After that conversation, nothing changed.
At least, not outwardly.
The ginkgo tree still waited at the edge of the schoolyard, its branches wider now, casting a familiar shadow that felt like home. The afternoon bells still rang with the same familiar sharpness, signaling the end of another day. The streets remained lined with the scent of warm pastries and dust-worn stone baking beneath the late spring sun, a comforting reminder of the small joys that accompanied their routine.
And every day—
Lu Yuan was there.
Waiting for her.
But now, Qingyue noticed small things she hadn't before.
Like how quickly his eyes found her the moment she appeared, scanning the crowd until they locked onto her familiar figure.
How he seemed calmer afterward, the faint tension around him easing almost immediately, as if her presence alone could soothe a world of worries.
How he stayed closer than usual now, as though afraid even a few extra steps between them mattered—a physical reminder of the distance that would soon separate them.
At first, she thought little of it.
After all, they would be separated soon.
It was only natural he felt reluctant.
And so, perhaps out of guilt—or affection—Qingyue began spending more time with him.
Small things.
Simple things.
But to Lu Yuan, they became precious.
One afternoon, she tugged lightly at his sleeve while they walked.
"Come with me," she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
He followed without question, curiosity piqued.
She led him through two narrow streets, the familiar sounds of their surroundings swirling around them, and into a tiny shop tucked between an old bookstore and a tailor's stall. The air inside smelled sweet and warm, a delightful invitation that wrapped around them like a hug.
Red bean buns.
Fresh from the oven.
"You still remember this place?" she asked with a smile, her face illuminated by the golden glow of the bakery's lanterns.
Lu Yuan looked at the steamed buns behind the glass display, then back at her, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Jiejie mentioned it first."
Her smile widened slightly. "So you do remember."
He remembered everything.
Each moment they shared, each laugh and every quiet conversation became etched in his mind like the intricate details of a cherished painting.
She bought two buns and handed him one. The warmth seeped through the paper wrapping into his hands, a tangible reminder of their friendship.
Outside, they sat together beneath the shade of a tree near the river path, the gentle sound of water flowing nearby creating a soothing backdrop. Qingyue ate slowly, savoring the flavors, her gaze drifting to the shimmering surface of the river as sunlight danced upon it.
"This place feels smaller than it used to," she murmured, nostalgia lacing her voice.
Lu Yuan glanced at her immediately, intrigued by the hint of melancholy in her tone. "Smaller?"
"Mm. Maybe we just got older," she replied, a touch of wistfulness in her eyes.
Older.
The word settled strangely in him, evoking a sense of unease.
Growing older meant things changed.
People left.
Distances widened.
He lowered his gaze to the bun in his hands, the warmth now feeling like a fragile thing in his grasp.
"I don't want things to change," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Qingyue looked at him, surprised by the sudden seriousness in his tone.
"Things always change, Yuan."
It was a gentle statement. Simple. True.
But he disliked how easily she said it, as though change could simply be accepted.
As though losing something important was natural.
He didn't answer, the weight of her words lingering in the air between them, heavy and unyielding.
Later that week, Qingyue dragged him into a small photo booth near the shopping street, her excitement infectious.
"There's still time before sunset," she insisted when he hesitated, her eyes sparkling. "Come on, just once."
The booth was cramped, the curtain barely closing behind them. Lu Yuan sat stiffly beside her, visibly uncomfortable in the confined space.
Qingyue laughed softly, the sound like music to his ears. "You look like you're being interrogated."
"I don't understand why people do this," he replied, fidgeting slightly.
"Because it's fun," she said, her smile wide and genuine.
"It's strange."
"Exactly," she said brightly. "That's why it's fun."
Before he could respond, the camera flashed, capturing the moment.
The first photo caught him mid-blink, eyes wide and startled.
Qingyue burst into laughter, the sound ringing through the small booth and filling him with warmth.
Lu Yuan stared at the picture as it printed, expression unreadable.
"…Delete it," he said, half-joking but half-serious.
"You can't delete printed photos," she replied, grinning.
"Then hide it forever."
She laughed harder, the lightness of her spirit infectious.
The second photo turned out better—Qingyue smiling openly beside him, her joy illuminating the frame. Lu Yuan still looked serious, but there was a softness in his expression, a rare glimpse of vulnerability as he turned slightly toward her instead of the camera.
When the photos finished printing, Qingyue carefully separated the strips, her fingers deft as she handed one to him.
"You can keep one," she said, her voice gentle.
Lu Yuan took it carefully.
Too carefully.
As though afraid bending the edges might ruin it forever.
That night, he stared at the photo for a very long time before placing it inside the drawer beside his bed.
Not hidden.
Protected.
The days continued like that.
Quietly happy.
Dangerously so.
Qingyue began noticing how often Lu Yuan watched her when he thought she wasn't paying attention.
Not in a frightening way.
Just… intensely.
As though memorizing things.
The way she tied her hair, the books she carried, which foods she avoided, what made her laugh.
Once, while walking home beneath fading evening light, she caught him staring again and tilted her head, curiosity dancing in her eyes.
"What?"
Lu Yuan looked away almost immediately, a slight blush creeping up his cheeks.
"Nothing."
But it wasn't nothing.
He was trying to remember.
Everything.
One evening, rain began unexpectedly halfway through their walk home.
Qingyue laughed as cold droplets splashed against the pavement, delight shining in her eyes.
"We're going to get soaked!" she exclaimed, her laughter ringing out like a melody.
Before she could react further, Lu Yuan stepped closer and awkwardly lifted his bag over her head, shielding her from the rain.
"What about you?" she asked, concern flickering across her face.
"I'm fine," he replied, though he was already wet.
Water clung to his dark hair, dripping slowly past his lashes, but he didn't mind.
Qingyue stared at him for a moment before smiling softly, a warmth blossoming between them.
"You're really kind, Yuan," she said, her voice sincere.
The words struck him harder than they should have, a warmth spreading through him that he hadn't expected.
He looked away immediately, the compliment making his heart race.
But his grip on the bag tightened slightly, a protective instinct flaring within him.
That night, he replayed those words over and over in his mind.
You're really kind.
No one had ever said that to him before.
As the days slipped closer toward her departure, Qingyue became busier helping her family prepare.
Some afternoons, she arrived later than usual, her cheeks flushed with the rush of packing and organizing.
Other days, she looked tired, the weight of impending change evident in her eyes.
Each small change unsettled him more than the last.
But he never complained.
Not directly.
Instead, he stayed near her whenever he could, cherishing every moment they had left together.
Longer walks.
More quiet moments.
More lingering pauses at intersections before parting ways.
As though stretching time itself.
Then, three days before she was meant to leave, Lu Yuan spoke suddenly while they stood beneath the ginkgo tree, the familiar leaves rustling gently in the breeze.
"Jiejie."
"Mm?"
"…will you write to me?"
The question was quiet.
Careful.
Qingyue blinked before smiling gently, her eyes softening.
"Of course I will."
His chest loosened slightly, a weight lifting as hope flickered within him.
"And pictures?" he asked after a pause, wanting to clutch onto every possible connection they could maintain.
She laughed softly, the sound a balm to his anxious heart. "Pictures too, if I can."
He nodded slowly, as though committing those words somewhere permanent.
Then, after a long silence—
"Promise?"
Qingyue looked at him.
Really looked at him.
At the quiet seriousness in his eyes.
At the strange fragility hidden beneath his calm expression.
And though she didn't fully understand why it mattered so much—
she answered softly anyway.
"I promise."
For the first time in days, Lu Yuan smiled.
A real one.
Small.
Brief.
But real enough that Qingyue stared for a moment in surprise, her heart lifting at the sight.
The warmth of his smile stayed with her long after they parted that evening, lingering like the last rays of sunlight before dusk.
Neither of them realized it then—
but these quiet afternoons, these ordinary walks, these small promises—
would become the brightest memories Lu Yuan possessed.
And later, in the darkest moments of his life,
he would return to them again and again,
like a starving man clutching the last warmth of sunlight before winter.