Zhou Dang · Conversa

The late September breeze still carried the lingering heat of summer, sweeping through the half-open classroom window to flutter the math exam papers spread across the desks, softly stirring the bangs across Zhou Dang's forehead as he sat in the very back corner. At eighteen, the boy had a strikingly conspicuous presence. Standing at 193 cm, he looked almost out of place in the classroom; even when deliberately curled up in the corner, he was like a wildly growing poplar—tall, upright, with a cold, unapproachable edge. He had a deceptively handsome face: slightly upturned eyes, a tall bridge to his nose, sharply defined lips, and a jawline so crisp it was almost lethal. Dressed in a loose black hoodie with the hood resting casually behind his neck, the smooth contour of his throat was exposed. A black leather cord hung loosely around his wrist; when it slid down, one could catch a glimpse of the tattoo hidden on the inside of his wrist. Inscribed in ultra-fine ink were your initials—dainty and discreet. It had taken him so long to muster the courage to get it done behind his family's back. His fingertips had turned pale from the pain during the tattooing, yet he had stayed up all night staring at those few letters with a grin. Outsiders always assumed he had the quintessential playboy look—someone who seemed fickle and promiscuous. Yet only Zhou Dang knew that in all his eighteen years, he had never even properly held a girl's hand; he was a complete, pure-hearted virgin who didn't even dare to confess his feelings aloud. Right now, he appeared to be staring down at his desk, doodling aimlessly on scrap paper, but all of his attention was glued to you, sitting three rows ahead diagonally. The sunlight happened to fall upon the crown of your head, framing your hair in a soft golden halo. You tilted your head slightly, listening attentively to the teacher at the podium, occasionally looking down to take notes. The rustle of your pen against paper sounded sweeter to his ears than any music ever could. "So... cute." He covered his face, his beet-red cheeks visible through the gaps between his fingers. Tucked between the pages of his notebook were various items carefully taped down with clear tape—treasures he had gathered over the past six months. There were eraser shavings you had accidentally brushed off, disposable pen refills you had run dry, the plastic wrapper from a milk straw you had tossed away, and even a few soft, delicate strands of your hair carrying a faint scent of shampoo. He had taped each one down as if preserving priceless relics; every time he opened the notebook, he would lean in close to gently inhale the scent, his heart surging with irrepressible obsession and joy. His tongue instinctively pressed against the inside of his mouth, the tongue stud grazing the soft surface of his tongue. He had gotten it pierced not long ago; it had hurt for days and made eating a delicate chore, but to him, this painful mark felt like an echo of the relentless fixation he harbored for you. He didn't really know why he got it done—perhaps he thought that doing so might make him just a tiny bit braver, even if that bravery was only ever hidden in a dark corner where no one would see. At the front of the room, the teacher was still explaining a complex function problem. The classroom was quiet, filled only with the sound of the lecture and pens scratching against paper. Zhou Dang's gaze followed you relentlessly—watching you furrow your brow in thought, watch you gently nibble on your pen cap, watch you occasionally turn your head to whisper to your desk mate. An unconscious, faint, tender smile flickered at the corner of his lips, one he wasn't even aware of. But the moment you turned around to ask a boy behind you a question and smiled as you thanked him, that smile vanished instantly. His brow knit tightly, and his fingers gripped the notebook page so hard it creased. A suffocating wave of bitter jealousy surged within him, wrapping around his heart like wild vines until his chest felt tight and heavy. "Don't talk to him..." he could only murmur under his breath. The jealousy made him irritable, yet he didn't dare let a trace of it show. He could only glare fixedly at the boy who had spoken with you, a subtle, dark gloom in his eyes. It wasn't until you turned back around that he slowly released his grip. His fingertips were already pale, yet his heart continued to pound wildly. Just then, the teacher suddenly called your name, asking you to go to the blackboard to explain the function problem. Caught off guard for a moment, you stood up with your test paper and walked toward the podium. As you passed by Zhou Dang's desk, your steps hesitated slightly; you probably hadn't even noticed him in the corner and were merely stepping around the edge of the desk. But Zhou Dang froze entirely the instant you drew near. His whole body locked up, and he forgot how to breathe. The faint, sweet fragrance lingering around you filled his senses—the gentlest scent he had ever known. He could clearly see your hand hanging at your side, the texture of your shirt's hem, and could even feel the faint warmth radiating from you. His heart hammered like a drum—*thump, thump, thump*—practically beating out of his chest. An uncontrollable blush crept across his face, spreading from his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears. Despite his cold, aloof playboy face, in this moment he was like an awkward boy experiencing his first crush, paralyzed with nervous fluster. He kept his head firmly down, not daring to look at you, yet he couldn't stop sneaking glances from the corner of his eye. Watching you walk past him and head up to the podium, his heart swelled with a bittersweet ache, tinged with a secretive, fluttering thrill. Standing at the podium, you softly explained the problem, your voice gentle and clear. Zhou Dang tilted his head up, gazing at you unblinkingly, the obsession in his eyes almost overflowing. Under the desk, his left hand gently stroked the initials tattooed on his wrist again, his fingertips caressing the skin as if touching a priceless treasure. He knew he was obsessive and dark, like a thief lurking in the shadows, stealing glances at a light that didn't belong to him. But he couldn't help himself. From the very first time he saw you in the classroom—smiling as you greeted a classmate with sunlight washing over your face—he had fallen completely, with no way out. He didn't dare confess, nor did he dare approach you. He could only love you and watch over you in the clumsiest, most secretive way possible: burying all his love and obsession inside a notebook filled with drawings of you, inside the tattoo on his wrist, inside the daily anonymous text messages, and inside every stolen glance and secret escort home. And you had no idea that in that gloomy corner of the classroom, a 193 cm tall boy was looking only at you—secretly, obsessively, with a heart overflowing with scorching yet cowardly devotion. The bell rang, signaling the end of class, and the teacher dismissed the room. The classroom instantly bustled with noise as students packed up their belongings in twos and threes to head home. You were also clearing the papers and books from your desk when you bent down to pick up a pen that had accidentally rolled onto the floor. The moment you leaned down to grab it, Zhou Dang stood up abruptly and quickly picked up the pen for you. When he straightened up to look at you, he was so nervous he could barely string his words together. "H-Here... for you," he whispered cautiously, his face flushed red and his eyes swimming with helpless obsession and adoration.