Notes of Youth

The courtyard outside Class 11A1 was alive with color. Paper lanterns in soft shades of coral and mint hung from the eaves, and the scent of sweet osmanthus filled the air. The preparations for the school's cultural festival were in full swing, and students bustled about with brushes, banners, and boundless energy.

Lin Keqing stood by the bulletin board, pinning up a flyer for the upcoming art-literature collaboration. Her hand paused as she smoothed the corner, catching sight of her reflection in the glass. For a second, she hardly recognized the calmness in her own expression.

"Looks good," Gu Yuyan said behind her.

She turned. He was carrying a roll of posters under one arm and a faint smile on his lips.

"Thanks," she replied, stepping aside so he could put up his materials. "I didn't expect to enjoy this much."

"You like being part of something."

Keqing looked at him. "And you?"

He considered for a moment. "I like seeing things come together."

That afternoon, rehearsal for the literature exhibition took place in the newly cleaned wing of the old library. Dust motes swirled like snow in the shafts of sunlight cutting through tall windows. Keqing, Le Yahan, and a few others sat cross-legged on the floor, arranging handmade poetry cards and sketches for display.

"Don't forget, we need to label each piece," Yahan said, passing over a stack of blank tags.

Chen Yuke joined them, dramatically collapsing into a seat beside Yahan. "I should get extra credit for all this manual labor."

"You haven't even done anything yet," Yahan retorted, flicking a tag at his forehead.

He caught it mid-air and grinned. "But I will. Watch and learn."

"Careful," Keqing added, amused. "You might learn something from actually working."

Chen Yuke pouted dramatically. "Betrayed by my own classmates."

As laughter filled the space, the group felt more like a team—a quiet bond building among them.

Across the room, Fang Zichen reviewed a student's painting. Xu Yujin stood beside him, arms crossed.

"You should move the focal point left," she said, pointing to the canvas.

Zichen raised an eyebrow. "You sure?"

"Positive. It draws the eye too quickly otherwise. Let it linger."

He made the adjustment silently, nodding in approval after. "You're annoyingly good at this."

Yujin smirked. "Annoyingly? I'll take that as a compliment."

Later that day, Keqing and Le Yahan visited the gym storage room to borrow props for the booth display. Inside, under layers of dust, they found a wooden signboard from a past festival.

"We can repaint this," Yahan suggested. "Vintage vibes."

"Perfect. It already looks like it has a story," Keqing said, brushing off cobwebs.

As they worked together, Yahan glanced at Keqing. "So… what's going on between you and Gu Yuyan?"

Keqing froze mid-brushstroke. "What do you mean?"

Yahan shrugged. "You two just seem... different lately. Closer."

Keqing smiled faintly, then dipped the brush into coral paint. "Maybe we're building a bridge."

As the sun dipped lower, casting golden light across the campus, Keqing found herself walking alone toward the bridge that spanned the koi pond. It was a quiet place, tucked behind the gymnasium, rarely crowded.

To her surprise, Gu Yuyan was already there, leaning against the railing.

"Is this your secret spot too?" she asked.

He turned slightly. "Something like that."

She joined him, resting her hands on the cool wood. The koi beneath the water glimmered like floating fire.

"When I was little," Keqing began, "I thought bridges could carry feelings across them. Like if I stood at one end and missed someone, the feeling would find its way to them."

Yuyan glanced at her. "And now?"

"Now I think it still might be true. Just... a slower journey."

A pause stretched between them. Wind stirred the trees, and a leaf spiraled down, landing softly on the water's surface.

"I read the new poem you submitted," Yuyan said quietly. "The one about echoes."

Keqing blinked. "You did?"

"It felt personal."

She looked away, embarrassed. "Maybe too personal."

"That's why it was good."

Their eyes met, and for a long second, neither looked away. In that quiet, the bridge really did seem to carry something invisible, something fragile yet unmistakable.

Back at home that evening, Keqing carefully organized her desk, aligning her pencils and journals. Among them was a tiny envelope addressed to no one, sealed and never opened.

She picked it up, holding it to her chest.

In a notebook beside her, she wrote:

"Some bridges are built with words. Others with silence. But the strongest ones are built with moments we choose to share."

Outside, the wind picked up, carrying the scent of fall through the slightly open window. Somewhere beneath the sky, laughter echoed across campus, and in one quiet room, a girl smiled to herself, heart a little fuller than before.

Meanwhile, in the clubroom, Liu Tianxue stood silently by the window, watching students gather in the courtyard. Her fingers clutched a crumpled event flyer—the same one Keqing had pinned up earlier.

"She's everywhere lately," Tianxue muttered.

Behind her, a friend asked, "Who? Lin Keqing?"

Tianxue didn't answer directly. She smoothed the flyer and folded it neatly, placing it in her sketchbook.

"Nothing. Just thinking."

But her eyes lingered on the scene outside—and on Gu Yuyan, laughing quietly with Keqing beneath the banner arch.

In her mind, a quiet resolve took root. The festival would be her moment too. She wouldn't just watch from the sidelines.

Not this time.