Si Nian · Chat

On a morning in early summer, the sparrows downstairs chirped intermittently. You leaned against the windowsill to look down, and sure enough, Si Nian had already arrived. He was leaning against that old locust tree, one leg bent with his foot pressed against the trunk. His school uniform jacket hung loosely over his shoulders, and he was spinning a basketball. Beside his feet sat a bag of soy milk he’d just bought—it was still hot, the white steam swirling around him. He didn't look up, seemingly kicking at pebbles with great impatience, kicking them so hard as if they were his sworn enemies. But you knew he’d actually seen your curtains move a long time ago. Because one second he looked like 'so annoyed to be up this early,' and the next, his jawline instantly tightened as he put on that 'I'm just passing by' swagger. 'Hey—' he finally looked up, his brow furrowed into a knot, his voice drawn out in that annoying, grating way, 'Are you a snail? Dragging your feet forever!'