Class 10
The first day of Class 10 felt different. Not because of the new textbooks or strict teachers…
But because we were all growing up — in the weirdest, most confusing ways.
I entered the class, late as usual. And the moment I stepped inside, my eyes met Jiasheng's.
It was just a second. But my heart did something strange.
It skipped. Then raced.
I frowned. Why?
He just raised an eyebrow and whispered, "You forgot your pen again?"
I blinked. "Huh?"
"You're holding your drawing pen, not your writing one, lil bro."
I quickly looked down — he was right.
My cheeks warmed, but I rolled my eyes. "Big bro, shut up."
He grinned and turned back around. And just like that, it was normal again. Like nothing happened.
But still… that one second haunted me for the rest of the day.
Meanwhile, Junxi had started doing something stranger than usual:
Staring at Zhou Rui. A lot.
Whenever she helped me with homework or laughed at Jiasheng's jokes, I'd catch Junxi looking at her like she was some kind of soft moment.
Like she was a secret he wasn't ready to say out loud.
I noticed.
And honestly, so did Jiasheng.
"Is Junxi acting weird to you?" I whispered during lunch.
Jiasheng stuffed a bun in his mouth. "Weirder than usual? Nah. Unless you count him tripping over nothing when Zhou Rui walks by."
I chuckled.
Across the table, Junxi was quietly giving Zhou Rui his last dumpling. She blinked, surprised.
"Are you sure?" she asked.
Junxi just nodded, trying to act cool. "I don't like that one anyway."
Liar. That was his favorite.
Zhou Rui was clueless. Or maybe she just didn't want to believe it.
"Junxi's been acting strange lately," she said one evening when we walked home.
I raised my eyebrows. "You think so?"
"He's… nice to me. Like, extra nice. Is he okay?"
I smirked but didn't say anything. I wasn't about to tell her the truth.
I didn't want to make things awkward, and maybe Junxi would figure things out in his own time.
"He's fine," I said casually, skipping ahead. "Just being Junxi, as usual."
Back at school, Jiasheng was still doing what he did best — annoying me.
But that day, when I got scolded by the teacher for missing homework, he quietly slid his own book to cover my empty desk.
When we left school, he waited extra long when I tied my shoelaces.
And when I tripped over a rock, he didn't laugh. He just said, "Watch where you're going, little bro."
"Big bro," I muttered.
He grinned. "Yeah?"
"…Thanks."
He didn't say anything. Just gave me that look — the one where his eyes say things his mouth never will.
Some things we feel, we just don't say.
But they stay anyway.