During his first week in the rented apartment, Lu Zhao basked in a false sense of freedom.
No longer did he have to endure the suffocating tension in the dormitory, nor constantly worry about running into Jiang Jin's overstepping "kindness" or Gu Xun's icy rejections. His small room was modest, but it was entirely his own. He could arrange his belongings freely, stay up late watching shows without disturbing anyone, and most importantly—the taut string in his psyche finally relaxed.
He attended classes punctually, completed assignments diligently, and after school headed straight to the library or returned to his little room. He deliberately avoided any place where he might run into Jiang Jin or Gu Xun—the cafeteria window they frequented, their usual route through the academic buildings, even the court where they'd once played ball together.
At first, Jiang Jin called him a few times and sent several messages, his tone shifting from initial confusion to a hint of displeasure.
"Lu Zhao, did you really move? What's the deal?"
"Dude, this is lame. Just up and leave like that?"
"Only Gu Xun and I are left in the dorm now. It's dead boring."
Lu Zhao brushed them off with excuses like "I need quiet to study" or "I wanted a change of scenery," his tone distant yet polite. After a few attempts, Jiang Jin seemed to notice his deliberate avoidance and gradually stopped reaching out.
Gu Xun, however, showed no reaction whatsoever. It was as if Lu Zhao's departure had been as silent as a leaf carried away by the wind. This indifference actually brought Lu Zhao a sense of relief. He'd rather face this complete coldness than get entangled again in the complex, unravelable relationship between those two.
Yet this "out of sight, out of mind" tranquility was soon shattered by reality.
First came the inconvenience. The rental apartment was a half-hour drive from campus, consuming significant time and energy daily. He could no longer sleep until ten minutes before class and rush to the lecture hall. Even going to the library at night required planning around the last bus schedule.
Then came the loneliness. Though dorm life was tense, at least there was "human warmth." Now, returning to the cold rental apartment, he faced only four bare walls and the unfamiliar hum of traffic outside his window. He found himself occasionally... missing it? No, not missing it. Perhaps it was simply discomfort at the sudden silence after growing accustomed to a noisy background.
What caught him most off guard was the sense of loss from being stripped from his original circle. When classmates discussed group assignments or shared internship leads during breaks, he struggled to join in. Temporary changes to coursework or professors' extra guidance always reached him last. He felt like an isolated island drifting at the class's periphery.
After one specialized lecture, several students huddled over a project while Lu Zhao stood on the sidelines, unable to contribute. Then, a classmate he was usually on good terms with patted him on the shoulder. "Lu Zhao, where have you been lately? Moving out?"
Lu Zhao nodded.
"No wonder," the classmate said with understanding. "Seems like you haven't been participating in group activities much. By the way, the professor just mentioned that project—you could team up with Gu Xun. He seems to have a really solid idea. Why don't you go ask him?"
Gu Xun's name pricked him like a fine needle. He forced a smile. "Nah, I'll figure something out myself."
He realized he couldn't completely sever ties with the past. He was still in the same class as Gu Xun and Jiang Jin, still attending the same lectures, facing the same teachers and classmates. His escape felt more like a physical retreat—the psychological scars and real-world connections were far from over.
One afternoon, Lu Zhao was buying daily necessities at the school supermarket when he bumped into Jiang Jin. Jiang was surrounded by several basketball team members, the group buzzing with noise and energy.
Spotting Lu Zhao, Jiang Jin visibly froze before his expression turned complex—a mix of surprise, lingering resentment, and a hint of... ...something Lu Zhao couldn't quite decipher, akin to "You finally showed up." He motioned for his teammates to go ahead while he paused.
"Well, well, a rare sight," Jiang Jin remarked, hands tucked into his pockets, his tone laced with a barely perceptible edge. "Still remember your way back to campus?"
Lu Zhao pressed his lips together, unwilling to engage. "Just shopping."
"How's the new environment? Settling in okay?" Jiang Jin took two steps closer, his gaze sweeping over Lu Zhao's face with a scrutinizing intent.
"It's fine." Lu Zhao didn't want to say more and prepared to leave.
"Gu Xun hasn't been doing well lately." Jiang Jin suddenly blurted out, out of the blue.
Lu Zhao's footsteps halted, his heart tightening inexplicably. He forced himself not to show concern, replying stiffly, "Oh."
"Yeah, pulled a few all-nighters. His complexion looks terrible." Jiang Jin stared at him, as if studying his reaction. "I left milk and bread on his desk, but he hasn't touched a thing."
Those words acted like a key, instantly unlocking the floodgates of memories Lu Zhao had tried to seal shut. Images of Jiang Jin's meticulous "care" and Gu Xun's indifferent "rejection" resurfaced vividly before his eyes. A familiar wave of irritation and discomfort washed over him.
"This has nothing to do with me," Lu Zhao cut him off, his tone sharp. "I have things to do. I'm leaving."
He practically fled, feeling Jiang Jin's gaze fixed on his back, carrying a knowing, even malicious undertone. Jiang Jin was doing this deliberately. He was reminding Lu Zhao that no matter where he moved, some things he could never escape.
That night, Lu Zhao tossed and turned in his rented room, unable to sleep. Jiang Jin's words swirled in his mind. Gu Xun wasn't doing well... Why did this news instinctively matter to him? He'd resolved to draw a clear line.
He realized leaving hadn't brought the complete liberation he'd imagined. Those two people, that relationship, like a silent tide, still seeped into his new life. He avoided direct conflict, but couldn't escape the resulting ripples—the countless inconveniences of daily life, the emotional distance from others, and deep within, a faint, almost imperceptible thread of lingering concern and... guilt?
He shook his head, dismissing the absurd notion. He had nothing to feel guilty about. He'd simply chosen an environment where he felt more comfortable.
Yet, in the stillness of the night, staring at the mottled shadows on the ceiling, he couldn't deny the truth: his escape had merely closed one door. All the sounds beyond it had turned into silent smoke, permeating every corner of his new life.