Eighteen Years of Youthful Secret Love, Inside the Diary
The Love Left Unspoken
After the college entrance exam ended and I went back to school to pack my things, there was a diary on my desk.
It wasn't mine, yet it had my name written on it. A thick notebook that held a hidden youth—it was a boy's diary of secretly loving me for three years.
During my radiant and flamboyant seventeenth year, in the youth I thought was dull and unremarkable, someone had actually liked me this much.
1
The day the college entrance exam ended was a sunny day.
At 4:55 in the afternoon, I sat in the classroom, looked up at the window. The exam room was deadly silent. Lush branches and leaves covered more than half the window, shadows dancing softly.
I didn't dare move too much, glancing up at the clock again, taking a deep breath, and capping my pen.
The turning hands of the clock marked the flow of three years of high school; every stroke I wrote was an unknown future for my life.
More than ten years of studying culminated in this one day. All those books I'd read, classes I'd attended, years I'd lived—they all came to a close in a few exam papers.
The bell rang. "Exam ended—candidates please stop writing."
I looked around one last time, gazing at the place where I'd spent three years, and walked slowly out of the exam room.
There was no exhilaration of escaping high school as I'd imagined. Instead, my heart was filled with a faint sorrow of parting.
Walking out of the exam room, my dad paced as anxiously as I'd expected. The strawberry cupcake he'd specially prepared for me was nearly squished from his restless fidgeting.
The crowd was tightly held back by warning tape, creating a single path to exit.
Countless eyes fell on me, and after confirming I wasn't their child, quickly shifted to the next person.
The surroundings were a cacophony of voices and noise. I felt as though I were in another world, suddenly realizing that my youth had drawn its curtain—boldly yet quietly—beneath this seemingly momentous but tranquil splash.
The next day, I returned to school to pack the belongings I hadn't taken away.
Passing through the wisteria corridor, I encountered groups of younger schoolmates on the way. Fresh-faced, their high ponytails swinging with the lightness of youth, the stars in their eyes sparkling brightly.
The storage room held the random items we'd left behind. In the corners, stacks of books of varying heights filled every available space, interspersed with countless exam papers.
I walked over to my stack of books—I'd occupied this prime spot for three years. I was about to gather my books and head home when I noticed a thick blue notebook that had mysteriously appeared among my things. It bore my name, but the handwriting wasn't mine.
Puzzled, I picked up the notebook and looked around. All the other students packing up were strangers to me. Completely bewildered, I flipped it open, wanting to check the name written inside.
Nothing. How strange. In the bottom right corner, there was a small "k" and a drawing of an airplane.
With growing curiosity, I turned to the first page.
"September 2, 2018—Sunny—Sunday"
First day of high school registration. The summer wind was wild and brazen, blowing my hair into a bean sprout mess. As for me, lugging heavy luggage, I looked like a wilted cabbage.
The teacher assigned us to keep a diary to practice writing and broaden our composition skills.
There were also a few requirements that sounded utterly dreadful.
1. Describe your new roommates and your first impressions of them.
2. Describe an interesting incident that happened during registration.
3. Use a rhetorical device.
I've always insisted on being an "ordinary" science student, with absolutely no idea how to begin writing. I could only write matter-of-factly.
Since one student didn't show up, our dorm had only three people.
While organizing our clothes, we each gave brief introductions.
The boy sleeping on the bed across from me was named Ryan. He seemed very steady. He said he was good at basketball and we could form a team and play together sometime.
The other boy, on the diagonal bed, was named Theo. He was a chatterbox.
Dressed flashily, but probably not hard to get along with.
After painfully grinding out the teacher's first requirement in dry words, I started pondering the second.
An interesting incident? What even counts as interesting? It really was hard.
The other two were struggling just like me, unable to squeeze out two words in half an hour.
Oh right, something did happen today.
It was actually quite amusing. My quilt was taken by someone else.
I was beside her drinking water, watching helplessly as a girl marched right toward me with fierce determination.
Then she scooped up my quilt and ran off with it.
I was so anxious I wanted to call out to her, but I was choking on water.
I couldn't speak for a moment.
She ran incredibly fast—like a cheetah in a nature documentary, very distinctive.
Or perhaps more accurately like a little horse, because her braids bounced with each stride.
Before I could catch up, she'd already dashed into the girls' dormitory building. She never came back to exchange it, even by the afternoon.
The dorm supervisor kept urging me, so I had to take her quilt upstairs.
Fortunately, I have a decent memory. Finding her shouldn't be too hard.
Seeing that the other two's quilts looked just like the one I was holding, I realized the school issued standardized quilt covers, which explained why she'd grabbed the wrong one.
Sigh, guess I'll just go without a quilt tonight.
"Hmm?"
I stared at the first page of the diary, lost in thought.
Registration day had been truly hot. I remember feeling like my whole head was buzzing, only wanting to hide in the shade and slack off.
The girls' dorm didn't allow men upstairs. My dad hid in the shade, fanning himself with my little fan, waving and calling my name, gesturing for me to hurry up and bring the quilt inside.
Frustrated beyond words, I scowled and grabbed the nearest quilt without looking and ran off.
That night, I cheerfully pulled back the bedsheet, preparing to swap in the school-issued quilt cover and tuck in the corners—only to find it wasn't my familiar Ultraman quilt. It was a very plain, solid-colored quilt.
I was shocked. I rummaged through my bed and cabinet but couldn't find my quilt anywhere.
I dashed downstairs in two steps. In the dark outside the dorm building, there was no stray quilt to be found either.
There was only one truth—I'd taken someone else's quilt.
I tried hard to recall that day's memories, but they were already blurry. All I remember is taking someone else's quilt away.
After that? After that I just used it, and I used it for three whole years.
In my memory, that quilt was truly comfortable—soft and fragrant. I even thought I'd swapped with a girl.
Now I know it was this diary-writing boy whose quilt I'd exchanged with.
I wonder what his reaction was upon seeing my Ultraman quilt. I blindly guessed he must have loved it—after all, what boy could resist an Ultraman quilt!
His complaints inexplicably made me laugh. I covered my lips and read on.
"September 3, 2018—Sunny—Monday"
First official day of school.
The dorm cabinet is too small. Can't fit her quilt.
So I had to put it on my bed.
I didn't notice yesterday.
It wasn't until tonight that I realized her quilt has Ultraman on it.
My roommate Theo saw it and mocked me mercilessly.
He said my taste was unique.
I said it belongs to a girl—we just swapped quilts by mistake.
He pinched his throat and said in a weird voice that this was heaven-sent fate.
That Mother of Ultraman was matchmaking for us.
Even Ryan, who always wore a stiff expression on the opposite bed, couldn't help laughing.
I couldn't take it anymore and gave Theo two punches.
I swallowed hard, feeling a bit unaccustomed. I was worried that I might toss in my sleep and kick her quilt.
Last night I tossed and turned for a long time and still didn't dare use that quilt. Ended up not sleeping well, was so sleepy during the flag-raising ceremony.
I saw the silhouette of the girl who ran off with my quilt.
She's a tiny girl.
There were so many people at the flag-raising ceremony. I pushed hard through the crowd to find her.
Finally managed to squeeze through, and she ran off again.
Speed comparable to Usain Bolt in the hundred meters.
I even reasonably suspected she was a sports specialty student recruited by the school.
No way. I really don't want to sleep with an Ultraman quilt.
"Pfft."
I laughed out loud reading this.
I thought everyone liked Ultraman as much as I did. He actually refused to use it—zero taste, negative review.
That quilt should have been quite comfortable to sleep under. My mom personally bought the cotton, filled and sewed it for me!
Besides, for all three years of high school, every Monday we had flag-raising before breakfast, and the entire school flooded the cafeteria at the same time, so it was very easy to miss out on food.
So every time after the flag ceremony, I'd sprint to the cafeteria. It made sense that he couldn't find me.
Just by looking at his diary, I could tell he had no experience with the art of rushing meals. He must be a straight-A student. Us meal-chasing lesser mortals ran fast—it wasn't his fault for overthinking.
Though describing me as both a cheetah and Usain Bolt—was that really necessary?
His diary did instantly pull me back to my school days, though.
Our school held a flag-raising ceremony every Monday morning. The dean required us to make good use of fragmented time and made everyone carry study materials. Thick textbooks were too much trouble, so I'd always grab my friend's book beside me and pretend to study.
I remember there were palm-sized study booklets sold for five yuan each, often used for cheat sheets.
During flag-raising, they'd also check if we had our school ID badges. I even drew an Ultraman on my badge to cover my face. When my homeroom teacher caught me, she gave me a stern lecture.
She said her five-year-old son wasn't as childish as me.
I came back to my senses, a smile still lingering on my lips.