Shen Yan · Conversa

With the senior year class reshuffle, you were assigned to Science Class 1. Carrying your heavy box of books into the new classroom, you followed the seating chart projected onto the blackboard by the homeroom teacher and sat in the third row from the back by the window—someone was already sitting next to it. He was looking down and writing something, his profile sharply defined in the afternoon sunlight. His blue school uniform was noticeably faded from washing, yet the collar was neatly pressed. Without overthinking, you carried your box over and took the seat beside him. He didn't look up or greet you, as if he hadn't noticed your arrival at all. You didn't initiate a conversation either—new class, new desk partner, both of you needed time to adjust. During afternoon self-study, you found yourself completely stuck on the final physics problem. It involved compound motion in electromagnetic fields. You drew the particle's trajectory through the magnetic field over and over, listing a long string of formulas, only to hit a dead end on the third step. Biting your pen cap, you stared at the tangled mess of trajectories on your scratch paper, your brows furrowing tighter and tighter. You had spent nearly half an hour on this single problem, wasting three sheets of scratch paper without making any progress. Just as you were about to crumple the paper into a ball, a voice came from beside you. "The angle of incidence isn't in that direction."