The day before Qingyue left arrived quietly.
No storm split the sky. No dramatic farewell lingered in the air. Morning came as it always did—soft light slipping through curtains, distant sounds of traffic beginning to stir the streets awake.
And yet, from the moment Lu Yuan opened his eyes, something felt unbearably heavy.
Tomorrow.
The word had followed him for days now, settling deeper each time he thought of it.
Tomorrow, Qingyue would leave.
Tomorrow, the familiar rhythm of his life would end.
He sat on the edge of his bed for a long moment before school, staring silently at the dark blue fountain pen resting beside the photo strip in his drawer.
The pen she gave him.
The picture they took together.
The folded drawing from years ago.
Without realizing it, he had begun collecting pieces of her long before she ever announced she was leaving.
Carefully preserving them.
As though some part of him already feared this day would come.
Outside his room, his parents were arguing again.
His father's voice rose sharply through the thin walls, followed by the sound of something hitting the floor.
Lu Yuan closed the drawer quietly.
Then he left for school without eating breakfast.
—
The sky remained overcast throughout the morning, pale clouds stretching endlessly above the city.
At school, everything continued normally.
Students chatted between lessons. Teachers lectured from the front of classrooms. Chalk dust drifted lazily through open windows.
Life moved forward without hesitation.
But Lu Yuan couldn't focus.
His classroom felt unusually small that day.
Every few minutes, his gaze drifted toward the clock mounted above the blackboard.
Waiting.
Counting.
The second lunch break arrived too slowly.
The moment the bell rang, he stood almost immediately.
A classmate called his name as he left, but Lu Yuan barely registered it.
He crossed the corridor quietly, footsteps steady despite the strange tightness in his chest.
Qingyue's classroom was louder than his.
Several students still lingered inside, gathered in small groups near desks and windows. Some were laughing loudly. Others were exchanging notebooks and farewell gifts.
Because Qingyue was leaving tomorrow.
People noticed that sort of thing.
Lu Yuan stopped near the doorway.
His gaze found her instantly.
She sat beside the window, sunlight muted beneath the cloudy sky as it fell softly across her features. One of her classmates was speaking animatedly while handing her a small charm wrapped in ribbon.
Qingyue smiled politely as she accepted it.
Then, almost as if sensing him there, she looked toward the door.
Her expression brightened immediately.
"Yuan."
The noise in the room suddenly felt distant.
Lu Yuan stepped closer quietly while several classmates glanced curiously between them.
By now, everyone knew he waited for her after school.
Some students found it sweet.
Others found it strange.
Neither of them cared much.
"You came early," Qingyue said softly.
He nodded once.
"Mm."
One of the girls beside Qingyue smiled teasingly. "Younger brothers really do get attached, huh?"
Lu Yuan's expression remained calm.
But his fingers curled slightly at his sides.
Qingyue laughed lightly, clearly unbothered. "He's always been like this."
Always.
The word settled warmly inside him.
Her classmates soon drifted away again, leaving the two of them near the window.
"You didn't eat yet, did you?" Qingyue asked.
He looked away briefly.
"…No."
"I knew it."
She opened her lunch container and pushed part of it toward him naturally, as though this had happened many times before.
It had.
Lu Yuan accepted it quietly.
Neither of them noticed the way several classmates glanced over again with amused expressions.
The atmosphere around them felt strangely peaceful despite everything.
Like they were sitting inside a moment neither wanted to disturb.
Qingyue rested her chin lightly against her hand while watching the cloudy sky outside.
"It might rain later," she murmured.
Lu Yuan looked at her instead of the sky.
"…Mm."
She glanced sideways suddenly, catching him staring again.
"You've been doing that a lot lately."
His gaze shifted immediately downward.
"Sorry."
Her expression softened almost instantly.
"You really don't have to apologize for every little thing."
He stayed silent.
Because if he spoke honestly, he wasn't sure what would come out.
—
That afternoon, they walked home more slowly than usual.
Neither mentioned it.
But both noticed.
The streets felt unusually vivid that day, as though Lu Yuan's mind was trying desperately to preserve every detail.
The old bookstore with fading paint near the entrance.
The scent of roasted chestnuts drifting from a nearby stall.
The uneven crack in the pavement Qingyue always stepped over without looking.
Everything felt painfully clear.
As if memory had already begun forming before the moment even ended.
Halfway home, Qingyue suddenly stopped.
"Wait here," she said.
Before he could ask why, she hurried across the street toward a small stationery shop.
Lu Yuan remained exactly where she left him.
Waiting.
Cars passed.
People brushed by.
But he didn't move.
A few minutes later, Qingyue returned carrying a small paper bag.
"For you," she said, holding it toward him.
Lu Yuan blinked slightly before accepting it carefully.
"What is it?"
"Open it."
Inside rested a fountain pen.
Dark blue.
Simple.
Elegant.
Its silver edges caught faint light beneath the cloudy afternoon sky.
Qingyue smiled lightly at his expression.
"It's so you can write back properly."
"My handwriting isn't that bad."
"It absolutely is."
For a moment, she laughed.
A real laugh.
Soft and bright enough that something tightened painfully inside his chest.
Because soon—
he would only remember the sound.
Lu Yuan lowered his gaze to the pen again.
"…I'll use it."
"You better," Qingyue said. "If your letters become unreadable, I'm throwing them away."
"You wouldn't."
"I might."
"You won't."
The certainty in his voice made her pause briefly before smiling again.
"No," she admitted softly. "Probably not."
The wind stirred gently around them.
A few cold drops of rain began falling from the sky.
Not enough to soak them.
Just enough to cool the air.
The rest of the walk passed quietly.
Not awkward.
Not empty.
Just full of things neither knew how to say.
When they finally reached the familiar intersection, Qingyue stopped instead of turning immediately.
"My train leaves tomorrow afternoon," she said softly.
Lu Yuan's grip tightened faintly around the paper bag.
"I know."
"You really don't have to come," she added. "The station will be crowded."
His answer came instantly.
"I'm going."
Qingyue blinked before laughing softly under her breath.
"…Okay."
Silence settled gently between them.
Then Qingyue stepped closer unexpectedly and adjusted the slightly crooked collar of his uniform.
"You never notice these things yourself," she murmured.
Lu Yuan froze completely.
Her fingers brushed briefly against his neck before pulling away.
Warm.
Too warm.
His heartbeat stumbled unevenly inside his chest.
"There," she said softly. "Better."
He couldn't respond.
Qingyue noticed the stunned look on his face and smiled faintly.
Then, before the moment could linger too long, she stepped back.
"See you tomorrow, Yuan."
Tomorrow.
The word struck harder this time.
He watched her walk away slowly.
Halfway down the street, she turned once and waved lightly.
Lu Yuan stayed where he was long after she disappeared from sight.
The rain eventually began falling properly.
Cold droplets dampened his hair and shoulders.
Still, he didn't move.
—
That night, sleep never came.
The fountain pen rested beside him on the bed.
Next to the photo strip.
Next to the folded drawing.
Pieces of her.
Fragments of days he already feared losing.
Outside his room, shouting echoed through the house again. Something shattered downstairs. His mother cried out angrily in response.
But Lu Yuan barely heard any of it.
He sat silently in the darkness, clutching the fountain pen tightly in his hands.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, she would leave.
Tomorrow, the walks would end.
Tomorrow, the space beside him would become empty.
For the first time in years, panic settled into him completely.
Not quiet.
Not distant.
Sharp.
Terrifying.
He lowered his head slowly, fingers trembling faintly around the pen.
"…Jiejie," he whispered into the darkness.
The room remained silent.
And somehow—
that silence hurt more than anything else ever had.