Back in X Middle School, we were practically from two different worlds. We’d known each other since elementary school—classmates, barely nodding acquaintances.

But middle school changed that. We weren’t in the same class. At first, we’d still nod passing in the hall. Then even that stopped. He’d head to the court; I’d vanish into my classroom.

I preferred staying seated, quiet. He lived for basketball and friends—star player, key on the school team, radiating charisma. I was just a bookworm, clinging to teachers’ promises: study hard, secure the future. My grades? Top in Chinese, math, English—no one matched me. Silent. Aloof. A nerdy nobody.

I saw myself as grass dormant under winter snow, waiting for spring to bloom. Sounded noble. Forgot my parents were grass too. Even if I rose up, I was still damn grass—the kind a dog’s pee could wipe out in one splash.

Teachers didn’t favor me. Parents abroad, no gifts for him. My grades? Just a tiny line on his paycheck. Useful only as bragging material. Like a chicken rib—more trouble than it was worth.

Somewhere along the line, I realized: I wasn’t some “precious flower of the motherland.” I was just a few yuan on his salary slip. Those “troublemaker” kids? Their grades hit his wallet. Slacking off wasn’t mischief—it was cutting his livelihood. So when my scores dropped, that bastard flew off the handle: lines, standing outside, banned from class.

Too late by then. No friends. They’d snicker. Whisper “serves him right” where I couldn’t hear.

The morning I finally saw it all, I stood in the hallway. February again. For the first time, I watched the sunlight outside with quiet contentment.

Lao Han, Class 14’s rep, peeked over a thick stack of homework. Seeing me punished mid-class must’ve seemed odd. “You okay?” he asked, curious.

I smiled. “Skip class? Internet cafe. My treat.”

We played Crossing X all day. I covered his tab. Four thousand yuan monthly allowance felt endless to a frugal eighth grader. Paid his gaming time, his drink. He offered to repay; I waved it off.

But Lao Han was proud. Didn’t like owing. Shoved fifty yuan back at me later.

I returned to school still the flawless student. He and I reverted to nodding in passing—fine by me. I had pride too. Didn’t want closeness.

Two years ago, if I hadn’t shoved Xiao Yao from that speeding truck, hadn’t spent two months on crutches… Lao Han would never have become my closest brother. I’d still be that melancholic bookworm, seeing the path yet walking someone else’s road.

That noon one month ago—when she became a girl—would never have existed.

Fate really is one damn mysterious thing.

February wind felt warm. Lao Han and I walked a full lap around the rubber track in silence. *How long will this take?* I glanced sideways. She idly bounced the ball, gaze distant, lost in thought.

I checked my phone. Almost noon. Planning lunch, maybe afternoon plans—skip calling Long Ge (gaming all day), her (wouldn’t come out), Ming Hai (still sleeping off a nap). My stomach growled.

Lao Han tugged her hoodie strings. I caught only her pale chin, silk-like hair spilling from the hood. Still bouncing the ball, drifting slowly across the track.

Just as I opened my mouth—“Hungry? Let’s grab food?”—she said, “Lu Ren.”

I blinked. “Yeah?”

She paused. “Go to the big hospital for me tomorrow.”

“Huh? Why?”

She turned, offered a faint smile. “My grandpa’s got late-stage lung cancer. Stand in for me. Just visit him.”

She said it lightly, like picking a lunch spot.

I froze. “Grandpa? Cancer?”

She smiled again, silent, eyes on the bouncing ball. Not panicking. I rushed, “You can’t go? You’re his only grandson! Doesn’t that matter?”

She sighed, staring at the ground. “I *want* to go. How? Yesterday, cooking for Xiao Yao… the critical notice arrived. Grandpa’s hospitalized. I didn’t sleep all night. Felt suffocated this morning.”

“Parents overseas, frantic. Told me to visit… But how? I’m the Lao family’s only son—now a girl. Walk in and say ‘I’m Xiaofeng’? Give Grandpa a heart attack?”

I sipped my Coke. Said nothing.

Then softly: “Lu Ren… I know you’ve got ideas. Just this once. Visit him. Make up a decent excuse. I’m out of options. You want me to kneel?”

She looked at me, knees bending. I yanked her up. “Are you insane? Don’t kneel! Of course I’ll go.”

She’d pulled an all-nighter, played basketball till exhaustion. Her body felt limp in my grip. She turned away, biting her lip. Pale face, faint dark circles stark beneath her eyes. *Why do you do this to yourself?*

“Let’s eat,” I said.

I remembered her grandpa. In eighth grade, I often stayed at Lao Han’s. Parents traveling. Grandpa lived nearby, cooked for them and Xiao Yao, chatted with us. Loved chess. Would pull Xiao Yao onto his lap, drag me to play. Two months ago, he tugged my sleeve: “Teach this old man to go online!” Laughing, lively—frail but spirited. How… cancer?

The restaurant was quiet, clean. Only two students eating noodles by the window. I chose a spot, ordered two beef noodle bowls. Lao Han propped her chin, staring out. Noodles arrived. She picked at them. Barely touched.

Afterward, she said she was heading home. I patted her shoulder. She smiled. Said nothing.

Next morning, my alarm blared at 7:30. Long Ge still gaming through the night. Chu? No telling when he’d wake. *This messed-up schedule… gotta talk to them later.* I washed up, made breakfast, tucked two hundred yuan in my pocket, hailed a cab to the big hospital.

Dawn air carried damp chill. I shivered in my down jacket. Checked Lao Han’s text for the room number. Sighed. Walked in.

Not my blood relative, but… we’d played chess. That old rascal had warmth. Hearing he’s in late stage—words failed me.

Couldn’t visit empty-handed. Bought fruit from the hospital stand. Asked the half-asleep nurse at reception. “Third floor,” she mumbled. I nodded. Headed up.