glasses higher.

“Your glasses…”

“Oh. Thank you.”

*Did she really not notice they fell?* Lu Huai’s mind raced. *How could a nearsighted person not feel that?*

Then—her fingers brushed his. No spark, no static. Yet Lu Huai jerked back faster than she could grab them.

*Thud.*

The glasses dropped again.

*She must think I’m weird…*

Lu Huai sighed inwardly. This instinct—this fluster around girls—was why he dreaded interactions.

But Lin Ruoxing said nothing. Just picked them up.

Her pale, slender hands were elegant—neither plump nor bony, perfectly proportioned. A quiet delight.

Lu Huai watched her lift the glasses.

Watched her put them on. The breathtaking allure vanished.

Now her eyes focused squarely on him.

So he turned away—preferring sunlight’s sting over letting this tiny marvel ripple his stagnant emotional pool.

*She should leave… Why’s she reading my homework? Checking if I did it?*

He hadn’t noticed if she did this for others. No way to know.

*Ask after she leaves…*

Retreat now, look ahead later—the classic weak mindset.

Then—

“I think what you wrote is interesting.”

The words landed abruptly.

In Lu Huai’s mind, she had zero reason to linger here. Nothing worth staying for.

Yet… her voice remained. Startling him.

*What I wrote?*

*My… novel?!*

Panic seized him. If anyone knew—knew the title, the content, all those love fantasies penned by this socially anxious otaku…

He’d die. Seriously.

If she talked… not just class, the whole school… He couldn’t bear it.

By the time he looked up, his face burned. Ears scalding.

But she kept eyes on the homework, flipping pages.

“Your freshman essays—either top score or bottom.”

Lu Huai exhaled. *Essays. Thank god.* Anything but the novel.

“Interesting” felt… nice? But reading into *her* feelings? Nah. Too love-struck.

Flustered, he mumbled: “Just… random writing. A lucky shot, really.”

Humble. Hollow.

She closed the notebook, held it, glanced at him.

“Handwriting can be messy. Thoughts inside? Not so much. Words don’t reveal hearts—but writing leaves traces.”

“Ah? I…”

“Maybe Lu Huai isn’t what he seems. A thoughtful person.”

She spoke his psyche so calmly. He hated being probed—but lacked courage to stop her. Especially *her*. Pretty. Candid. Suddenly… ambiguous. Like a story’s first line.

Too sudden. Homework to inner self?

Not rejection—just no clue how to respond.

He shook his head, guarding his walls.

“Not really… just tried a little…”

“Mm. Makes sense. Keep it up.”

What did “keep it up” mean? Life? Writing?

Didn’t know. But her noticing his essays… worry and warmth tangled.

Embarrassing? A little. But attention from *her*? Felt like an achievement.

*Stop.* Overthinking would poison everything. Imagining her reading every future essay? Showing drafts for feedback?

That sycophantic hope… no thanks.

Homeroom teacher Xu Zhixi soon called the morning meeting, urging greater diligence in sophomore year.

Empty hallway meant Lu Huai could safely watch sunlight glint on railing-perched sparrows.

Skittish—they’d flee at a step. But they had the wide blue sky.

Morning classes flowed. Workload heavier, pace tighter. Lu Huai kept up—but teachers found him odd.

Grades proved he listened. His posture screamed otherwise.

Head down most lectures. Only glancing at the board when the teacher looked away.

Sometimes filling notes *after* class…

Classmates and teachers sensed his quiet struggle. But… who could fix it?

By noon, his notebook brimmed.

PE arrived. Fresh semester meant no subject-teacher takeovers yet.

Lu Huai trudged to the field—no special treatment, refusing to seem fussy. Sun blazed. Eyes possibly watched.

Lined up by height: dead center. Not tall. Not short.

Silent between chatting boys. Left talked left. Right talked right.

No one spoke to him. Fine. Yet a quiet ache lingered—wanting to join their youth, their ease, but freezing in place, half-hoping isolation might draw a glance.

Warm-ups. Two laps. Mandatory.

Lu Huai ran steady—not fast, not slow. Worried about standing out despite having no chance to. Pointless.

Back in line: free activity until bell.

His quiet time. He headed for a shaded corner beneath the second-floor ping-pong room.

Usually occupied. But once he sat, phone out, no one approached.

He settled on the steps, head down.

All normal—

Until his elbow brushed something while pulling out his phone.

“Eep…”

He jerked sideways, butt lifting off the step before looking.

And froze.

Mirror image. Same half-rise. Same arms hugging self. Same startled eyes.

“I-It’s you…”

Hot wind cooled in the shade.

Flustered boy. Flustered girl.

Identical panic. Identical instinct.

Lu Huai’s mind whispered a song title: *The Other Me in the World.*

Time seemed to stand still, yet in reality, everyone’s movements continued unabated.

In the shadow where sunlight had yet to reach, these two clueless ones remained perfectly still.