Notes of Youth

Autumn had arrived with a whisper. Leaves clung to the edges of classroom windows, their golden-brown hues casting soft shadows on desks. It was the kind of season where words felt heavier, yet glances held more meaning.

Lin Keqing sat by the window, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of her notebook. Gu Yuyan was beside her, reading silently as usual. The letter she had torn up still lingered in her thoughts, but not as a regret—more like a punctuation mark at the end of a chapter.

"Do you believe people change?" she asked suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Gu Yuyan didn't look up immediately. He turned a page, then replied, "If they want to. Or if they have to."

She nodded, unsure what kind of answer she had been hoping for. The silence between them didn't feel awkward. It never had.

During lunch break, the group gathered in the art clubroom to finalize pairings for the upcoming cultural festival. Posters, performances, and joint exhibits were on the agenda.

Fang Zichen stood in front of the chalkboard, writing with quick strokes. "We need two volunteers to help with the setup on Friday."

"I can," Xu Yujin said from the back, raising her hand.

Chen Yuke turned to Le Yahan and whispered, "Bet she just wants to avoid rehearsals."

Yahan rolled her eyes but smiled. "Then why don't you volunteer too?"

"Because I'm allergic to ladders," he deadpanned.

She gave him a look. "Convenient."

Their bickering earned them a glance from Fang Zichen, who smirked but didn't comment.

That afternoon, Keqing and Yuyan were assigned to finalize the title design for the literary corner. They sat in the library, poring over font samples and layout sketches. The air smelled of old paper and dried leaves.

"You're good at this," she said, watching his pencil move with quiet precision.

He gave a half-smile. "Just focused."

She tilted her head. "Focused on making it perfect or meaningful?"

"Both, maybe. It's for people to read. Might as well make it worth their time."

Keqing watched him for a moment. She wanted to ask a dozen questions—why he never replied to anyone's messages except hers, why he always seemed a step removed from everyone else—but she didn't. Some answers weren't meant to be asked aloud.

Instead, she picked a font style and said, "This one feels like something you'd pick."

He looked at it and nodded. "It is."

They worked in companionable quiet, the kind that needed no music.

Later, as the sun dipped low, Keqing and Le Yahan walked home together. The streets were scattered with fallen leaves, and the sky was painted in soft amber.

"So," Yahan said, "what's going on with you and Gu Yuyan? You two have been... extra quiet lately."

Keqing smiled faintly. "We've always been quiet. That's the language we speak."

"Yeah, well, some of us prefer subtitles."

Keqing laughed. "We're still figuring things out."

Yahan nudged her playfully. "Just don't let the silence do all the talking."

That evening, the two girls stopped by a small bakery that had just reopened after renovations. Keqing picked a chestnut tart while Yahan chose a sesame bun. They sat by the window with their snacks and warm drinks, the golden light wrapping around them like a blanket.

"Do you think we'll all still be close after high school?" Keqing asked.

Yahan didn't answer immediately. She took a sip of her tea and looked outside. "I want to believe so. But sometimes people drift, even when they don't mean to."

"Then maybe we need something to anchor us."

"Like Pocky and poems?"

Keqing grinned. "Exactly."

They stayed until the shop closed, chatting about everything from class gossip to dreams of university life. It was easy, the way they fit into each other's rhythms—not just as friends, but as witnesses to each other's growing up.

Meanwhile, back at the clubroom, Fang Zichen was cleaning up supplies when he noticed Xu Yujin sketching alone by the window.

"Staying late?"

"I like the quiet," she replied without looking up.

"You always draw people from the back," he observed.

"Because you see more truth in how someone walks away than how they smile."

He paused, then nodded. "That's poetic."

"I didn't mean for it to be."

"But it is."

The two shared a glance, brief but meaningful. Sometimes, connection didn't need a beginning. It simply needed space.

"You planning to submit that for the exhibit?" Fang asked, pointing to the drawing.

Xu Yujin shrugged. "Maybe. If it turns out honest enough."

He nodded approvingly. "Honest is good."

They ended up sitting across from each other, exchanging quiet observations about art, people, and the strange way memories filtered into sketches. As the sky outside deepened into navy, they realized they were the last two in the building.

"Guess we should head out," Zichen said.

"Yeah. But this was nice," she replied, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

He held the door open for her. "Let's do it again sometime."

Yujin didn't reply, but the small smile she gave him as she stepped into the night said enough.

That night, Keqing opened her journal again. No letters, no poems—just a single line:

"There are stories in the spaces we don't fill."

She tapped her pen thoughtfully. Then she wrote more:

"Like the echo between two steps, Or the pause before a name. Like the look someone gives you when they almost say something—but don't."

And she smiled, feeling that maybe, just maybe, silence wasn't empty after all.

In another part of the city, Gu Yuyan sat at his desk, staring at a blank page in his notebook. He wasn't one to journal, but tonight felt different. Slowly, he began to write:

"To the girl who listens without interrupting, Who speaks without raising her voice, Who notices what others miss. Thank you for making silence feel like home."

He closed the notebook without signing it, unsure if it would ever be read.

Outside, the wind moved through the trees, carrying words unspoken between hearts not yet brave enough to say them aloud.

The night grew darker, but in its stillness, something tender remained—a kind of quiet hope blooming like light between the lines.