The final bell rang, echoing through the hallway like the soft ending of a song.Students rushed out in every direction, laughter and footsteps filling the air.Hao stood up slowly, slipped a small folded note onto Luoting's desk,and placed a finger over his lips — a quiet gesture for her to keep it secret.
Kanghui walked over, slinging his bag onto his shoulder."You feeling better today?"Hao smiled. "Yeah, I'm fine now."
He waved goodbye to Luoting before leaving with Kanghui,both heading toward the bus stop under the fading sunlight.
Luoting watched him from her seat until he disappeared from sight.Then she gathered her things, heart thumping softly,and hurried toward the school gate where her parents waited.Her steps were quicker than usual,as if the small piece of paper in her hand had a heartbeat of its own.
Even her parents noticed the light in her eyes,a glimmer they hadn't seen before.
On the bus, Kanghui leaned against the window."Hey," he said suddenly, "you and Luoting… you two seem close.You sure you just met?"Hao tilted his head, thinking."No. We're not close. But…" he paused,"it's strange — it feels like I've known her for a long time."
Kanghui grinned. "Maybe fate's just lazy. It made you two repeat a chapter."Hao laughed quietly. "Maybe."
By the time Hao reached home, the sky had turned orange.His mother's voice came from the kitchen:"Go shower, eat, and finish your homework!"He smiled faintly — the same sentence he'd heard his whole life,yet it carried a different meaning every decade.
At nine, it felt annoying.At nineteen, it was nagging.At twenty-nine, it became care.At thirty-nine, it turned into nostalgia.At forty-nine… maybe it would be longing.
He showered, ate, and sat at his desk with his notebook open.The ticking of the clock and the faint sound of the TV filled the quiet house.
Then came a knock.His mother peeked in. "Hao, someone's calling for you."
He walked over to the phone."Hello?"A soft voice replied, "It's… Luoting."
Hao blinked, a little surprised. "Oh—hey. Thanks again… for the milk.""It's nothing," she said shyly."I just wanted to say thank you," he repeated,his tone light, but sincere."Alright… see you Monday.""See you," she whispered before hanging up.
His mother looked curious."Who was that? A girl? Why did she call you instead of you calling her?"Hao smiled faintly. "She's my seatmate. She gave me milk today."His mother raised an eyebrow. "So? You thanked her already."But Hao didn't answer — he just returned to his room quietly.
Later that evening, his father came home.After a shower, he knocked on Hao's door."Come eat," he said.
At the table, the family gathered —the familiar sound of chopsticks, the hum of the evening TV.
Between bites, his father spoke casually:"Hao, tomorrow morning, let's go fishing."
Hao froze for a moment.He looked at his father — younger, smiling, full of life.That sentence… he hadn't heard it in decades.
And somehow, it felt like a memory had just come home.