Freedom is a freedom within constraints.
People are never free from shackles.
Yet they constantly seek freedom within them.
Because I fell in love with you.
I found the courage to break through every rule and boundary.
You are my single stroke, my single line.
Bravely facing my own heart
Was the most right thing I've ever done.
Forgive me for talking too much today. I'm truly very happy.
The writing of my name on the diary's cover was bold and powerful.
I accidentally flipped to the back of the diary.
An entire page of my name.
Big and small, some in cursive, some in neat print.
I looked up at the moon, my vision blurring.
The moon seemed to be crying along with me.
"August 20, 2019—Sunny—Monday"
Saw you on the honor roll.
I took a photo of it with my camera.
So cute. I don't need you to be extraordinary—I just want you to be happy and safe every day.
This page of the diary had a photograph tucked inside.
I picked it up.
It was a photo of me on the honor roll.
A bit blurry from the glass partition.
On the back of the photo was written:
"August 20, 2019—A memento of Blanket Girl making the honor roll for the first time."
In the photo, I was pursing my lips, trying not to smile.
Even through the photo, you could sense my joy.
I remember when I first came to this school.
There was a huge honor roll at the bottom of the academic building.
It displayed all the top students from each class, looking calm and collected, their expressions as if this were routine.
But I stood in front of that board lost in thought for a long time, my eyes full of yearning.
What was I thinking? I was thinking, if only one day I could make it onto the honor roll, just once.
Just once would be enough.
I remember when the results came out, I ranked first in my class.
Even though being first in my class didn't mean a high rank in the overall grade, it was enough to make me happy.
The teacher in charge of the honor roll photos called me out. Though he very casually pulled out his phone and had me lean against the wall for a quick snap,
I couldn't hide my excitement. I tried my best to keep my lips pressed together and not smile, but the corners of my mouth still curved up.
It was as if, through that photograph, you could still see my elation written all over it.
I held that photo.
Smiling, and then the tears came.
He never missed a single important moment of my youth.
He went to such lengths to find me, to discover me. And what about me?
Did I notice the passersby? Did I notice the gaze that crossed four floors? Did I notice his love?
15
"August 23, 2019—Sunny—Monday"
The new first-years are doing military training today.
Time goes by so fast.
Just like that, we're already second-years.
While doing math problems, I suddenly thought of you.
That afternoon.
You, singing so composedly in the crowd.
"August 24, 2019—Sunny—Tuesday"
Early September. The entire grade is holding a red song competition singing patriotic songs for our country. Our class has been selecting songs lately. Our homeroom teacher wanted me to do the recitation, but I politely declined.
I heard the recitation requires painting your face bright red.
Too embarrassing.
My outward excuse is that I'm more introverted.
"September 1, 2019—Sunny—Sunday"
This is an annual school event, and it's quite grand.
Once again, I used my position to my advantage.
I checked your class's performance roster.
Your class ultimately chose "Night at the Military Harbor."
You weren't the reciter or the lead singer.
That's okay.
Ever since I fell for you.
It feels like I've gained superpowers.
Even in a sea of people.
I can still spot you at a glance.
Our class, being a humanities class, had too few boys, so we couldn't sing those powerful, grand songs. That's why we ended up choosing this one.
Unconsciously, those days came flooding back to mind.
"September 15, 2019—Cloudy—Sunday"
Full grade joint rehearsal.
Finally saw you.
But why.
At a singing competition.
Would you be the one dancing on the side?
With tears still wet on my face, I crouched under the streetlight and suddenly burst out laughing.
My singing was only good enough to bluff through popular songs—when it came to real skill, I certainly couldn't compare to others.
Our school held a very grand National Day chorus competition for every cohort during their second year. Every class had to put on a program, and every student had to participate.
The school took the event seriously, giving us plenty of rehearsal time.
Every class racked their brains trying to win a ranking. Some classes added two-part harmonies to their chorus, others incorporated little skits.
For our chorus competition, our class chose a song that had a brief instrumental interlude in the middle, perfect for adding a short dance segment to enhance the performance.
By a twist of fate, I ended up as the backup dancer.
Out of a five- or six-minute performance, I was on stage for less than thirty or forty seconds.
I didn't expect him to have noticed.
An insignificant little thing, yet he recorded so much of it.
I felt a bit panicked, but more than that, a sense of desolation. I had unknowingly trapped an entire portion of his youth, never once looking back.
Never once looking at that boy whose eyes overflowed with love.
"September 27, 2019—Cloudy—Friday"
Official performance today.
Waiting backstage.
Our class's performance outfits were military uniforms.
I saw you.
You were wearing ballet flats.
A blue dress.
Hair down.
Makeup on.
Something sparkly by your eyes.
When you were bouncing around backstage.
Could you feel my gaze?
The performance went smoothly.
I rushed to the audience.
I took photos of you. Luckily, I made it in time.
After the performance, school was dismissed and it suddenly started drizzling.
I saw you without an umbrella, pitifully crouching by the bus stop sign.
My brain felt like it was on fire.
I rushed toward you, taking off my school uniform jacket.
Crumpling it in my hand, I stood next to you.
But didn't have the courage to hand it directly to you.
I'm sorry.
16
"You don't need to be sorry, Lucas."
I shook my head as I cried, sobbing as I said he didn't need to be sorry.
How could he be sorry?
After the performance ended that day, it suddenly started raining.
Coincidentally, because the backstage was a mess, I couldn't find my school uniform, and there was nothing else to shield me from the rain.
I called my dad to come pick me up, but he couldn't arrive right away.
Helpless, I had to find a place to take shelter first.
Running quickly, I ducked under the bus stop sign, shivering in my performance dress.
Looking somewhat bedraggled, I drew occasional glances from people around me, which felt rather humiliating.
Suddenly, a boy appeared standing at my diagonal front, blocking all the unkind stares directed my way.
He was thoroughly drenched. His right hand held his school uniform jacket—he wasn't wearing it or using it to cover himself from the rain.
His left hand clutched his glasses. I saw raindrops sliding down the lenses one by one.
I looked up, but all I could see was a proper, upright back from behind.
Under the bus stop sign, students huddled away from the rain. A tall silhouette shielded me from the slanted wind and rain.
I stared at his back, feeling like we'd known each other for a long time.
My dad's car arrived. I lowered my head and ran to the car.
Once inside, I still couldn't help looking back at that figure—just who was he?
The rain grew heavier, drops hitting the car window one after another. A hazy fog blurred the glass. I hurriedly wiped away the condensation and leaned forward to look at the person under the bus stop sign.
Our eyes met—just one glance—before that person shrank in the heavy rain until they finally disappeared from sight.
The fog crept back over the window. The pouring rain seemed to be blocking our encounter too.
Yet all I could remember was those eyes—both familiar and strange.
I turned back around in confusion, still unable to recall where I'd seen them before.
The world's fateful connections are measured in mere seconds—a car racing toward you, a red light you're waiting at, rain that suddenly begins to fall, a casual glance backward. Some people pass by each other just like that, only realizing long after that they should have taken that step forward, that they should have looked back one more time before getting in the car—would the ending have been different?
An indescribable astringency lingered in my throat, impossible to swallow.
The taut string was plucked hard once more.
"October 1, 2019—Sunny—Tuesday"
It was probably because I stood in the rain for so long that day.
I fainted in the entryway as soon as I got home.
I've been on IV drips at the hospital ever since.
Feeling a bit better today.
I haven't been to school these past few days.
At home, sleeping around the clock, not knowing day from night.
I don't know how you've been.
You were dressed so thinly that day—did you catch a cold?
I still feel regretful.
Why didn't I hand you my jacket sooner.
I stood there and finally gathered the courage to turn around and give you my coat.
Only to find that the car picking you up had already arrived.
The doctor said I was already running a fever when I went out in the rain.
I didn't even know I had a fever.
I can barely remember how I got home.
Seems like I collapsed in the entryway and lost consciousness.
I thought about it—what's been making me hesitate and shrink back all this time?
Perhaps, in the day-after-day restrictions and monotonous routine of my life.
I always felt that someone as stiff and boring as me.
My love would only become a burden to you.
I wanted to tell you my feelings.
But even if I said it out loud, what would change?
And what answer did I hope to hear from you?
Rather than letting you know.
It's better to watch you fly further and higher.
My love shouldn't be a cage.
It's seeing you get better and better.
"October 3, 2019—Cloudy—Thursday"
First year got five days off for National Day. Second year only gets three. Third year won't be just one day, will it? Oh well. More days means more chances to see you.