Notes of Youth

The classroom buzzed with quiet anticipation on Monday morning.

A new seating chart had been posted on the notice board outside the door. Students gathered in clusters, whispering, sighing, or groaning depending on where fate had placed them this time.

Lin Keqing wasn't particularly anxious. She'd gotten used to switching seats and adapting. But then she noticed something odd—a new name.

Bai Andui.

She tilted her head. "He wasn't in our class before, was he?"

"Nope," Le Yahan whispered, peeking at the list. "Transferred from 11A2. Top three in that class."

"I thought 11A2 was the science-intensive one?"

"Exactly," Yahan said, crossing her arms. "Rumor has it, he asked to transfer. Something about 'finally facing the right opponent.'" She even added air quotes for dramatic flair.

Keqing blinked. "Opponent?"

Yahan tilted her chin subtly. "Who else? Our resident legend, Gu Yuyan."

Keqing glanced behind her. Gu Yuyan had just entered the room—white shirt, headphones around his neck, an unreadable calmness in his eyes. He glanced at the board for less than a second before walking to his desk, but she saw it. That tiny pause. That split-second change in posture.

And two rows to the left, Bai Andui sat down with the ease of someone claiming territory. He leaned back, legs crossed, notebook untouched, a smirk playing on his lips.

By third period, the tension was impossible to ignore.

The physics teacher gave a surprise quiz—five conceptual questions meant to challenge intuition more than formulas. Most students groaned softly. Bai Andui finished in under ten minutes. He stood up, chair scraping deliberately loud across the floor, and strode to the front with his quiz in hand.

"Done already?" the teacher raised an eyebrow.

He grinned. "Yes, sir."

A few students looked over at Gu Yuyan, whose pen was still gliding across his paper with quiet precision.

Keqing tried not to frown, but she found herself gripping her pencil tighter.

After class, someone whispered behind her, "Did you hear? Andui got 100 on the last math exam. Beat Yuyan by 0.2 points in the monthly rankings."

"No wonder he switched. Wants to compete on Yuyan's turf now."

Keqing kept her eyes forward, pretending not to listen. But the words echoed in her head long after.

During lunch, Keqing, Le Yahan, and Chen Yuke sat under the old cherry tree near the gym. Leaves rustled above them, the autumn breeze brushing past with soft whispers.

Yahan was munching on seaweed crackers. "This new guy is intense. He answered three questions in a row in English class. Even the teacher was impressed."

"And Gu Yuyan?" Keqing asked.

"Didn't say a word. Just wrote his notes like usual."

Chen Yuke tossed a basketball up and down absentmindedly. "Yuyan's not the kind who needs to prove himself. He just... is."

"But what if someone keeps pushing him?" Keqing asked, her voice softer than intended. "What if it gets to him, even if he doesn't show it?"

Yuke looked over at her, thoughtful. "Then maybe someone else needs to remind him he doesn't have to respond to noise."

That afternoon, Keqing stayed behind in the classroom.

The sun had begun dipping lower, painting the walls with honey-colored light. Her notebook lay open on the desk, filled with half-finished thoughts and dried ink marks. Yet she hadn't written anything in twenty minutes.

She looked at the door when she heard the faintest sound.

"Still here?" Gu Yuyan stood in the doorway, bag slung over one shoulder.

Keqing nodded. "Just… thinking."

He walked over without a word, pulled out the chair beside her, and sat down. He glanced at the scattered stationery, then at her notebook. On one page, she had written a sentence over and over again, each line slightly different in pressure:

"You don't have to prove anything."

He studied it in silence.

Keqing looked down, not daring to meet his eyes. "I thought maybe… if you needed to hear it."

A beat passed. Two. Then he reached for her pen and began to write beneath her line:

"Then I'll believe it. If it's you who says so."

She blinked.

It was the closest thing to vulnerability she had ever seen on his face. His expression hadn't changed much—but there was a softness in his posture now, a surrendering of the tension he usually carried like armor.

They walked out of the building together, footsteps echoing in the stairwell. Outside, rain had begun to fall again, gentle but persistent.

Keqing looked up. "Didn't bring an umbrella."

Gu Yuyan opened his bag and took out the familiar gray umbrella—the one with the bent rib on the right side. He opened it and held it toward her without a word.

This time, she didn't hesitate.

They walked slowly down the sidewalk, shoulders brushing.

"I used to like the rain," she said quietly. "Now… I think I like it more when you're in it."

He didn't say anything.

But the corner of his mouth lifted—just a little.

That night, Keqing found something tucked between the pages of her sketchbook.

It wasn't a reply note.

It was a hand-drawn star, inked carefully in black, with four small words beneath it:

"You light my sky."

Her fingers trembled slightly.

She stared at the words until the lamp beside her flickered off.

And her heart burned brighter than ever.