Liang Siyue · Chat

The classroom during evening self-study is so quiet that only the rustle of pen nibs crossing paper and the occasional soft sound of turning pages remain. The low hum of the fluorescent lights hangs over everyone's heads like a drowsy film. 你 searches through their backpack for the third time, finally confirming a frustrating fact: you forgot your earphones. Liang Siyue is working on physics problems. His back is straight as he writes, his left hand pressing down on the scratch paper, and his right hand holding the pen in a posture as perfect as a demonstration in a copybook. But he clearly notices 你 looking at him—his writing doesn't stop, but his left hand moves. He picks up his earphone case from beside his pencil case, places it on the boundary line between the two desks, and pushes it half an inch toward 你. The entire movement is clean and efficient, without a word spoken, or even a turn of his head. 你 whispers "Thanks," and he replies with a "No problem," his tone as steady as if he were handing over a student council form. 你 takes one earphone and puts it in their ear. He takes the other and puts it in his left ear, the one closer to 你. The two share a pair of earphones; the cord isn't very long, so 你 moves a bit closer to him. He doesn't move, but his fingers holding the pen pause for a split second as 你 approaches. The earphones begin to play English vocabulary. *Abandon*, to give up. *Abolish*, to do away with. *Absorb*, to take in. As he listens, he suddenly feels these words were chosen at a bad time—why did it have to start with *abandon*? He hasn't given up. He just changed his method. The words play one by one. 你 keeps their head down, writing from memory in a notebook, occasionally letting out a soft "tsk" when a word is misspelled. Listening to that sound from beside them, the corners of his mouth twitch, but he doesn't quite smile. Then the vocabulary ends. There is a period of silence. 你 thinks the playlist has finished and is about to take off the earphone— "你." A voice suddenly comes through the earphone. It's not a standard British or American accent; it's a familiar, clear voice with a hint of youthfulness. It's lower than his usual speaking voice, and the ending sounds are slightly tight, as if his throat was very dry during the recording, and clearing it repeatedly didn't help. 你's hand freezes in mid-air. "It's Liang Siyue. The Liang Siyue right next to you." The voice in the earphone pauses, as if gathering courage. "I read the words I'm about to say over and over from my notes, but I still kept stuttering when I recorded it. The version you're hearing now is the best one I did—actually, it's not that great, but it's better than the others. So I'm using this one." The classroom is very quiet. His voice continues in the earphone, soft, carrying a clumsy yet earnest solemnity. "From the first day you transferred and the homeroom teacher had you sit next to me, when you told me 'I'll be in your care from now on'—from that day on, I've been looking at you. Not just as a deskmate. In a different way." 你 turns to look at him. "You like to bite your pen cap when you're doing problems, and as you bite, you frown and mutter to yourself. You look so recognizable when you're struggling with a question. You're always dropping your pen, and I'm always the one picking it up for you; actually, I'm quite happy to pick it up. After exams, you write encouraging words to yourself on the back of the report card; the handwriting is crooked, but you always write 'try again tomorrow.' The things you say to me, the way you smile, how your eyelashes flutter when you're sleeping on the desk—I remember all of it. I remember a lot." He is leaning on the desk. At some point, he pushed the physics problems and pen aside and is now lying on the desk, face buried in his crossed arms—but he is facing 你. He reveals half his face, one eye, and those ear tips that have long since turned crimson. He is looking at 你. Those eyes, usually calm and unruffled, are now bright, like they are holding two carefully presented, still-glowing stars. "You are wonderful," the voice in the earphone continues, its tone sincere to the point of being almost reverent. "Not because your grades are good or because you're pretty, but because you are you. Your eyes curve when you smile, you talk to everyone with a smile, and you can mutter and struggle with a single broken problem for ages. You are so vivid, so real. Sometimes I feel like you're the only living person in this class—myself included, everyone else is too much like an exam machine." He doesn't look away from 你's gaze, but his fingers gripping his school uniform sleeve are clenched very tight. "I'm not good with words. Usually, when I talk to you, I only manage a few words at a time. It's not that I don't want to say more; it's that I get nervous the moment I face you. I thought for a long time about how to tell you, but I couldn't do it to your face. My mind goes blank as soon as I see your eyes." He takes a soft breath, as if suddenly embarrassed as he reaches the most important part. "So—forgive me for being a coward and only being able to tell you this way." The audio goes silent for a second. Then the voice rings out again, softer than before, as if all his courage was spent on this final sentence. "I like you." The recording in the earphone falls silent. After a second of quiet, it automatically skips to the next track—English vocabulary again. *Absorb*, to take in. *Accept*, to receive. He stays leaning on the desk, his ears so red they look like they might bleed, but his eyes do not turn away. He looks at 你 with those bright eyes, filled with tension and expectation, as if waiting for the answer to a problem he has prepared for a long time. The vocabulary is still playing, but he doesn't seem to hear a single word of it.