YHTD 07

Chapter 07

I Might Not Love You

10
Back in high school, I had a vague feeling that San Ye liked me. At the time, I don’t know what I was thinking, but I was stubbornly convinced that “a rabbit should not eat the grass near its own burrow.” I thought if I really dated San Ye and then broke up with him, I’d lose not only a boyfriend but also a good friend. So, very rationally, I cut off the thought of being together with him. When he wrote me a prose-poem—misty, rainy, and windy like those sentimental kinds—I solemnly pointed out all the typos and grammar mistakes.

At that time, it was me, San Ye, and another friend; the three of us often wrote a stream-of-consciousness novel together in one big notebook. So, I pretended not to understand his “love letter,” and he didn’t force me to. The storm of confession passed, and we just continued to be good friends.

Later, I realized—when I began thinking “I can’t be with San Ye,” deep down I was already thinking about “what if I were with San Ye.”

But I still preferred being friends with him, because being friends was much more comfortable than being lovers. Friends don’t bring all the messy negative emotions like worry, sadness, or anger.

For example, my crush on the boy who sat behind me was exactly the combination of all those negative emotions.

He was really nice, really funny, and always brought me snacks. Spending every day together, I guess I got used to it and ended up liking him. I never told San Ye, but all my friends could tell, and I think San Ye must have noticed too.

Unfortunately, the boy behind me didn’t like me. He would go out of his way to bring me snacks, yet at the same time, he worked hard to make it clear he didn’t like me. I’d never seen anyone so contradictory… Didn’t he know the simple rule, “If you don’t want to fill a girl’s heart, then don’t keep filling her stomach”?

In the end, the story with him had no ending. Years later, when we met again, it wasn’t awkward at all. Time really is the most effective and most ruthless eraser—everything can be wiped away.

One year, at a class reunion, San Ye and I were leaving early when we happened to bump into the boy behind me, who arrived late because of other matters. After a few years at military school, he had become more handsome, and his aura made you want to rip his shirt open and count how many abs he had. After a few casual greetings, I continued down the stairs hand-in-hand with San Ye. Suddenly, I wanted to see if he’d get jealous, so I deliberately said, “XXX (the boy behind me) has gotten so handsome!”

But instead of following the normal script, San Ye tilted his head back, looked at the staircase above us, and with sparkling eyes full of longing, said, “He is really handsome! Why don’t we go back and hang out with him a little longer?”

I dragged him away with a dark face and swore to myself that I would never mention the boy behind me again.

11
I asked San Ye, “When did you start liking me?”

Without even blinking, he immediately answered, “The first day I met you.”

I didn’t believe him, but my curiosity won out. “Was it because I handed you a form and told you what to write, so you liked me?”

San Ye shook his head. “No. That day in class, you were sitting behind me, talking with XX. You were wearing a tight camo tank top with a loose, semi-transparent white vest over it. You said something really funny, and you kept laughing—so much that tears came out of your eyes.”

As he spoke, he pulled out his phone and found the 【laugh-cry】 emoji. “You laughed just like this little guy. And that’s when I started liking you.”

That was the least romantic “love at first sight” I’d ever heard. He liked me… because I looked like an emoji when I laughed.

12
The summer after high school graduation, I often messaged San Ye before bed: “Tell me a joke.”

He’d go online to look up cold jokes, things like: “A match was walking along, tripped, and caught on fire.” After each one, I’d reply, “Not funny,” and then say goodnight.

That year, his exam results weren’t as good as usual. He missed the chance at Tsinghua or Peking University by a step, and his parents chose his college applications for him while he was feeling down.

As for me, after the exams I just played around, not worrying about applications at all.

When the admission notices came, we ended up far apart in different cities. As summer vacation drew to an end, I suddenly felt a bit lost. In that mood, I posted a status on my feed: “San Ye, let’s do a long-distance relationship.”

Many of our high school classmates, not knowing the situation, commented with congratulations. But San Ye didn’t reply at all.

Originally, it was just a random status out of boredom. His silence actually fired up my fighting spirit. I messaged him privately, asking if he wanted a long-distance relationship. He bluntly refused: “No.”

I said, “If it’s long-distance, we’d still have someone to chat with. You could do your thing in Xiamen, I’d do mine in Beijing, we wouldn’t bother each other. Isn’t that great?”

He just repeated, “No.”

My fighting spirit quickly crumbled under his refusal. I just replied, “Fine, forget it then.”

Much later, I went back and looked at that post again. I asked him, “Why didn’t you reply back then?”

San Ye answered, “When I first saw it, I was startled. I was trying to find the right words to accept your confession, but then you came to me saying ‘each of us do our own thing,’ so I got mad.”

I just said, “Oh,” and quickly changed the subject.

A few days later, I noticed that he had quietly gone back and given that post a like.

13
Because of that post, things were a little ambiguous between us during the last few days of summer vacation. One day, I asked him to tell me a story, and he told me a story about “BF.”

He said:
“When he was seven years old, the little boy told the little girl: I am your BF.
The girl asked: What’s BF?
The boy said: Best Friend.

When they were seventeen, they started dating.
The boy told the girl: I am your BF.
The girl asked: What’s BF?
The boy said: Boy Friend.

Years later, they got married and had a lovely child.
The husband told his wife: I am your BF.
The wife asked: What’s BF?
The husband looked at their child and replied: Baby’s Father.

Later, when they were old, too old to walk.
The old man told his wife: I am your BF.
The old woman asked one last time: What’s BF?
The old man firmly told her: Be Forever.”

I was so moved when I heard it. I told him, “You’re my BF too!”

He seemed embarrassed, coughed a couple of times, and said, “Hey, I was just telling a story, don’t get so carried away.”

I teased him, “Are you overthinking? I meant we’re Best Friends—the kind who can still sit together cracking sunflower seeds and chatting even when we’re old grandpa and grandma!”

He got even more embarrassed. He thought for a long time, not knowing what to say, and finally just repeated, “Yeah, I’m your number one best friend in the universe.”

That year, we were still Best Friends. Maybe one day, we’d become Be Forever. Feelings are unpredictable—who can say for sure?