*Thump-thump-thump—*

Sun-warmed stone steps. Canvas shoes stepping from golden light into shadow.

Lu Huai never imagined his life would reach this moment—or spark such thoughts, such initiative.

Something else had ignited an unusual drive in the boy.

No way… no way…

Time offered no room for hesitation. Today was already Wednesday.

He entered the Science and Technology Building. Left class without a word—not even during the quieter lunch hour. Slipped out the second the bell rang. Luckily, as the inconspicuous student everyone was used to—a background character who never stirred gossip—no one noticed.

His grades were decent, but not awe-inspiring.

Unseen, he spotted the Literature Club activity room.

Voices buzzed inside. Some had arrived early.

Not surprising. When school-sanctioned tasks landed, core club members sometimes earned minor privileges—like skipping a class. Rarely, of course. In China, studies always came first.

Shaking off idle thoughts, Lu Huai took a deep breath. No more delay. Only ten minutes between classes. He had to fix this.

…

“Qianxun, are the illustrations ready?”

“Mm… mm…”

Liu Qianxun stood by the window—a spot less likely to draw attention—cradling several printed sheets. Her gem-like eyes lifted briefly, then dropped again, hidden beneath dark bangs.

Yang Mo sorted manuscripts. Preliminary review was Friday. Busy, yes—but at her age, handling “real work” felt exciting.

“So fast? Hand them over.”

She took the pages from the shy yet quietly charming girl, a flicker of fondness in her smile.

“Okay… Just check… If changes are needed… tell me early…”

“Got it. Thanks for your hard work.”

“Mm… I’ll go then.”

“Okay.”

Yang Mo watched Liu Qianxun turn to leave—then freeze. Steps faltering. Staring at the doorway as if struck still. Three seconds. Four.

Then she spun abruptly, pressing her forehead to the sunlit window.

Golden light haloed her—a scene so pure it begged to be a book cover. But… what happened?

Yang Mo glanced toward the door.

An unexpected figure stood there.

Slender. Not short, not tall. Face merely decently handsome. Bursting into the room like a headless fly.

“Huh? Lu Huai? What brings you here?” Zhang Cheng blinked in surprise.

The boy held his gaze—steady, direct. A stark shift from last time, when he’d avoided eye contact like a flustered girl.

He stood unnaturally straight. Almost comical. Zhang Cheng bit back a smile. Better not offend a classmate you see daily.

“I heard… from Yang Mo… there’s an issue with my manuscript.”

Zhang Cheng waved Yang Mo over. “Come here.”

The lively girl hurried close. Lu Huai met her eyes—then looked away.

“I’m here about the manuscript…” Voice still thin with uncertainty.

Zhang Cheng glanced at Yang Mo. “Which one was his?”

Yang Mo’s focus had already drifted from Lu Huai—the supposed center of this moment.

“‘A Small Matter Called Youth.’ The romance angle… Teacher might reject it.”

“Right. Beautifully written, strong prose… but romance? Tough sell. You notified him?”

“Yeah. Gave him a heads-up.”

“Makes sense. After so many issues… this theme rarely passes.”

They chatted as if Lu Huai had vanished. Discussing his fate without him.

“Should I revise… or…” Lu Huai forced the words out.

Interrupting felt wrong. But urgency clawed his chest. *This is life or death. If I fail, what torment will that she-devil devise?*

Zhang Cheng shook his head. “Theme’s tricky. Revisions might not save it.”

Yang Mo nodded. “Try a new topic? His writing’s strong.”

“Too late. Review’s day after tomorrow. Classes. No time.”

Yang Mo sighed. “Wait for next time. Honestly, not a big deal. Though… half these submissions feel copied.”

Zhang Cheng chuckled. “Inspired, maybe. We faked essays too—remember that kid whose grandma died *four times*?”

“Hah! Mine wrote his grandpa’s funeral… then his birthday party. Teacher called it a ghost story!”

Laughter flowed. Easy. Unaware.

Lu Huai stood rooted. Sweat dampened his back. Simply *being seen* cost him.

Yet even in their line of sight, he felt transparent. Erased.

Before, he’d slip away quietly during their chatter. A faint ache of loss. That was normal.

Now—anger. A nameless weight crushing his chest like stone.

Not at them. Their logic was sound. But he *knew*: his story wasn’t shallow puppy love. It was bittersweet youth. Growth. Regret.

The teacher would see it. *They* had to let it pass preliminary review. Or it died here.

The humble Lu Huai would never cling to such certainty. But now—a dark thought. Unworthy. Necessary.

*How else to move forward?*

“Wait.”

He cut through their laughter.

Yang Mo turned, apologetic. “Ah… sorry. Almost forgot you were here.”

Zhang Cheng smiled. “We explained. Revise? Or wait for next time?”

A life-or-death question in their casual eyes.

*Move forward…*

*Say it.*

*Say it!*

Like pounding his chest before the bulletin board:

*Today, I, Lu Huai, break through your defenses!*

Yang Mo softened. “It’s fine. If it’s Teacher Xu’s task, we’ll explain…”

“It’s not like that…”

“Huh?” Her eyes widened. His voice trembled. Face flushed. But his gaze—locked on hers—held undeniable force.

*Wait… wasn’t he the invisible one?*

Before they could react—

Lu Huai stepped forward. Ears burning crimson. Eyes blazing.

“First—we’re not discussing the same thing. Did you *read* to the end?”

Zhang Cheng nodded. “Of course. We read every submission.”

“Did you *absorb* it? Is it *just* romance? Or do you flinch because you deny this age? As if none of us ever felt something real! You’re refusing to admit: at our age, these feelings *belong*.”

Zhang Cheng stared. Words now poured from Lu Huai—fluid, fierce, machine-gun sharp.

“Uh… wait, I meant—”

Lu Huai pressed closer. Voice gentle, yet unyielding:

“I understand your concern. But answer me: Can you swear you’ve never liked someone? Did you see *this* line?

*Youth carries fierce, surging emotion—like a tree rooting deep, reaching skyward. Even if all we own is this burning feeling we must hide…*

Did you *truly* understand it?!”

Sunlight spilled silently through the glass onto the floor.

The other students in the activity room—and those who had just stepped through the door—stared in stunned silence at the scene unfolding at the center.

It felt like a three-person film, the dialogue sounding… straight out of a stage play.

By the window, the girl lifted her gaze toward the boy whose silhouette seemed to tremble slightly.

A stray strand of hair drifted across her lips, but she was so absorbed in what lay before her that she forgot to brush it away.