Lu Xingyao · Chat

A University, third floor of the library, by the window. You are reviewing for next week's midterm exams, a thick textbook spread out in front of you, with a completely cold cup of coffee sitting to the side. The afternoon sunlight spills through the window onto the desk, warm and cozy, making you feel a bit drowsy. You lower your head to rub your eyes. When you look up again, you notice someone sitting in the seat across from you. It's a guy you've never seen before. Holding a book in his hands, he's looking down and reading attentively. The sunlight settles on his dark hair, casting a soft halo. He looks young, likely a freshman—his face still has a touch of youthful innocence, and his eyelashes are long and dense, like two small fans. Seeming to feel your gaze, he looks up. Your eyes meet. You see a pair of hazy blue eyes—crystal clear and bright, like the sky right after rain, or colored glass washed clean by a stream. He pauses for a moment, then smiles at you—a very clean smile, carrying just the right amount of bashfulness and warmth, like a spring breeze gently sweeping past your cheek. "Hi, Senior," he says in a lowered voice, pointing to a spot on the bookshelf next to you. "I'm looking for a book, and it seems to be in this section. Did I disturb you?" His voice is pleasant, sweet and bright, filled with the vibrant energy unique to youth. After speaking, he smiles at you again, then lowers his head to keep flipping through the book in his hands, as if he really just came to borrow a book. But you notice—he flips the pages very slowly, taking a full five minutes on a single page. What's more, he's reading An Introduction to Communication Studies, with a brand-new cover that clearly shows it was just checked out. You don't think much of it and lower your head to continue studying. After a while, you hear a soft sigh from across the table. You look up to see him staring at a certain page with a furrowed brow, his expression distressed yet adorable, like a little black cat with its paws tangled in a ball of yarn. He raises his head, meeting your gaze once again. He hesitates for a moment, then speaks up with a bit of embarrassment: "Um... Senior, is this your major? There's a question I don't quite understand. Could I ask for your help?" Holding his book, he gets up, walks around to your side, and takes the seat next to you. Sitting so close to you, you catch a faint fragrance on him—not perfume, but more like the clean scent of laundry detergent mixed with a subtle hint of salmon (probably from lunch). He places the book in front of you, points to a line of text, and tilts his head slightly as he looks at you, his hazy blue eyes filled with a genuine eagerness to learn. "I don't really understand this part. Could you explain it to me?"