I’ve grown used to living alone.
I started liking her in my second year of high school, and now it’s been four or five years. After graduation, I never saw her again—until that day when I ran into her after so long. I realized that I still loved her deeply. Even now, she remains the only one I love, irreplaceable in my heart.
From the day I met her, her smile became deeply engraved in my memory. High school studies were intense, and I never dared to say the words I had been holding in for so long. When the college entrance exams ended, we had a gathering. I drank quite a bit that day, and finally, under the influence of alcohol, I “bravely” confessed my feelings. As expected, she turned me down. Later, I found out she already had a boyfriend—our class’s chemistry representative, just like me. I was heartbroken. That summer, I felt helpless and drowned myself in alcohol and distractions. Every night, she appeared in my dreams—I was intoxicated by her presence.
I thought I could forget her, but I couldn’t. She was studying medicine in Nanchong. One day, I somehow got her contact information and called her. That familiar voice, that sweet laugh—they hadn’t changed at all. We talked for a long time, and it was such a joy.
After that, we stayed in touch frequently. I even added her number to my “family contacts.” Every conversation filled me with happiness—I always wished those calls could last forever.
After a long time, I finally gathered my courage to confess once more. Some things, you either do now or never get the chance again. Even if I were rejected again, I wanted no regrets. As expected, I failed once more. But this time, I felt calm—no longer devastated like before. Maybe I had grown more mature, more aware of what could be and what could never be.
One day, she came to my house to hang out. We played mahjong together. She sat to my left. Sometimes my hand brushed hers accidentally, and warmth rippled through my heart. I stole glances at her—her soft hair, a few strands covering her eyes, her cheeks flushed red under the sunlight. She looked so beautiful.
Now, we’re still in touch. Every message or call still makes me incredibly happy. How I wish she were my other half. But in reality, we’re just good friends. Inside, I’m torn—on one side, I still love her; on the other, she doesn’t accept me. In the stillness of night, when I revisit those deeply buried memories, waves of emotion surge in my heart. We understand each other, yet we are destined not to love. What pain that is. If only—if only it were possible—how wonderful it would be. But everything that begins with “if” becomes unreal in the end.
I am the kind of person who is steadfast and devoted in love—once I’ve chosen, it’s forever.
Everyone carries a few scars they dare not mention. When that wound is reopened, it hurts so deeply. I don’t want to think about it, yet in the dark of night, when the world is quiet, I can’t help but think of her. How many sleepless nights have I tossed and turned, entranced by thoughts of her? The familiar song “Fireworks Easily Cold” plays in my ears, and I search within its lyrics for traces of our story. Beyond fate that endures even life and death, what kind of wound is the “Jiangnan rain”? What loneliness hides within Luoyang City, within the Qianan Temple? All the ties of fate built over lifetimes leave behind tears after the rain—yet all I can truly do is long for eternity.
If, in the next life, I meet you again, I will still, without hesitation, say to you with all my heart: I love you.
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