Xiao Xing woke up earlier than usual. He was feeling motivated, so he turned on his laptop and...
. . .
. . .
Nothing . . .
His mind was blank. He tried writing on paper—still, nothing came.
He pulled one of his books from the shelf and started to read. He had time to spare.
He sat on the bed, flipping through the pages with a certain unfamiliarity. He had spent so much time immersed in movies that he'd forgotten about them.
He read slowly. Not because it was easy to absorb, but because he forced himself to stay there. Page after page, like someone trying to remember something important they had never lived.
At the end of each chapter, he looked at the ceiling.
"Why did I want to write so badly?"
"What kept me going?"
"Was my mind really this foolish?"
These thoughts echoed with every paragraph he read.
The contest deadline was approaching. He knew. He had seen the reminder on his phone earlier: "Final deadline: 5 days."
He closed his eyes for a moment.
The last time he'd truly managed to write something, Nu Yang had been nearby.
It was strange.
It wasn't like Nu Yang said a lot, but... there was something in the way he looked at him. A steady presence. A silence that allowed Xiao Xing to breathe better.
He remembered a simple moment — the two of them leaving school, sharing an umbrella far too small. It was silly... but for some reason, on that day, Xiao Xing had written two full pages without stopping.
It was like the memory was still tucked away somewhere in the house. Maybe between the books, or in the scent of the notebook he carried.
He sat down again in front of the laptop. Rested his hands on the keyboard.
Nothing.
He sighed. Ran his fingers through his hair.
He went to the kitchen. Made some tea, even though he wasn't in the mood. There was something comforting in the ritual — boiling the water, choosing the leaves, waiting for the aroma to rise. He returned with the warm mug in his hands.
Set it next to the laptop. The steam vanished into the air like time unraveling the hours.
Xiao Xing watched the steam fade, as if waiting for an answer to appear there — drawn in the air, in the invisible curves of the heat.
He held the mug in his hands, feeling the warmth spread through his fingers.
Slowly, he brought it to his lips.
The taste was mild, almost bland. But it was enough. Enough to keep sitting there, breathing, waiting for something to happen inside him.
He looked again at the blank screen.
Without thinking, he opened the folder where he kept old photos. Most were random moments captured on his phone. Silly things. But they were there.
One photo in particular made him stop.
It was a poorly taken picture of a park bench. The sky was cloudy, and in the corner, slightly cut off, was Nu Yang's face — with that expression of his, somewhere between serious and distracted.
Xiao Xing smiled without realizing it.
He thought about sending a message but remembered he didn't have Nu Yang's number.
He closed the gallery.
Stared at the black screen's reflection. It was still him there, wrapped in a silence that never fully went away.
He grabbed the notebook. He hadn't used it in a while. The first pages were filled with attempts — broken sentences, forgotten ideas, scratched-out words.
On the second-to-last page, he found something he didn't even remember writing.
"You don't have to say anything. Just stay here. Stay close. Sometimes, that's enough."
It felt like he had written it for Nu Yang. Or for himself, on one of those days when everything felt absent.
The sun started to touch the window, casting a soft glow through the thin curtains, tracing the floor with light.
Xiao Xing closed the notebook gently.
Returned to the keyboard. Let his fingers rest on the keys, but didn't type.
He just sat there.
This time, with no rush.
A soft sound from outside distracted him. Just the wind passing through the tree branches in front of the building. The leaves danced, as if trying to speak to him — without urgency. Just moving, reminding him that the world didn't stop, even when he felt stuck.
Xiao Xing stood up.
Ran his fingers along the books he had left open, closed them with care, and stacked them back on the shelf. The time he'd spent reading hadn't brought a new story, but it gave him something even more important: silence.
And inside the silence, a spark.
Not a clear idea, nor a plan.
Just a will.
He grabbed his phone, opened his contacts, and paused. Nu Yang's name still wasn't there. He sighed — but not with sadness. This time, it was a strange feeling... like standing at the edge of a new paragraph.
Even without a message, a number, or a reply, Xiao Xing returned to the laptop, opened a new document, and wrote:
"That morning, he woke up early, not knowing why. Maybe deep down, a story was asking to be born — even if it had no name, no face, no beginning."
He stopped.
Smiled softly.
And saved the file as:"Draft 01 – Beginning of something."
Before closing the laptop, Xiao Xing stared at the screen for a moment longer.
He wondered if Nu Yang was awake too, if he had dreamed something that night.
His name seemed to echo in the margins of everything Xiao Xing tried to write.
He closed his eyes and remembered how Nu Yang looked at him — silently, as if he could see something that even Xiao Xing didn't yet understand.
He remembered when, on some random afternoon, they sat near the school court, in silence, listening to the distant sound of other students. He remembered their hands — almost touching, but never quite enough.
That afternoon, he went home and wrote about two characters who never touched but felt the weight of the universe between them.
Maybe he was returning to that place.
Maybe his writing had always started there — in the silences Nu Yang left behind.
— Author's Note:This chapter was quieter. Maybe you felt like nothing really happened — but, in truth, a lot moved inside Xiao Xing.Sometimes, writing isn't about having ideas, but about remembering why we began.I hope you felt that light weight and that soft longing Xiao carries.Sometimes, all we need is a small umbrella shared with someone for the words to return.— Lu Kawang