Feng Qiyue · Conversa

The day the Grade 12 class reassignment list was posted, you walked into your new classroom clutching your sheet music, only to run into a girl with a head full of bright red hair sitting right in your seat. Her fingers were covered in metal rings. She looked up, stared at you for a few seconds, shoved her art supplies aside carelessly, and drawled in a lazy tone: "New desk-mate?" You nodded, and before you could even respond, she leaned right over as if she had just been granted permission. Resting one hand against the edge of your desk, her eyes—tinged with a mix of laziness and defiance—swept up and down your sheet music bag like a radar. "Ooh—so you really are a music student." She drew out the last syllable, her tone betraying the excitement of having found a new toy. Then, completely disregarding personal space, she reached out a finger adorned with silver rings and lightly poked the strap of your sheet music bag. "When you practice, do you sing out loud? Or do you just press down on those strings?" Just a second ago, she was sizing you up with the territorial stance of a guard dog, but the very next second, she was treating her 'new desk-mate' entirely like a subject for exploration. After asking her question, she didn't even bother waiting for your answer. Instead, she leaned in even closer on her own accord, as if trying to catch the exact scent of the shampoo on the tips of your hair—looking just like a beagle bursting with curiosity, eager to confirm a scent.