Jie ran.
His figure cut across the basketball court like a tear in space, vanishing toward the school gates. No one could catch up.
Di froze, his mind blank. But before he could think, his body was already moving.
He chased after him.
"Jie!"
The wind roared past the edge of the court. The cement ground flickered between light and shadow. Students hadn't even dispersed yet, but Jie's figure had already vanished down the corridor, leaving behind only the echo of footsteps and a fading image in Di's mind.
He was fast. Too fast. Like someone fleeing from something unbearable.
Di skidded to a stop, chest heaving. Then, up ahead, he heard noise.
Near the school gates—a crowd.
Phones held high, voices rising. Some gasped. Someone asked, "Did someone collapse?"
A cold, sinking feeling spread through Di's chest like ice. He took one step, then another, drawn forward as if by invisible hands.
No. No way…
But the closer he got, the fuzzier the faces became—yet his memory sharpened.
That winter, Jie had a high fever and was sent to the clinic for an injection.
The nurse said it had to be a shot in the butt. Jie burst into tears, kicking and screaming, refusing to lie down.
It was Grandma who carried him into the room—humming an old Hokkien lullaby as she rocked him gently in her arms:
"Tiⁿ-beh-beh, beh lo̍h-hō͘…"
(The sky's darkening, rain is coming…)
Jie cried, and Di stood nearby, confused and scared.
"Don't be afraid. Grandma's here," she said gently, steadily.
It was the first time Di realized how strong a grown-up's back could be. No matter how noisy or chaotic the world got—if she was there, everything felt safe.
But by the end of that winter, she got sick.
And then… she was gone.
He was the last to know.
That day, after cram school, he came home to silence. His mother, eyes red, told him, "Your grandma passed away this morning."
He didn't cry.
He just sat down quietly, too stunned to speak.
That night, he hid under the blanket and sobbed until he couldn't breathe.
He cried until his throat was raw. Then he didn't speak for a whole week.
Until that day at cram school, when someone suddenly accused him of stealing a card.
"You were sitting next to me," the popular classmate said. "Was it you?"
He didn't respond.
He didn't need to—because no one was really asking.
Their eyes already decided the answer.
He couldn't say whether the card was truly lost… or if someone more popular had simply taken it.
But none of that mattered.
Because what hurt most… was once again being the last to know, the one left behind.
And now, that same fear returned, sharp and suffocating.
—
Di stood at the edge of the crowd, breath shallow, his steps frozen.
He didn't dare go forward.
Didn't dare see what lay ahead.
His throat tightened. Jie's name pressed against it, aching to break free—but he couldn't say it. Not yet. Not unless he knew it wasn't too late.
"Jie… please don't scare me…"
The words came out as a whisper, trembling, barely louder than the wind.
Then—
From deep within the crowd, a voice rang out.
Far away. Urgent. Clear.
"Di!"
He snapped his head up.