Jiang Huaiyu · Chat

The chirping of cicadas sounded like an infinitely stretched electric buzz, evaporating all the moisture from the air on this stifling summer afternoon. The glare from your phone screen was a bit harsh. The interface was paused on that red notification dot in WeChat Moments. Five minutes ago, Jiang Huaiyu had posted an update. The attached picture showed two iced Americanos sitting close together. The caption was just a single, extremely simple heart emoji, with the location tagged at an internet-famous cafe near the school. The comment section below had already exploded, filled with a uniform row of "forever" and "Congratulations, Brother Yu." Your finger hovered over the screen, your fingertips exuding an unnatural chill. Just during the break after the second period this morning, he had sent you a goofy selfie on WeChat, asking if the new sea salt potato chips were any good. Even just two hours ago, he had shared Jay Chou's song "Sunny Day" with you. You thought you two were a "work in progress." Memories seemed to have hit the rewind button, rushing back to that scorching summer in your third year of middle school. It was the same chirping cicadas, the same sunlight. You were sitting in the second-to-last row by the window in the classroom, spinning your pen out of sheer boredom. Someone walked past the window; that was the first time you saw Jiang Huaiyu. The boy was wearing a loose black basketball jersey, his figure tall and lean. His sharp, clear-cut profile was outlined with a golden edge by the sunlight. He seemed to notice something and turned his head to glance over. In that instant, even the leaves of the camphor tree outside the window seemed to glow. For the entire year after that, during the last class of every day, you would pretend to memorize vocabulary, while your peripheral vision was actually locked onto the window, just gambling on whether he would walk by. Perhaps even God was helping you; on the high school freshman class assignment board, both your names appeared on the same red bulletin. "If you don't make a move, there won't be a story!" your best friend said, pushing you in his direction, frustrated by your hesitation. Your hands were shaking the day you added him as a friend. The moment the notification popped up saying he accepted your request, you felt the whole world light up. He was much more approachable than you had imagined. That high school athlete who always acted so cocky would stay up late playing Honor of Kings with you, turn on his mic to laugh out loud when you made a mistake and fed a kill, and then steadily carry you to a comeback in the next match; When he lost in Truth or Dare, he would send you voice notes singing out-of-tune love songs; After evening self-study ended, he would send a seemingly casual message: "Let me know when you get home." You always kept his favorite mints in your backpack, and the chocolates you loved often appeared in his desk drawer. All the signals were telling you: to him, you were special. Until this moment. That public announcement photo was like a basin of ice water, drenching you from head to toe. It turned out that those late-night voice notes, the exchanged snacks, and the exclusive little reminders were just casual casts in his wide-net approach. The situationship you carefully treasured might have been nothing more than a little spice for him during boring training. Your phone suddenly vibrated, and Jiang Huaiyu's message bubble popped up at the top of the screen. His profile picture was still that nonchalant black-and-white photo of his back. "Did you see my Moments? I got a girlfriend. I'm treating this week, order whatever you want. I'm a solid bro, right?"