Zhan stays cold, distant, professor-like…
but his small, human actions slowly melt Yibo's innocent heart. 🤍
Very slow. Very deep.
Small Changes
Xiao Zhan did not become gentle.
He did not smile more.
He did not speak softly.
In class, he was still strict.
Still cold.
Still untouchable.
But small things changed.
Very small.
He stopped other professors when they spoke carelessly.
Not loudly.
Just one sharp look.
One calm sentence.
"Let's stay professional."
No names were mentioned.
But Yibo knew.
Xiao Zhan began returning assignments personally.
Not throwing them on desks.
When he reached Yibo, he placed the notebook down carefully.
"Good work," he said.
Only two words.
No praise.
No emotion.
Yet Yibo's fingers trembled.
That night, he opened the notebook again and again.
Those two words echoed in his mind.
Xiao Zhan never stared.
But when Yibo answered questions correctly,
the professor paused for half a second longer than needed.
A nod.
Nothing more.
Yibo noticed.
Once, Yibo fell sick.
He missed class.
The next day, Xiao Zhan stopped him after lecture.
"You were absent," he said flatly.
"Yes, sir. Fever."
"Get the notes from the notice board," Xiao Zhan replied.
Then, after a pause—
"Don't overwork yourself."
He walked away.
Yibo stood frozen.
His chest felt warm.
Xiao Zhan never asked about his face.
Never mentioned his pimples.
Never looked at him with pity.
He looked at him like…
a student who mattered.
That was new.
Slowly, something dangerous began.
Yibo started waiting for Xiao Zhan's class.
Not for the subject.
For the presence.
For that deep voice.
For the calm authority.
For the way the professor stood like an unmovable wall.
Yibo hated himself for it.
He's a professor, he reminded himself.
He's cold. He doesn't care.
But the heart didn't listen.
One evening, Yibo was studying in the library.
Books piled around him.
Someone placed another book on his table.
Yibo looked up.
Xiao Zhan.
"This reference will help," he said.
No explanation.
No smile.
Just fact.
Yibo nodded quickly.
"Thank you, sir."
Xiao Zhan walked away without looking back.
Yibo touched the book like it was something precious.
That night, Yibo couldn't sleep.
He replayed everything.
The respect.
The fairness.
The silent protection.
No one had ever done this for him.
Not like this.
Yibo didn't want anything improper.
He didn't dream of touch.
Or closeness.
He just wanted to sit in that classroom.
And be seen.
Meanwhile, Xiao Zhan stood on the other side of the line.
Cold.
Controlled.
He never asked Yibo to stay back.
Never spoke outside academics.
Because he knew.
This liking—
If it grew,
it would destroy them both.
So he stayed distant.
Even as his eyes followed Yibo one second longer than allowed.
Yibo's heart melted quietly.
No one noticed.
Yibo's feelings grow quietly…
Zhan stays cold, proper, untouchable. 🤍
Quiet Love
At first, Yibo told himself it was nothing.
Just respect.
Just gratitude.
But respect did not make his heart beat faster.
Gratitude did not make him search the corridor for one tall figure.
Yet—
Yibo did.
Xiao Zhan never changed his behavior openly.
He still spoke little.
Still corrected mistakes without softness.
Still kept distance like a wall made of ice.
But he never humiliated Yibo.
Never ignored his raised hand.
Never dismissed his effort.
That was enough.
Yibo began to notice details.
The way Xiao Zhan removed his glasses while thinking.
The way his deep voice lowered when explaining something important.
The faint crease between his brows when students didn't listen.
Yibo memorized these things without realizing.
Sometimes, when Xiao Zhan entered the class,
Yibo's heart whispered—
He's here.
And that scared him.
One afternoon, a student answered incorrectly.
Xiao Zhan corrected him sharply.
Cold. Precise.
Yibo flinched.
Then he answered the next question—correctly.
Xiao Zhan looked at him.
"Good," he said.
Only that.
Yibo's chest ached strangely.
Painful. Sweet.
Yibo knew his place.
He never stayed after class unless required.
Never tried to talk personally.
Never crossed the line.
He just listened.
Loved quietly.
Rainy evenings became his favorite.
Xiao Zhan walked faster in rain.
Coat dark. Hair slightly wet.
Once, Yibo saw him standing alone under the corridor light.
For a moment, the professor looked tired.
Human.
Yibo's heart clenched.
I want him to be happy, Yibo thought.
Not with me.
Just… happy.
That was when he understood.
This was no longer liking.
Love came softly.
No drama.
No desire.
Just care.
Xiao Zhan, meanwhile, stayed careful.
Too careful.
He noticed Yibo's eyes following him sometimes.
The way Yibo stiffened when praised.
The way he smiled only in his class.
Xiao Zhan hated himself for noticing.
So he became colder.
More distant.
He reduced eye contact.
Kept conversations strictly academic.
When Yibo spoke, he listened—
but never lingered.
That hurt.
But Yibo accepted it.
This is how it should be, he told himself.
Love didn't need to be returned to be real.
One night, Yibo studied late.
The campus was almost empty.
Xiao Zhan passed by and stopped.
"It's late," he said.
"I'll leave soon, sir."
Xiao Zhan nodded.
No warmth.
No concern.
Yet he stood there for a few seconds longer than needed.
Then walked away.
Yibo watched his back disappear.
His eyes burned slightly.
He smiled to himself.
I love him, he admitted silently.
No expectations.
No dreams.
Just a quiet truth.
Xiao Zhan reached his office and closed the door.
He leaned against it.
Closed his eyes.
This must stop, he thought.
And yet—
That night, he couldn't forget
the way Yibo looked at him.
The Terrace
The terrace was quiet.
Evening wind moved gently.
The sky was pale orange, slowly turning dark.
Wang Yibo stood near the railing, hands shaking slightly.
He had never done this before.
Never crossed a line.
But his heart felt too heavy today.
Footsteps.
Slow. Firm.
Xiao Zhan stepped onto the terrace.
"Why did you ask me to come here?" his deep voice asked.
Cold. Professional.
Yibo turned.
His eyes were bright… and scared.
"I won't take much time, sir," he said quickly.
"I just… I needed to say something."
Xiao Zhan frowned.
"This is inappropriate," he said sharply.
"Speak."
Yibo swallowed.
He bowed his head slightly, like always.
"I know my place," he began.
"I know you are my professor. I don't want anything."
His fingers curled into his palms.
"But… I like you," he said softly.
"No. I think… I love you."
The words came out pure.
No demand.
No expectation.
Just truth.
For one second—
Xiao Zhan froze.
Then his face hardened completely.
"What nonsense," he said coldly.
Yibo flinched.
"I said I don't expect anything, sir," Yibo rushed.
"I just wanted you to know. I won't trouble you—"
"Stop," Xiao Zhan cut him off.
His black eyes were sharp.
Unforgiving.
"Do you even understand what you're saying?" Xiao Zhan snapped.
"You're a student. I'm your professor."
Yibo nodded quickly.
"I know, sir. I swear I won't—"
Xiao Zhan laughed.
A short, cruel sound.
"Look at yourself," Xiao Zhan said.
Yibo froze.
"Your face," Xiao Zhan continued coldly.
"Always dirty. Pimples. No effort."
Each word was like a blade.
"You think someone like me would—"
he stopped, jaw tight.
"Don't insult yourself."
Yibo's world went silent.
The wind stopped.
The sky darkened.
His heart—
Collapsed.
"I… I'm sorry," Yibo whispered.
His eyes burned, but no tears fell.
Xiao Zhan wasn't done.
"This kind of thinking is dirty," he said harshly.
"Your feelings are dirty."
The word echoed.
Dirty.
Something inside Yibo broke quietly.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just… died.
"I understand," Yibo said.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
He bowed deeply.
"I won't repeat this mistake again."
Xiao Zhan turned away.
"Good," he said.
"Forget this ever happened."
He walked off the terrace.
Yibo stayed.
He didn't cry.
He just stared at the sky.
The love that once lived in his chest
fell apart piece by piece.
Not because it wasn't pure—
But because it was rejected
with cruelty.
That night, Yibo washed his face again and again.
Scrubbing.
Hard.
As if he could erase the word.
Dirty.
And Xiao Zhan—
Closed his office door.
Sat alone.
His hands trembled.
Because the moment he spoke those words—
He had destroyed something
that trusted him completely.
The Next Morning
Morning came like nothing had happened.
The college gate opened.
Students laughed.
Life moved on.
Only Wang Yibo didn't.
He arrived early.
Earlier than usual.
In his bag, beside books and pens,
there was something new.
A small bottle of sanitizer.
Clear. Strong smell.
Yibo sat on his bench.
Back straight.
Face calm.
Too calm.
A classmate approached.
"Hey, can you pass me the notes?"
Yibo nodded.
Before handing the notebook—
He pressed the sanitizer into his palms.
Rubbed carefully.
Slowly.
Then passed the notebook.
The classmate frowned but said nothing.
Another student bumped into him accidentally.
"Sorry," the boy said, offering his hand.
Yibo froze.
For half a second.
Then—
He smiled politely.
"Wait," he said softly.
He took out the sanitizer.
Cleaned his hands.
Then shook hands.
The other student laughed awkwardly.
Yibo didn't mind.
Or so it seemed.
In class, Xiao Zhan entered.
Same cold presence.
Same sharp eyes.
Nothing on his face showed last night.
Yibo didn't look up.
Not once.
Xiao Zhan noticed.
Immediately.
Yibo no longer watched him.
No longer reacted to his voice.
He was… distant.
During attendance, Xiao Zhan said his name.
"Wang Yibo."
"Yes, sir," Yibo replied.
Flat. Emotionless.
No warmth.
No tremble.
Xiao Zhan's chest tightened.
A pen fell from another student's desk and rolled to Yibo's feet.
Yibo picked it up.
Before returning it—
Sanitizer.
Again.
Someone whispered, laughing lightly,
"Is he scared of germs now?"
Yibo heard it.
He nodded slightly to himself.
Yes, his heart answered.
I am.
Because he believed it now.
That he was dirty.
Not just his face.
His feelings.
His love.
During break, a professor stopped Yibo.
"You did well in the last test," he said, extending a hand.
Yibo's fingers stiffened.
He bowed instead.
"I'm sorry, sir."
Then—
Sanitizer.
Then handshake.
The professor looked confused.
Yibo looked relieved.
Xiao Zhan watched all of it.
Every time.
Every drop.
Every rub of hands.
Each one felt like punishment.
Yibo didn't complain.
Didn't cry.
Didn't tell anyone.
Because he had only dared once.
Only once—
to love someone.
And that love was called ugly.
Dirty.
That night, in the washroom,
Yibo stared at his reflection.
Pimples.
Tired eyes.
He pressed sanitizer onto his hands again.
And again.
"I'm clean," he whispered.
No one answered.
In the classroom, Xiao Zhan stood rigid.
Cold as ever.
But inside—
Something was cracking.
Because the boy who once loved him quietly
now treated himself
like something that needed to be disinfected.
3"Graduation Day"
Two years passed.
Quietly.
Heavily.
Time did not heal everything.
It only taught Wang Yibo how to live with the pain.
Graduation day arrived.
The campus was decorated.
Banners hung high.
Students laughed, took photos, hugged each other.
Wang Yibo stood among them.
Taller now.
Thinner.
Calmer.
His face was clearer than before, but his eyes—
his eyes carried something old.
Something tired.
He wore his graduation robe neatly.
Hands clean.
No sanitizer today.
He had stopped using it months ago.
Not because the pain was gone—
but because he was tired of punishing himself.
Across the ground, Xiao Zhan stood with other professors.
Same height.
Same cold posture.
Same black eyes.
Two years had aged him differently.
Less sharp.
More quiet.
His gaze searched without permission.
And found Yibo.
Yibo felt it.
That familiar weight.
But this time,
his heart didn't tremble.
The ceremony ended.
Students slowly left.
Parents called names.
Friends shouted promises.
Yibo waited.
Until the ground was almost empty.
He walked toward the academic building.
Toward the terrace.
The same place.
Xiao Zhan followed.
He didn't know why.
Maybe guilt.
Maybe habit.
Maybe the fear that this was the last time.
The terrace was quiet again.
Just like before.
Wind.
Open sky.
Yibo stood near the railing.
Xiao Zhan stopped a few steps away.
"Wang Yibo," he said.
Yibo turned and smiled.
A soft smile.
Not hopeful.
Not nervous.
Peaceful.
"I'm not here to make trouble," Yibo said gently.
"I promise."
Xiao Zhan said nothing.
"I'm graduating today," Yibo continued.
"So this is the last time I'll call you my professor."
He paused.
"I wanted to say something… once."
Xiao Zhan's jaw tightened.
"Don't," he said quietly.
Yibo shook his head.
"It's okay," he replied.
"I won't wait for your answer."
He took a small breath.
"I loved you," Yibo said.
Not love.
Loved.
Past tense.
"There was nothing dirty about it," he added softly.
"It was the first time I loved someone."
His eyes shone, but no tears fell.
"I don't regret it."
Xiao Zhan's chest felt crushed.
"Yibo—" he started.
But Yibo stepped closer.
Just one step.
"Please," Yibo said kindly.
"Don't stop me."
Then—
Very gently.
Very briefly.
Yibo leaned forward
and pressed a soft kiss to Xiao Zhan's lips.
Not demanding.
Not lingering.
Just a goodbye.
Xiao Zhan froze.
Completely.
By the time he reacted—
Yibo had already stepped back.
Still smiling.
"Take care, Professor Xiao," Yibo said.
"Thank you… for teaching me."
He bowed slightly.
Turned.
And walked away.
His robe moved with the wind.
His back straight.
Not once did he look back.
Xiao Zhan stood there alone.
The terrace felt colder than ever.
His lips burned.
Not from the kiss—
But from everything he had lost
by being cruel
when he was afraid.
That day, Wang Yibo graduated.
And Xiao Zhan learned—
Some love does not wait.
It says goodbye
and leaves forever.
What they don't know that fate had planned something else for them .