Notes of Youth

The air inside the classroom was warmer than usual, filled with leftover sunlight and the rustle of test papers being returned.

Desks were back in clusters. Jackets draped over chairs. Some students slept with their heads down while others whispered about their final scores. On the blackboard, someone had doodled a small snowman holding a pencil.

Lin Keqing stared at her own exam sheet. Her literature score was high. English—passable. Not perfect, but enough.

It was over.

"Well," said Ms. Zhou, walking in with a stack of files, "you survived."

Half the class groaned. A few clapped weakly.

Ms. Zhou smiled and placed the files on her desk. "Before I let you all disappear for the holidays, there's one more thing."

She paused.

"Next term, you'll be split into academic tracks: Science or Humanities. This will shape your preparation for the college entrance exams, and maybe more."

A hush fell over the room.

"The lists will be posted outside the office. You can check them before you leave today. Appeals are possible—but only for a limited time."

Students exchanged looks. Chen Yuke looked visibly stunned.

"We're splitting up?" he asked.

Le Yahan frowned. "Already?"

Ms. Zhou didn't answer—she just nodded and began handing out report sheets.

At noon, the hallway outside the teachers' office buzzed with nervous excitement. Students clustered around the noticeboard, whispering, pointing, sighing.

Keqing approached slowly, hands in her coat pockets.

Science Track: Gu Yuyan, Le Yahan, Tran Vuka, Bai Andui...Humanities Track: Lin Keqing, Chen Yuke, Liu Tianxue, Fang Zichen...

She read her name twice.

Humanities.

It wasn't a surprise. Still, it felt strange. Like something final had been decided.

Behind her, Chen Yuke mumbled, "Guess we're seatmates again."

Keqing turned. "Guess so."

"Yahan's not in our list though."

Keqing's eyes moved across the board again. Neither was Gu.

The hallway noise faded slightly in her ears.

Different tracks. Different classrooms. Different everything.

The next morning brought stillness. The first day of winter break. No alarms, no homework, just the soft hush of snow beginning to melt outside her window.

Although Keqing lived with her grandmother in the city during school months, the old woman had returned to her countryside home for the holiday season. The village, quiet and snow-dusted, was where Keqing had spent many childhood winters.

Her phone vibrated.

[Grandma 👵]: "Plum blossoms are blooming early. Come visit?"

Keqing smiled.

[Keqing]: "Can I bring a few friends?"

[Grandma 👵]: "Of course. I'll prepare the hot buns."

By evening, a group chat had exploded.

Le Yahan: "GETTING OUT OF THE CITY"Chen Yuke: "Will there be dumplings?"Tran Vuka: "I'll bring tea."Fang Zichen: "I call dibs on the warmest blanket."Gu Yuyan: "Bringing a telescope."Keqing: "You guys are ridiculous. Be ready by 8."

The train the next day cut through winter landscapes—bare fields, low hills, and distant rooftops dusted in white. Their laughter filled the cabin. Yahan brought a mountain of snacks. Zichen sketched the scenery. Vuka quietly listened to music. Gu sat near Keqing, a black case resting against his legs.

"What's in there?" she asked.

"Telescope."

"Really?"

He nodded. "I've never seen stars properly before."

She smiled. "You will tonight."

Keqing's grandmother welcomed them at the gate, bundled in a thick coat and smelling of flour and tea leaves.

The house was small, wooden, warm. They laid out futons, hung paper lanterns, helped stir a giant pot of soup in the kitchen.

"Let's go outside tonight," Yahan suggested. "Bonfire. Stars."

Everyone agreed.

That evening, they gathered near the frozen stream behind the house. Someone started a fire. Vuka played music from his phone. Zichen toasted marshmallows. Yahan and Yuke argued about constellations while pointing randomly at the sky.

Gu set up the telescope in silence.

Keqing watched him from a few feet away.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she said.

Gu looked up. "I always wondered what they'd look like without the city lights."

She tilted her head. "You didn't answer my message last night."

"I read it," he said. "Didn't know what to say."

A pause.

"But I'm glad I came."

"Me too."

They sat near the fire. The stars above looked like chalk on dark velvet. No one spoke for a while.

Then Gu said, "We'll all be in different classes."

"Yeah."

"Think we'll grow apart?"

Keqing didn't answer right away.

Then: "Maybe. Maybe not. But even if we do... I think we'll remember this."

Gu glanced sideways. "You will?"

She nodded. "Especially the way Yuke just burned his marshmallow again."

Gu laughed—a quiet, genuine sound—and for a second, she forgot the cold.

Later, when the fire dimmed and most had gone inside, Keqing lingered.

Gu stood beside his telescope.

"Look," he whispered.

She leaned in. Through the lens, the stars burned brighter. A cluster shimmered like spilled glitter.

"They say some of that light is thousands of years old," Gu said. "Traveling all this way just to reach us tonight."

She thought of everything that had happened—Lin Wanzou, the red notebook, the warnings, the fear.

And now?

Now there was just quiet. Stillness. Light.

"Do you think," she whispered, "this moment will last?"

Gu looked at her. "Not forever. But maybe long enough."

The next morning, snow had fallen again—light, soft, clinging to the branches.

They packed, helped Grandma sweep the porch, and took group photos under the plum trees.

When the train pulled into the village station, Keqing looked back once—at the fading roofline, at the path where they had laughed, and at the sky now pale and clouded.

Winter had come.

But so had a sense of calm.

She didn't know what spring would bring. Or what senior year would be like. But for now, she had this.

One perfect weekend.One sky full of stars.And the quiet promise that youth, though fleeting, always leaves a trace.