Adolescence had arrived like a season that asked no permission.Suddenly, Su Yue's clothes seemed too short, the days too long, and her body too eager to fit into a future that didn't yet exist. She was only fifteen, but already felt she was growing up too fast.
In the mornings, she woke before the sun, helped her mother with the sewing, swept the tiny room, and rushed out in her wrinkled uniform. She ran through the alley, stale bread still in her mouth, trying not to miss the first class. In the afternoons, she studied without pause; in the evenings, she gave tutoring lessons to two neighborhood children — one of the few ways to collect a handful of coins.
The children liked her, though they often played tricks: once, they hid her pencil behind a pot, and she spent the whole lesson searching for it until she finally found it, drawing laughter that echoed through the humble house. She laughed too, even though she was tired. Deep down, there was a silent affection in every prank.
In the quiet hours, when her mother had fallen asleep at the sewing machine, Su Yue would light her small lamp and write. Poems, short stories, scattered sentences she kept like secrets. The notebooks became invisible diaries, filled with dreams she never dared to speak aloud.
Zhou Yichen, a year older, walked in another universe.At his elite school, the hallways gleamed, the polished floors reflected light, and every detail shouted wealth. His classmates arrived in chauffeured cars, flaunting the newest gadgets, while the teachers demanded nothing less than perfection — as if mistakes were unforgivable.
Yichen's father was no less demanding.— Your grades, Yichen. Your posture. You cannot afford to be just good.Each word was spoken like a verdict. The boy nodded in silence, though the weight inside him grew heavier by the day.
The piano in his too-spacious home was his only refuge. At night, he sat before it, his fingers sliding without sheet music. The notes came uncertain, melodic, carrying a longing he could not explain. He played as if conversing with someone he had not yet met — a distant, invisible, but very real presence.
It was on an autumn morning that their worlds finally crossed.
The municipal gym buzzed with voices, colorful booths, and the smell of freshly printed paper. It was science fair day, and students from many schools filled the hall with test tubes, posters, and models. Teachers and judges walked about with clipboards, taking notes with solemn faces.
Su Yue entered, carrying her cardboard box carefully. Inside were reused bottles, frayed wires, and handwritten notes. As she placed everything on the table, she heard muffled laughter around her.— Look, it's like a recycling fair, whispered a student in a sleek uniform.
Su Yue drew a steady breath, arranged her things, and kept her head high. She had learned not to be shaken by stares.
Across the hall, Zhou Yichen was setting up a flawless experiment: new glassware, imported equipment, a poster printed at a press. His classmates spoke proudly, certain they would win first place.
Yichen's presentation began, drawing eyes and murmurs of admiration. His experiment was sophisticated, but midway through, something went wrong: a valve jammed, and the circuit stalled. The audience buzzed with whispers. His father, seated in the crowd, frowned with visible displeasure.
That was when Su Yue, watching from her table, noticed the problem. Her heart raced, but her feet carried her forward before she could think.— If you reverse this order… and adjust the valve here… it will work, she whispered, softly but firmly.
Yichen lifted his eyes, startled. In front of him stood a girl in a simple uniform, her gaze calm. For an instant, he hesitated. Then, he did exactly as she suggested.
The equipment whirred back to life. A ripple of approval moved through the audience, and the judge smiled with satisfaction.
Su Yue stepped back, cheeks flushed, and returned to her table without waiting for thanks.
Yichen followed her with his eyes. He tilted his head slightly, almost imperceptibly. A "thank you" stuck in his throat.
Hours later, the results were announced.— First place: Zhou Yichen.
The gym erupted in applause. The trophy gleamed in his hands, yet its light did not fill him completely. In his mind still echoed the calm voice that had saved him.
— Honorable mention: Su Yue.
She climbed the stage timidly to receive a certificate. There was no podium for her, only a brief applause. But her eyes found her mother's in the crowd, and that look was enough: pride strong enough to warm her soul.
While some classmates whispered about "the poor girl who got noticed," Su Yue pressed the paper to her chest as if it were the greatest prize in the world.
On her way out, a group of boys in expensive uniforms blocked her path.— Honorable mention… that's just a consolation prize, one of them mocked.— Bet you copied the idea, said another.— Didn't even need to compete, huh? People like you are just decoration.
Su Yue stopped, blushing, clutching the certificate tighter. She didn't know whether to respond or walk away in silence.
Before she could decide, a firm voice cut in:— Enough.
It was Zhou Yichen, just a few steps away, the trophy still in his hand.— If not for her, my experiment would have failed, he said, low but sharp.
The boys exchanged glances, surprised. One tried to laugh.— Yichen, you're defending—
— I said enough. His voice didn't rise, but the weight of his words was enough.
The group backed off, muttering. A heavy silence remained between him and Su Yue.
She bit her lip, unsure of what to say.— Thank you… she whispered at last.
Yichen looked aside, words dragging out reluctantly.— You're the one who saved the experiment. I should be the one thanking you.
She gave a small, awkward smile.— It was nothing.
A moment of uneasy silence stretched. She lowered her head, ready to leave. He wanted to say more, but the voice never came.
At that moment, Su Yue's mother appeared, calling her with a proud smile.— Yue!
The girl ran to her and hugged her tightly, as if that certificate was their shared victory.
From where he stood, Yichen watched quietly. Something stirred inside him — a mix of happiness and… a sting of envy. Envy of a simple hug, of affection he had never received after a win.
That night, Su Yue placed the certificate on the shelf beside her notebooks. Before sleeping, she opened one and wrote:"Today, for a moment, I felt the world saw me. And in the middle of the crowd, there was someone who heard what I never needed to say."
She closed her eyes with a faint smile, hugging her pillow as if it were victory itself.
Across the city, Zhou Yichen placed his trophy on the desk and sat at the piano. The notes began softly, then swelled, as though trying to capture the scene that haunted his mind: a simple girl, mocked and humiliated, running into her mother's embrace.
He stopped suddenly, fingers suspended above the keys.
The memory was not only of her calm voice, but also of her eyes when she was ridiculed. He had defended her, yes — but barely. He could have said more, could have stayed by her side, could have at least asked her name.
Su Yue. He whispered it quietly, the syllables sounding on their own in his mind.
The sound of her name stayed in his chest, light and aching at once.
And for the first time, Zhou Yichen realized that winning first place did not always mean he had done enough.
The invisible thread trembled in the air, like a string on the verge of breaking and binding again.It was not love yet. Not yet a meeting.But it was, without doubt, the first chord of a song they were beginning to write without knowing.