Notes of Youth

Monday morning, sunlight trickled down the corridor outside Class 11A1, casting long shadows from the potted plants lined by the windows. The school felt quieter than usual, the kind of hush that only happened after a storm or before something important.

Near the teachers' office, a new notice had been posted on the bulletin board—an ivory sheet, neatly laminated. Names were printed in two columns with titles above them:

Group Assignments: School Literature and Arts Festival – Grade 11.

Chen Yuke was the first to notice. He adjusted his bag strap, scanned the list, then called out with a grin, "Keqing! You're in the 'Creative Reading' group. And... oh, Gu Yuyan too!"

Lin Keqing, who had just set down her umbrella at the door, blinked. She hadn't registered for anything, had she? Perhaps the teachers had selected based on the recent citywide literature contest. She stepped closer, letting her eyes travel down the list.

Her name was there. So was Gu Yuyan's. Then Le Yahan. Xu Yujin.

And then—

Liu Tianxue.

As if summoned by that thought, a soft voice floated in from behind.

"Looks like we're in the same group again, Lin Keqing."

Keqing turned.

Liu Tianxue stood a step behind her—posture perfect, expression composed. Her smile was light, almost serene, but her gaze held a quiet edge. She wore a beige blouse tucked neatly into her skirt, sleeves rolled precisely to the elbows.

"Hello," Keqing replied, voice calm but not particularly warm.

Tianxue tilted her head slightly, eyes flicking toward Gu Yuyan, who had silently stepped up beside them.

"I'm looking forward to this group," she said with ease. "The more capable the members, the more... engaging the result."

The group meeting was scheduled that afternoon in the common room. It was one of those flexible after-class hours, where the sunlight through the wide windows turned golden and slow.

On the long table lay printed drafts: short stories, poems, personal essays. Each student was to choose a piece to present during the festival—through dramatic reading, visual accompaniment, or creative interpretation.

Fang Zichen sat in the corner, flipping his sketchbook open. As the Art Club president, he was assigned to help design the stage space and lighting. Quiet by nature, he rarely interrupted, instead capturing details in clean pencil strokes.

Meanwhile, Chen Yuke and Le Yahan worked on organizing name tags and table markers.

"Did you bring the tape?" Yahan asked without looking up.

Yuke reached into his pencil case, pulled out a fresh roll."I'm prepared this time. No emergency paper clips today."

"Good," Yahan said with mock sternness. "My reputation as classroom repairwoman is already overwhelming."

A thin sheet of paper slid off the table with the breeze. Both of them reached for it at once. Their fingers brushed—barely a second, but long enough.

Yuke withdrew first, placing the sheet back in place. "Careful," he said, almost too softly. "It's delicate."

Yahan looked at him, the corners of her lips curving. "The paper or… something else?"

He didn't answer, but a faint smile told her enough.

They took turns presenting their pieces.

Yahan shared a lyrical reflection on childhood summers and the scent of library books. Her voice was soft, but her cadence grounded the words in memory.

Chen Yuke followed with a short poem—minimalist but sincere:

"Sometimes, silence feels like home.Sometimes, it's the weight I can't explain."

Le Yahan watched him with quiet attention, her hand slowly curling around the edge of her notebook.

Then it was Keqing's turn.

She stood, unfolded a small slip of paper, and read:

"I said nothing, but I stayed.I asked nothing, but I waited.Because some people understand without needing to be told."

The room paused.

Then came Liu Tianxue.

She didn't glance around. Her voice rang clear, steady:

"I once believed silence was strength.But sometimes, it's just fear in disguise.Some truths, if left unspoken, never find a place to live."

It wasn't combative. But it wasn't neutral either. A quiet counterpoint to Keqing's softness.

Gu Yuyan, who hadn't said a word the entire session, shifted ever so slightly in his seat.

After the meeting, students began to pack up. Most left in groups, chatting lightly.

In a quiet corner, Le Yahan reached down to gather scattered papers. Chen Yuke flicked on the small desk lamp beside her.

"For the light," he said.

"You're always weirdly alert after class," she murmured, glancing up. "Thanks."

"You do a lot for everyone," he said, gently. "Someone should do something for you, once in a while."

She paused, then slid a folded sticky note across the table.

"Buy me a red bean bun tomorrow?"

He opened it, then smiled."Deal. But I'm picking the filling next time."

Yahan's laugh was soft—barely there, but real.

As the last of the materials were cleared, Liu Tianxue lingered by the doorway.

"You write well, Keqing," she said. "But this time, I won't be the background character."

She left before a reply could form.

Keqing stood by the window a little longer, watching the light settle across the wooden table. The air was still, but inside, something was shifting—like the faint ripple of water after a skipped stone.

Not far away, Chen Yuke sat by his backpack, quietly reading the sticky note again. Just a few playful words in Yahan's handwriting—but something about them stayed.