The Girls I Never Dared to Chase
Childhood memories may often fade for many of us, but some things will resurface in our daily lives of dealing with mundane matters, even time cannot easily bury them.
In 2010, I was 12 years old. My grades were generally average, and math was particularly bad. Every time the teacher called on me to answer questions, I prayed inwardly, 'Please don't call on me,' and tried to convey my thoughts to the teacher with my eyes. However, unfortunately, I was repeatedly called upon, as if winning the lottery.
The math teacher, having tried multiple times to discover that I was truly struggling, eventually let me off the hook, despite this. Yet, seeing myself raised my hand again, I was still surprised, incredulous, and then felt a surge of relief, before saying, 'You should answer. How did you do it?' Reality is often cruel. I simply guessed, and you can imagine how many Arabic numerals there are; how could I know that seven was the correct answer, and I wrote it down on my notebook with an almost ghostly impulse. But the teacher didn't seem to believe it, and he said a somewhat awkward but polite remark, 'Little pool guessed correctly, truly amazing.'
However, some problems don't require the process, just the answer.
Once the teacher called on me, but this time I was wrong. I heard the voice behind me, a girl whispering the answer quietly and softly. The girl had a sweet voice and looked beautiful, with good grades too. Whenever she told me the answer, I thought she was really good, although she sometimes teased me. Later, we went to different middle schools and lost contact.
The turning point occurred in high school when I was chatting with my classmate, I discovered that he happened to know her and had her QQ, and we reconnected. Then... there was no then. Our life trajectories were destined to be different after graduation.
During high school, I didn't know why, I always managed to answer some hilarious answers when the teacher asked questions. This time there wasn't a good-looking girl sitting behind me; she sat in front of me, a petite girl. Perhaps it was my seemingly humorous personality that attracted her, and we would chat from time to time. Once, she even asked me to pick her up. I agreed, and she sat behind me on my bicycle, and we didn't say a word.
On graduation day, she wrote her name on my desk with a pencil, asking me to remember it. But the handwriting on the desk slowly faded.
During high school, there was a girl with a very fierce personality, but a kind and soft heart. Perhaps it was an attraction between opposite genders, or perhaps it was a nostalgic look back; that person was full of joy at the lamplight. I knew I liked her. But she was in a relationship, and I just wanted her to be happy, so many romantic things changed, turning into a furtive glance, and turning into picking up a hair from your desk and tucking it into a book when you were graduating.
Perhaps it was the stimulation of hormones, I still decided to confess my feelings to her when graduating, and wrote her a love letter. But she would never know who wrote the love letter to her...
Like is like is, liking is liking, liking needs to be said, even if there is no result, we are all strangers in each other's lives. As long as you are happy, it's worth it. Incidentally, because it was sent via email, and later she replied to me with a poem.
After graduating from high school, I saw her space and learned that she studied as a soldier in Jiujiang. And I was in Yizhong, separated by hundreds of kilometers. Coincidentally, in my third year of college, I met her at the subway station. She recognized me, you can imagine how much luck it takes to meet each other in such a vast crowd.
The moment we saw each other, I had a fleeting moment of joy, but everything was already over. After knowing that they were still together, I sincerely wished them happiness.
Until college graduation, as expected, I didn't meet her again.
Those things we didn't dare to chase girls, in the vast sea of people, I hope we can all not regret meeting.
