Notes of Youth

The Spring Festival at No.1 High School was a much-anticipated break from the routine—a day filled with booths, performances, and laughter echoing across the school grounds. Paper lanterns swayed gently in the afternoon breeze, cherry blossoms scattered like snow across the courtyard, and the air buzzed with excitement.

Lin Keqing stood by the edge of the quad, her fingers brushing against the hem of her coat as she took it all in. It was hard to believe this was the same school where silence often lingered between pages and glances. Today, everything pulsed with life.

"I heard the art club's booth is giving out hand-painted bookmarks," Le Yahan said beside her, eyes wide with mischief. "Come on, let's get there before they run out."

Keqing smiled faintly but her gaze was elsewhere—searching.

"Looking for someone?" Yahan teased, bumping her shoulder.

"No," Keqing lied.

But she was.

Across the festival grounds, Gu Yuyan stood near the edge of the calligraphy booth, his usual white shirt replaced by a soft beige sweater. He wasn't helping with any booth; he wasn't performing. He simply watched. Observed.

His eyes, however, were unmistakably following a certain figure moving through the crowd.

Mr. Ha approached with a smile. "Not participating, Gu Yuyan?"

"I think I'm more useful on the sidelines," he said softly.

Mr. Ha chuckled. "Not all things worth doing are loud."

Yuyan gave a slight nod.

In the music corner, Chen Yuke stood awkwardly beside a bamboo flute display. Le Yahan passed by, arms full of snacks. She blinked.

"You? Flutes?"

He scratched his head. "I'm just watching Fang Zichen perform. She forced me to stay."

"Sounds about right," Yahan said, amused. "Want a candied hawthorn?"

He took one, but didn't eat it.

A beat of silence.

"You look nice today," he said, almost too casually.

She raised an eyebrow. "Just today?"

He smirked. "I mean... especially today."

Yahan paused, then grinned. "Guess the flutes inspired you."

Meanwhile, Keqing found herself at the storytelling tent. Inside, kids sat in rows listening to older students reading folktales. The paper cranes hanging from the ceiling twirled lazily.

She stayed just long enough to smile.

Then stepped back into the afternoon light—and found Gu Yuyan waiting by a sakura tree.

He didn't say anything.

She stepped closer.

"You came."

He nodded. "I was hoping you would too."

They walked together along the path beside the sports field, where student-made wind chimes chimed with each gust. The wind brushed against them softly, like a memory.

"I always thought spring would feel chaotic," Keqing said.

"But it doesn't," Yuyan replied.

She looked at him. "Why do you always find calm in the noise?"

He didn't answer immediately.

Then, with a half-smile: "Because you're in it."

Her breath caught slightly.

They paused under an arch of paper lanterns, light pink and glowing gently in the fading sun.

Yuyan held out a folded slip of paper.

"Another note?" she said, teasing.

He shrugged. "Tradition."

She opened it.

"If the world ever becomes too loud, find me. I'll still be listening."

Keqing folded the paper carefully.

"Then you'll need to listen closely. I'm not always loud."

"I know. That's why I like you."

Her heart skipped.

A firework popped in the distance. Students cheered.

And in the moment between the sound and the silence after, something settled between them—quiet, sure, and beautifully real.

Later that night, Lin Keqing sat by her window at home, the note tucked inside her sketchbook.

Outside, the city lights twinkled like paper stars.

She picked up her pen.

And began a new page.

Not just a memory. Not just a feeling.

A beginning.

Just as Lin Keqing placed her pen down, a soft knock came at her door.

"Keqing," her grandmother called gently, "Come help me hang the last red lantern?"

She rose from her desk, smile returning.

In the courtyard, winter still lingered in the corners of the wind, but the red lanterns glowed warm and steady. Keqing stood on tiptoe, fixing the string in place as her grandmother steadied the ladder.

"Careful," her grandmother said. "Don't fall."

"I won't," Keqing replied, laughing softly.

As she stepped down, she looked up at the sky—stars scattered faintly, quiet and beautiful.

Somewhere, in another room, her phone buzzed with a simple message from Gu Yuyan.

"Don't sleep too late."—G.Y.

She smiled to herself.

Spring was still young, and the lanterns were still glowing.

Tomorrow could wait.

Tonight, the quiet was enough.