Roce del tiempo

Chapter 1

The author has something to say: Regarding the concept of this story, some people said that my work is similar to another story. I took a look and I can't deny that there are similarities. However, unrequited love is always the same (silently watching, asking for QQ numbers, writing letters, etc.). So I tried to focus the plot on the period after the encounter. The earlier parts of the story don't have much emphasis on it. I think this has nothing to do with plagiarism. Rather, it's because in this vast world, among all the gods, very few people have a truly unique childhood or adolescence.

Actually, this story was inspired by a trip I took back to my alma mater during summer vacation. I had secretly noticed a very handsome and outstanding boy in the next class before, but I only knew about him from friends. I remember he often listened to music alone, always by himself. Even though I had his phone, I never texted him. Later, I went to study in the south, and then my family moved there. I only saw him crossing the street alone once during a winter break when I went back to my hometown. We just brushed past each other. At that time, I thought I should write a book about unrequited love turning into reality, to fulfill my dream. So the book is called "Time Brushes," meaning that in those years, we brushed past time. It was a damp early winter morning. The school's white teaching building seemed to melt into a white mist, with only the fluorescent lights in the transparent or green glass windows casting a soft, clear light through the glass, creating multiple shadows.

The sudden fog caused many people to be late, and the head of the teaching department on duty couldn't get angry. He just kept repeating, "Hurry up, and when you get to the classroom, don't waste time talking, start your morning reading."

Song Jianan pushed her bicycle into the garage with the rest of the group, found a convenient spot to retrieve her bike at midday, locked it, took out her backpack, and was about to leave when she noticed a tall, thin boy standing in the front parking space. His back view was quite handsome, his posture upright, and his blue and white tracksuit looked good on him. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal a shiny watch on his wrist. He was struggling to make room for his bike, his movements a little clumsy and somewhat comical. Song Jianan couldn't help but glance at his back again before walking away.

On a morning just like any other, after an exhausting morning reading session, everyone rushed downstairs to get hot water, crowding the water cart. The teacher of the first class walked in, waving his hand dismissively, "Quickly open the windows to let in some fresh air. Those who want to sleep, don't sleep anymore, wake up and get up and move around!"

A gust of cold wind rushed to the back of Song Jianan's head, and she shivered twice. She struggled to get up from the table, and the class bell rang. The old teacher slowly wrote "Ode to the Epang Palace" on the blackboard. She looked at it for a while, then tore off a piece of paper and wrote a few words: "I'll go to the cafeteria with you at noon. My parents are away on a business trip." She handed it to the seat in the back row and said, "For Zhang Jingkang."

A short while later, the note was passed back. Besides the word "good," there was a smiley face drawn on it. She crumpled it up and casually tossed it into the desk. The teacher's monotonous voice came through, making her drowsy. Suddenly, she felt a warmth on the back of her hand. A small halo enveloped her arm, and the delicate light slowly spread outwards, growing longer and wider until it even reached her face, like the warm winter sun.

In a great mood, I put in my best effort to tackle the tedious lessons.

The bell rang for the last class, but it was quickly drowned out by the English teacher's voice, accompanied by the clatter of books being closed. "Class, don't move. I'll take a little longer to finish this section."

The classroom was in an uproar. Some students had already sat in their seats, looking impatiently at the clock at the back of the classroom. Someone deliberately flipped their books over, making a loud clattering sound. Small rulers and pencil cases fell to the ground simultaneously. Several boys sitting at the back of the classroom shouted, "get out of class is over! Other classes have already let out. There's no food left in the cafeteria, and we can't get our cars out."

The newly graduated teacher kept talking to herself. Song Jianan looked back and met Zhang Jingkang's resentful gaze. She laughed and mouthed, "Anyway, we can't get food now, let's go later."

Zhang Jingkang gestured exaggeratedly, "No, we'll rush out as soon as get out of class is over, by running."

The class next door finished early, and students were coming and going in the corridor, some looking at them with pity and others with schadenfreude. There were also pretty girls leaning against the wall, winking at a few handsome boys in the room. Before the English teacher finished saying "Let's call it a day," the classroom immediately erupted in chaos, and in less than a minute, most of the students had left.

Zhang Jingkang shouted at the classroom door, "Song Jianan, hurry up, you're too slow, or there won't be any ribs left."

Song Jianan was on the verge of tears, and almost pleaded with her deskmate, "Big sister, just stand there and let me pass. I'm going to rush to the cafeteria today. Sigh, didn't you see I've already clutched my meal card in my hand?"

They ran into the cafeteria, where students were scattered around the tables eating. Long queues stretched out in front of the windows, and people were constantly passing by with tempting ribs and chicken legs. Zhang Jingkang kept complaining, "Is that English teacher crazy? Why does she always go over time? I've never seen her class run overtime!"

Song Jianan didn't care and kept leaning out to see how many dishes had been taken. But when she leaned out again, a familiar figure flashed before her eyes. It was still a slender shoulder, with the sports uniform casually draped over the shoulders and the sleeves of the white shirt underneath rolled up high, as if it had just finished a physical education class.

He bent down, announced the names of the dishes, stood to one side of the line, and let the next person step forward. Then he took out his meal card from his pocket and slid it across the card reader like a dragonfly skimming the water. Song Jianan watched him turn around with the plate in his hand. In the chaotic cafeteria, she could actually hear her own heartbeat, difficult yet rapid. For a moment, she couldn't look away.

What an indifferent face it was, pale to the point of being almost transparent, with narrow eyes staring blankly ahead, stray hairs falling across his forehead, intentionally or unintentionally obscuring his vision, and the curve of his lips deep and cold, gloomy and arrogant.

Such a boy can undoubtedly be considered a cool and refined youth. At the age of sixteen or seventeen, he is as quiet as a night-blooming jasmine. His clear and clean temperament makes it impossible for anyone to see what kind of soul he possesses.

He walked without looking up, perhaps out of habit, and brushed past the crowd, disappearing from Song Jianan's sight in just five seconds.

Strangely, not many people noticed him.

Song Jianan was not paying attention to her meal because the boy was sitting at a table not far from her, facing her directly. She could see by glancing sideways that he was using his left hand to hold chopsticks and was eating very quickly, but with very elegant manners.

After finishing his meal, he stood up, took the plate to the restroom, took out his earphones from his pocket, put them in his ears, and went out through the side door, still with his head slightly lowered and expressionless.

She finally couldn't help but ask, "Zhang Jingkang, who is that boy over there?"

With a piece of pork rib stuffed in his mouth, Zhang Jingkang turned his head with difficulty and then mumbled, "Su Li."

Song Jianan put down her chopsticks and tried hard to recall the name. She knew the name wasn't unfamiliar to her, but she couldn't remember it for a moment. Zhang Jingkang turned his head and looked again and again. "The class monitor of the next class, the one from Class 8."

She gave a soft "oh" and finally remembered all the rumors about him. He came from the Experimental Middle School, ranking among the top in the city. It seemed that he had been commended at the opening ceremony. It was only natural that he would enter the best science-focused high school.

Rumor has it that he comes from a wealthy family; his father is the mayor of a city, his mother is the director of the city's education bureau, and his older sister, Su Jin, is a well-known entertainment channel host throughout the province.

Seeing her blank expression, Zhang Jingkang tapped her hand with his chopsticks in annoyance, "Hey, Song Jianan, snap out of it! You don't even recognize Su Li? I'm speechless!"

Song Jianan shook her head. "I really don't know. I haven't seen him since the start of the semester."

Zhang Jingkang chuckled, "You have no idea how many girls in our class walk down the left staircase every day just to catch a glimpse of him. But it's strange, he's not a sociable person, yet he's quite popular. Otherwise, he wouldn't be the class monitor of Class 8."

"Then quite a few girls must like him, right?"

"Probably. I don't know about the junior high students, but there were a few in high school, though it's all just rumors. I've also heard that some people confessed to him, but nothing came of it." Zhang Jingkang pouted and said casually, "I'm curious to know what kind of girl someone likes."

Song Jianan smiled and said, "Maybe she's a girl who excels in her studies and is also very pretty."

"Of course! What guy wouldn't like that kind of girl!"

When Song Jianan returned from the office, most of the first-year group activities were already over, and only a handful of students remained in each class. She walked around the long corridor, then crossed the sky bridge on the fourth floor, preparing to return to her class.

Winter afternoons are pitifully short. The dim sunlight shines on the smooth marble, casting her shadow. She slowly approaches. Several people are walking around in the classroom. Class 10 on the right is doing a big cleaning, while on the railing of Class 8 on the left, someone is leaning on it with their head slightly turned to one side. As she gets closer, she sees that it is Su Li.

His hand rested casually on the railing, his gaze fixed on the sky, seemingly focused yet as if he saw nothing at all. His bangs hung neatly beside his ears, and he still had earphones in. She followed his gaze and saw large, t

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