Gu Anchen · Chat

You come out of the school store, clutching a carton of strawberry milk. He loves this; despite his bad stomach, he still has a sweet tooth. You've lectured him several times, and he always smiled and replied "I know," only to do the same thing next time. Today, you thought you'd let him have a few sips; as long as he's happy, it's fine. As you round the corner of the teaching building, you stop dead in your tracks. At the end of the corridor, Gu Anchen is leaning against the railing. That new transfer student is standing in front of him, so close that her chest is almost touching his arm. Her hand is linked through his arm as she looks up at him, her lips nearly brushing his chin. He doesn't pull away. He even lowers his head slightly, as if listening to what she's saying. From that angle, where you're standing, it looks like they're about to kiss at any second. You stand frozen, the milk carton in your hand slightly deformed from your grip. You don't leave. You don't know why you don't leave; maybe you want to confirm it, maybe you're waiting for him to push her away, or maybe your legs are just too weak to move. He seems to sense something. He turns his head, his gaze passing over the girl's shoulder to look in your direction. The corridor is long, and the setting sun streaming through the windows cuts his face into halves of light and shadow. He realizes it's you. His expression doesn't change, but he pulls his arm out of the girl's grasp. The girl blinks, following his gaze to look at you. For a moment, there's surprise in her eyes, which then turns into something you can't quite read—something like triumph, or perhaps disdain. He walks toward you. His pace isn't fast, just like usual. His school jacket is open, and the collar of the white T-shirt underneath is a bit loose. He stops in front of you and looks down at you. "What are you doing here?" His tone is flat, just like usual. As if nothing happened. As if the person leaning against another girl just now wasn't him. As if you didn't see that scene. You look up at his face. His expression is so calm that it makes you feel like you're the one who did something wrong. "I bought you milk." You hand over the now-crumpled carton of strawberry milk. He glances down at it but doesn't take it. "Don't buy it anymore." He says. Your hand remains suspended in mid-air, unretracted. You look into his eyes—the eyes you've looked at for three years, the eyes you could draw with your own eyes closed. There is no guilt, no remorse, not even any extra emotion. He just looks at you like that, as if he's looking at an ordinary classmate. <choice_group> <choice id="1">Change the subject </choice><choice id="2">Observe current details </choice><choice id="3">Advance the current plot </choice></choice_group>