The October wind carried a trace of chill, making the shadows of the trees sway lightly across the ground. The library at C City University of Finance was as quiet as ever, the only sound the soft scratch of pens gliding over paper.
Dai Xinglan sat by the window, sunlight slanting across his shoulder and falling on a thick stack of accounting workbooks. He rubbed his eyes and stared at the news headline on his laptop screen for a long moment.
"Hospitality Management Team from Nancheng University Wins National Gold Award for Creative Hotel Design."
He had clicked on the article absentmindedly, intending only to skim through the judging process—until he reached the author's name.
Wang Muyan.
His fingers froze for a second. Those three characters felt like a small pebble dropped into a still lake, sending ripples across his heart. The sunlight reflected off the screen, blurring his vision for a moment. And in that blur, a familiar voice echoed in his mind.
"Dai Xinglan, let's both go somewhere bigger someday, okay?"
That was the day of their graduation ceremony. The air had been full of confetti, laughter, and sunshine. She stood at the edge of the crowd, pen in hand, writing something in his yearbook. He still remembered the way her hair fell forward, catching the light.
Back then, he didn't say anything—just smiled like a fool, thinking their story would last as long as that golden afternoon. But later, they went to different cities, different universities, different lives.
She studied Hotel Management at Nancheng University, busy with internships, competitions, and projects.
He majored in Accounting at C City University, buried in numbers, ledgers, and Excel sheets.
The two cities were only two hundred kilometers apart—not far, but not near either. They were still together, technically, yet they rarely met. Their WeChat messages shifted from "What did you eat today?" and "Go to bed early" to "I have class tomorrow" and "I might be busy this weekend."
Neither of them ever said "I miss you."
Not because they didn't, but because they both knew—it wasn't the right time to say it. So they kept silent, as if by not mentioning it, they could preserve the fragile tenderness between them.
Dai Xinglan ran a hand through his hair and let out a small, helpless laugh. He knew she'd always been that kind of girl—earnest, determined, chasing her goals with both hands. Even from afar, he hoped she was doing well.
His gaze softened on her name glowing on the screen. She was still shining, even in another city.
He opened their chat window, fingers hovering over the keyboard. He typed—
> "I saw you in the news."
Then hesitated, deleted it, and replaced it with:
> "Hey, you there?"
Five minutes passed.
…
Ten minutes.
…
Just as he thought the message would sink into silence, his phone buzzed.
> "Deleting it won't help! I already saw your message, hehe ᖰ⌯'▾'⌯ᖳ"
"By the way, I've been so busy lately, I didn't realize how long it's been since we talked."
"How have you been? Any struggles with your classes?"
He stared at the words on the screen and couldn't help but smile. The wind slipped through the window, flipping a page of his notebook. On that page, he had written a line after class:
"No matter how complicated the world becomes, stay earnest."
He suddenly thought—it sounded just like her.
Some feelings didn't need many words.
As long as she was still there, answering from the other side of the screen, the world didn't feel that far away.