The sun poured golden light across the school grounds, illuminating leaves and grass until they seemed almost translucent. The air carried the faint, earthy fragrance of spring.
It should have been beautiful—yet for Ethan Cross, the brighter the world looked, the lonelier he felt.
His chest still ached from the weight of the doctor's words. Three months. Ninety days. Time had become a cruel countdown.
He left the corridor quickly, afraid his tears might be seen. His footsteps echoed as he bolted down the stairs, bursting onto the playground. The sound of students playing ball, laughing, and calling to one another rang through the air, but it all felt unbearably distant.
Tears streamed down his face as he ran.
In the far northwest corner of the basketball court, where tall ginkgo trees grew thickly, he finally slowed. Their broad green leaves shimmered in the sun, full of vitality and life—mocking him with what he was about to lose.
Here, in the safety of shadows, Ethan finally let go.
Hot tears fell in heavy drops, soaking into the soil beneath his shoes. His throat grew hoarse as sobs wracked his body.
Why? he thought bitterly. Why me? I've never hurt anyone, never done wrong. Why did Heaven choose me?
He had always believed death was something distant, something that happened to the elderly, not to an eighteen-year-old with his whole life still ahead. But when it came suddenly, uninvited, it crushed him with terrifying force.
As he cried, something strange reached his ears—a faint thread of music, soft and ethereal, as though carried on the wind.
At first he thought it was a hallucination, a trick of his grief. But the melody grew clearer, winding and twisting in a way unlike any song he knew.
La so so xi duo, xi la so, la xi xi xi xi, la xi la so…
He froze, listening.
The music was delicate, haunting, flowing through his chest like a stream trickling over stones. Gradually, the sharp edges of his sorrow softened. His heart, though still aching, eased a fraction.
He lifted his tear-streaked face, blinking at the sunlight. The world seemed to shimmer—half real, half dream.
Then, a voice rang out, crisp and playful:
"Hey, aren't you ashamed? A big boy like you, sitting here bawling your eyes out?"
Ethan startled. He looked up.
And there she was.
Perched gracefully on a thick branch of the ginkgo tree sat a girl.
For a moment, Ethan forgot to breathe. His cheeks flushed scarlet. She had seen everything—his tears, his broken state, his despair.
The girl was striking. Her face was oval-shaped, her almond eyes bright and lively. A braid fell over one shoulder, slightly uneven, giving her a natural, careless charm. She wore a crisp white blouse and a deep blue pleated skirt that swayed around her calves. On one foot, a spotless white canvas shoe gleamed in the sunlight. The other foot was bare, toes curling lightly against the bark.
But what drew his gaze most was the peach blossom tucked by her temple. Its pink petals glowed against her dark hair, as if spring itself had chosen her as its messenger.
Ethan had always thought Emily Watson, his childhood friend, was the most beautiful girl he knew. But this stranger—there was something different about her. Something radiant, almost otherworldly.
Trying to steady his voice, Ethan asked, "Why aren't you in class?"
"Shh." The girl pressed a finger to her lips, her eyes sparkling mischievously. Her fingers were slender, white as polished jade. "Don't speak so loud."
Her lips, small and pink, curved into a secretive smile.
Ethan's heart thudded uncomfortably. To hide his awkwardness, he said softly, "I'm Ethan Cross. From Class 9."
The girl tilted her head. "Lila Hart. Class 23. You can call me Butterfly."
Her voice was musical, like pearls falling onto a jade plate, like raindrops pattering on banana leaves. There was something mesmerizing about it—like wind chimes stirred by a hidden breeze.
Ethan frowned slightly. "Class 23? But our grade only has 22 classes."
She shrugged, not explaining. Clearly, she wanted to keep a little mystery.
With a playful swing of her leg, she pointed to the ground. "Ethan, help me pick up my shoe."
Following her gaze, Ethan saw a single white canvas shoe lying in the grass. She must have kicked it off while climbing.
He bent down, picked it up, and stood on tiptoe to hand it up. "Why climb so high? It's dangerous. And in a skirt, too…"
His voice trailed off as his eyes betrayed him, flicking briefly to her legs—slender, pale, perfectly shaped. They looked delicate, like something carved from ivory. For one dangerous moment, a thought slipped into his mind: if he tilted his head just a little…
Ashamed, Ethan shook it off.
Judge by actions, not by thoughts, he scolded himself. Everyone has stray thoughts. What matters is what you do.
Lila sat sideways on the branch, struggling to slide her foot into the shoe. She twisted awkwardly, nearly losing balance. Ethan's chest tightened in alarm, ready to catch her.
Finally, she huffed and tossed the shoe back down at him. "Help me put it on."
Ethan froze. His ears burned. This was their first meeting. Wasn't this… a bit too much?
But she dangled her bare foot toward him, trusting, expectant. There was no malice, only innocence.
Swallowing hard, Ethan knelt and gently held her ankle. Her skin was soft, warm. His pulse thundered, his breathing uneven.
It was the first time he had ever touched a girl this way. The first time he had ever helped one put on a shoe.
Awkwardly, he slid the canvas shoe onto her foot and tied the laces. The bow came out crooked and clumsy.
Lila laughed lightly. "Clumsy."
"You're the clumsy one," Ethan muttered back, still flustered. "Climbing trees in a skirt and losing your shoes."
Her laughter sparkled through the air.
Then she glanced at the ground below and bit her lip. "It's so high. I'm… a little scared. Catch me."
Ethan blinked. "Catch you?"
Before he could protest, she leaped.
Instinct took over. He caught her firmly in his arms.
For a heartbeat, time stopped.
Her body was light, her scent faintly floral, brushing against him like spring air. His arms tightened around her without thinking.
In that moment, it felt like a scene lifted straight from an idol drama.
Lila's cheeks flushed. She looked up at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted. "Put me down. Quickly."
"Oh—right." Ethan lowered her gently, helping her find her balance.
For a moment, their eyes met. Then, almost at the same time, both of them smiled.
Her smile was clear, bright, like sunlight breaking through clouds. And just like that, the gloom in Ethan's chest lifted, if only a little.
This girl—this stranger who had appeared so suddenly—seemed to carry a mysterious magic.
---
"Why were you hiding here, crying?" Lila asked softly, curiosity in her gaze.
Ethan hesitated, then forced a bitter smile. "Something sad happened. I just needed to let it out."
"Hmph. Aren't you ashamed? I've had sad things happen too, but I didn't cry." She pouted adorably, her lips pushing out like a sulky child.
Ethan shook his head, smiling faintly but not answering.
How could she understand? She was young, radiant, like the rising sun. Her life was just beginning, full of promise.
But he was already the setting sun, glowing faintly before being swallowed by night. Soon, darkness would claim him, and his soul would drift somewhere unknown.
The bell rang, breaking the quiet. It was the signal for lunch break, and suddenly the once-silent school building came alive with voices and footsteps.
Lila tilted her head, her braid slipping over her shoulder. "If you're sad again, come find me. I'll take you to eat something delicious, play somewhere fun. And don't cry again unless I give you permission."
Her words were bossy, yet warm.
Ethan blinked, then, almost against his will, nodded.
Something stirred in his chest. The warmth drained from him by despair now trickled back, drop by drop.
Even if he only had three months left, he thought, maybe each day could still hold meaning.
Life might not have length—but it could still have width.
And Lila Hart, the girl who seemed to have dropped from the sky like an angel, might be the one to guide him through those final days.