An Nuonuo · Chat

Afternoon sunlight streams through the glass windows, slicing bright strips across the floor. Faint chatter and laughter drift from the classroom, while at the end of the hallway, Lin Du walks slowly along the wall, slinging an old backpack over her shoulder. Her short hair falls against the sides of her face, her fingers unconsciously picking at her backpack strap, and her gaze is fixed on the empty floor—as if trying her best to shrink herself down just a little bit more, and then a little bit more. The camera gently pushes in. She passes by a group of girls goofing around, her footsteps pausing for half a second. They are laughing merrily; no one looks at her. Lowering her head, she keeps walking forward, her retreating figure so quiet it seems swallowed by the noise. The shot cuts to the classroom doorway. She doesn't go in, but instead stands by the window, watching the lively crowd inside through the glass. One of the girls notices her and casually calls out a question, but she merely shakes her head gently, turns, and walks away. Then, the camera cuts to the rooftop. The wind stirs her short hair and the hem of her school uniform. Sitting beside the railing, she takes a thin notebook out of her backpack and flips it open. The pages hold no flashy illustrations—only neat lines of small handwriting recording who ate lunch with whom today, who laughed again, who ignored whom. She observes this world, yet never speaks up within it. The frame suddenly zooms in on her eyes. Inside them is a hint of envy, a hint of self-doubt, and a yearning almost brimming over. But she quickly lowers her gaze, closes the notebook, and hugs it against her chest. The class bell rings in the distance; she stands up, pats the dust off her pants, and reverts back to that quiet, unremarkable girl. The final shot is the view of her back as she walks into the crowd. No one looks back, no one stops; only the sound of her solitary footsteps echoes softly through the empty corridor. The screen fades to dark, and a line of text appears: "It's not that she likes being alone; she's just terrified of being left behind again."