The school was more restless than usual. Bulletin boards had been updated. Students whispered in the hallways.
During literature class, the teacher's voice cut through the air with something unexpected:
— This year, our school will host a short story contest. The theme will be "New Beginnings."
Everyone reacted with excitement — except for Xiao Xing.
He pretended not to care, but something stirred inside him. The theme hit him hard. "New beginnings."
It felt like it had been chosen just for him.
The bell rang. He grabbed his lunchbox from his backpack and went up to the rooftop.
. . .
The rooftop was like a sanctuary for them. They were always there, side by side, like Buddhist statues.
The silence lingered, even though they were close.
— Are you going to enter?
Said Yang, who could no longer stand the silence.
— I don't know.
— But you started writing again.
— Writing and showing are two completely different things.
He said while finishing his rice ball.
He reached for the last rice ball, but before he could grab it, Nu Yang was faster.
— Hey! That one's mine.
Xiao Xing protested, unable to hold back a laugh.
— Only if you tell me why you're so afraid to join.
— I'm not afraid.
— Xiao Xing, I know you too well.
Yang thought of a way to make him talk. That's when...
— Tickling attack.
— Stop! Stop!
Xiao laughed like a child.
— Alright, I'll tell you.
He seemed reluctant to say it, even though he trusted Nu Yang. He was afraid of being judged.
He took a deep breath and said:
— It all started when I was in elementary school.
. . .
Back then, I used to take part in writing contests — I won them all.
Even though I was very young, I was seen as a prodigy, a rising star.
Until one day, in one of the contests I entered...
The auditorium was packed. I still remember the sound of pages being turned.
I was so nervous.
My heart was beating way too loud.
My opponent was Li Yuhan, a prodigious writer.
Li Yuhan wrote as if he could see into people's souls. He was cold, precise, and... cruel.
I knew I wasn't on the same level.
But when the results came in, I couldn't believe it.
I lost. I saw Li Yuhan with a blank expression. He congratulated me with a forced smile and walked away.
He seemed like he had lost his soul.
The next day, I saw it on the news — a prodigious writer had taken his own life.
I felt responsible for his death.
Since that day, writing became a burden I couldn't carry anymore.
So I stopped.
. . .
Xiao began to cry. The tears rolled down his delicate face and stained the fabric of his pants.
Nu Yang remained silent, set the rice ball aside, and hugged him.
Even though no words were said, something special was happening. Nu Yang understood Xiao's pain.
The bell rang.
— We need to go.
Said Nu Yang as he slowly pulled away from the hug.
Xiao wiped his tears with a small cloth he took from his pocket.
— You're right.
Yang stood up.
— Thank you, Yang.
He covered his eyes with his hands.
— Stop that. You're gonna make me cry too.
Xiao chuckled.
. . .
Classes were over. Nu Yang was standing in front of the school entrance, once again watching his sister walk home with some friends. So now, all that was left was waiting for Xiao.
And there he came.
Walking calmly, though his eyes were still a little red. Nu Yang noticed — of course he noticed — but didn't say anything.
He just nodded, as if to say "I'm here" without needing words.
— Thanks for waiting for me.
Said Xiao Xing, adjusting the strap of his backpack on his shoulder.
— I always wait.
Answered Nu Yang, with a half-smile.
They walked down the street in silence. The afternoon sun filtered through the trees, casting moving shadows on the ground.
— Nu Yang...
— Hm?
— Do you think it's possible to start over, even when we feel like we ruined everything?
Yang glanced sideways. Xiao Xing stared at the ground, as if every little pebble might offer an answer.
— I don't think so. I believe so.
Answered Nu Yang, voice firm yet gentle.
— New beginnings aren't magical. They hurt. But even so… they're possible.
Xiao Xing nodded slowly. The wind blew, ruffling his hair a little. Nu Yang had the urge to fix it with his hand, but held back.
— So… maybe I'll join the contest.
— Maybe?
— Yeah. Maybe.
Nu Yang laughed.
— If you do, you better be ready. Because I'm joining too. And I'm not going easy on you.
Xiao Xing stopped for a second, surprised.
— You're going to write too?
— I am.
— But you never…
— Some things change.
Said Yang.
— Maybe I was just waiting for the right reason.
Xiao Xing bit his lip, trying not to smile.
The sound of their footsteps echoed along the sidewalk, mixing with the distant singing of birds and the soft hum of the city at dusk.
And in that moment, without another word spoken, something quiet bloomed between them.
Something new.Something that only grows after pain is heard.
After someone stays.
. . .
Xiao was back in his room. He sat at his desk, picked up a piece of paper and a pen.
He thought and thought, but nothing came to mind.
He placed the pen on the desk and started staring at the ceiling — white and empty, just like his ideas.
— What should I write?
He said to himself.
Who would've thought that so much time without writing would hit him this hard? He even laughed at the thought.
He scratched his head — still nothing. No ideas, as if they were hiding deep in his subconscious.
With nothing else to do, he got up and began to tidy the room.
Until he found something under the bed — a box.
A box that held all of his childhood.
He didn't remember leaving it there. It had been a while since he cleaned that room.
Still, it wasn't dirty — every weekend, a maid came to clean.
She was the only other person to step foot in that house besides him.
He opened the lid and saw a few folders. Some had baby pictures — he could clearly see how much his parents had changed. They used to be so affectionate.
Then he found a folder with lots of little bear stickers on the cover.
It held many of the stories he had written for contests.
— I was really good.
Something caught his eye — the last page.
It wasn't a story, but more like a diary entry.
He picked it up, walked to the desk, sat down and began to read.
"Dear diary,
Today I won another contest. The teacher said my story made some adults cry. I don't understand why. I just wrote what I felt when I looked at the sky after the rain.
Dad called me a 'little genius'. Mom hugged me so tight it hurt. I like when they do that.
But sometimes, I get scared.
What if one day I can't write anymore?
What if my words run out?"
Xiao Xing fell silent, staring at the shaky, round handwriting — written by much smaller hands.
It was like reading a letter from an old version of himself — more innocent, more full of dreams, yet already carrying the seed of an anxiety he didn't fully understand.
He slowly ran his fingers over the page, as if he could comfort that little Xiao Xing through touch.
He sighed.
— So you've feared this all along, huh?
His chest tightened. It hadn't been just Li Yuhan's death that blocked him.
The fear was already there.Just waiting for a reason to grow.
Xiao Xing closed his eyes for a moment, feeling his throat burn.
But something was different now.
This time, he wasn't alone with his fear.
Nu Yang had listened.He had stayed.
And now, in that room lit only by the desk lamp, something inside him grew calm — like the surface of a lake after a storm.
Still holding the diary page in hand, he pulled out a fresh sheet and positioned his pen.
— Theme: New Beginnings.
He wrote at the top of the page.
And then, slowly but surely, he began to write.