The first class ended with the familiar scrape of chairs pushed back and the rustle of notebooks being shoved into bags—a sound that usually blended into white noise for Jian. Today it grated, each noise sharper than it should be, as though the entire room had turned up its volume just to irritate him. His chest felt tight, ribs crowded with something messy and unnamed. Even the simple fact of Wei keeping his eyes locked on his desk, never once lifting them, sent slow heat crawling up Jian's neck.
He hated this feeling. Hated the uncertainty it dragged behind it. Hated how Wei's calm, deliberate silence felt like a quiet slap, even though the other boy hadn't spoken a single word to him all morning.
Stop thinking about him.
The command snapped inside Jian's head with the same brutal force he used to shove away childhood nightmares or pre-game nerves.
He's nobody. He's nothing. Focus on something else.
Students rose to stretch, yawn, complain about the quiz next week. Jian stayed seated, arms crossed, jaw set. Then Yanyan slipped through the doorway like she belonged exactly where she was heading—straight toward him. Her hair swayed gently with each step, uniform skirt swishing softly, the same confident rhythm she always carried when she approached him. She believed her place in his life was secure; most days, he let her believe it too.
"Jian-ge, why didn't you reply to my texts this morning? I thought you overslept."
Her voice wrapped around him, warm—too warm, too close, too easy.
For the first time that day, Jian forced a smile onto his face. It felt stiff at the edges but he held it.
"I didn't check my phone."
A smooth lie. He had checked four times already—scrolling past group chats, Yanyan's good-morning stickers, basketball team memes—waiting, without admitting it, for a name that never appeared.
Yanyan laughed softly and leaned in, resting her chin lightly on his shoulder. Her perfume drifted over him, sweet and familiar, filling the narrow space between their bodies.
"You seem a bit off today. Did you stay up too late last night studying?"
Jian almost snorted at the absurdity. If only it were studying.
If only he could admit—even just to himself—that he'd stood under the shower until the hot water ran cold, replaying the café scene: Wei's faint smile for Luo, the way his gaze had slid past Jian like smoke, the deliberate neutrality in the classroom this morning. If only he could confess that the silence from the back row had kept him awake longer than any late-night homework ever had.
Instead he straightened his spine and let his hand settle on Yanyan's waist—not gently, not tenderly, but deliberately. A choice. A deflection. A distraction.
"I'm fine," he said, fingers lingering against the fabric of her uniform skirt. "You wanted to watch a movie after school, right?"
Her face lit up instantly, eyes sparkling as she grabbed his arm with both hands.
"Really? You'll go with me?"
Jian nodded.
"Yeah. I'm free anyway."
Another lie. He had a mountain of unfinished math problems and a father who would grumble if he came home after dark. But he needed noise—something loud, something bright, something to drown out the stubborn shadows circling his thoughts.
He glanced toward the back row.
Wei sat alone, head bent low over his notebook, writing steadily. His fringe fell forward, hiding half his face. He didn't look up. Not when Jian's voice rose a little louder. Not when Yanyan laughed. Not even when Jian shifted in his seat, chair scraping deliberately.
Jian's jaw tightened.
Good.Ignore him.Ignore everything about him.
Yanyan tugged on his shoulder, pulling his attention back.
"Jian-ge, let me tell you—the trailer for that new romance looked so cute. We have to get popcorn, okay?"
And Jian turned to her fully. Forced every scrap of focus onto her words, her smile, her easy warmth. Every time she laughed, he leaned closer. Not because the sound pulled him in. Not because he suddenly felt more for her than he had yesterday. But because if he didn't fill the hollow spaces in his chest with something—anything—he was terrified something else might slip inside.
Something quiet. Something cold. Something with a name he refused to speak aloud.
He lifted his hand and brushed a stray lock of hair behind Yanyan's ear. The motion drew a surprised blush to her cheeks, her eyes widening before she smiled wider, leaning into the touch.
He didn't do it because affection surged through him. He did it because it was easy. Because it looked normal. Because it buried the feelings clawing up his throat.
See? he told himself fiercely. This is simple. This is normal. This is what I should be doing.This is who I should care about.Not him. Never him.
Yanyan kept talking—about the movie plot, the actors, the snacks they should buy. Jian nodded at the right moments, laughed when she expected it, let his arm drape casually around her shoulders. He made his voice louder than necessary, his gestures bigger, as though volume alone could drown out the pull he felt toward the back of the room.
But no matter how close he leaned toward Yanyan, no matter how warmly she smiled up at him, no matter how loudly he laughed at her jokes—
his eyes kept drifting.
Toward the boy sitting alone at the back. Toward the notebook pages turning steadily. Toward the fringe that still hid most of Wei's expression.
Toward someone who didn't look back. Not even once.
And that silence—that deliberate, unbroken distance—cut deeper than any harsh word Jian had ever heard. Deeper than anger. Deeper than rejection.
Because it wasn't loud enough to fight. It was quiet enough to linger.
Jian tightened his arm around Yanyan's shoulders, pulling her a fraction closer. She sighed happily against him.
But inside his chest, the ache refused to settle. It only grew sharper, colder, more insistent— like a shadow that wouldn't leave even when he turned on every light.