To me, youth is like colorful candy wrappers—vivid, dreamy, and the sweet taste seems to linger on my tongue, but it has already lost its value and meaning. Back then, my mind wasn't sharp, and I was preoccupied with things that now seem utterly nonsensical.
Every day at school, the first thing I had to check was whether Emily from the next class was absent. I thought she was the prettiest girl in our grade, so I had to confirm if she was there. If she wasn’t absent, I would pace in front of their classroom during every break. Although she was beautiful, I never praised her to my friends, not even in the most subtle way. My friends were, of course, those few who were most important to me.
I think the reason we became friends was that they must have seen through my unrefined, raw soul without me even realizing it. To this day, there are very few who understand my situation without needing words. Lying is as natural to me as breathing. It’s not that I enjoy deceiving others; it’s just that I can't survive without it. Moreover, my lies often have very reasonable justifications—“white lies” that even the gods would forgive.
Hiding the most ordinary details of my life and muddling others’ perceptions of me have become my most refined skills learned in the process of growing up. I’ve never opened my mind for others to see what embarrassing things are inside. And my friends have never pointed out what nonsense fills my head. But when did they see through me?
In the chilling realization that my boundaries have been violated, I find their long-standing gentle silence particularly precious. It turns out someone would choose to stay by my side without reason or gain, even after seeing through me, and never criticize my peculiar thoughts or the things I couldn’t bring to light.
I’ve always known they were important. Much of my free time from my teenage years to my thirties has been filled with them. They are so important that I didn’t even notice they never had any expectations of me, never relied on me when they were vulnerable. Because they saw through me, they saw that I never truly focused my attention on them.
Even so, they were still willing to accompany me during the tired and sleepy ten minutes between two classes, as I wobbled back and forth at the door of the next class to spy on my “enemies.” I’m not sure if they knew I was watching Emily or if they thought I was just going to see my beloved boyfriend Jake. He was great at telling jokes and making people happy, always chatting and laughing with the girls. He wasn’t the type I would like now, but he captured my heart back then.
Others might be excused, but I couldn’t tolerate Emily. So I had to keep watch at the door; as soon as the two of them started talking, I planned to rush in and cause a scene. I sincerely hoped my clever boyfriend would understand and not push me to the point of embarrassment. After all, such a scene would not match my elegant demeanor, and nobody would come out looking good—after all, a couple shares their reputation.
At that time, I had read too few books and believed that the main pairing was destined to be together. I couldn’t understand the purpose of the second male and second female leads in TV dramas. It felt like an unnecessary intrusion for others to get involved—if I were to put it more bluntly, it was damned annoying. My boyfriend and I liked each other mutually, and we had already boldly declared it to everyone; the whole town knew.
So why were there still people provoking my nerves?
Besides Emily, no one could be compared to me based solely on appearance. I couldn’t say that to my friends, of course, as it would be detrimental to harmony. Though I didn’t say it, I felt they had already understood my little thoughts. It was nice to be seen without explanation, but people don’t always need to be deeply understood. If my emotional intelligence could help me waste less effort, it would make things easier for everyone.
Emily was quite special. I had never caught her and Jake in any suspicious situation; I just felt an irrational sense of danger from her. If you think about it, she was quite innocent, bearing the brunt of my baseless hostility. But was I not guilty? I loved my perfect boyfriend, and possessiveness and control were my favorite expressions of love. Was my love wrong? Moreover, I considered myself a pretty gentle person; aside from the unfriendly side-eye and a heavy huff whenever I encountered her, I hadn’t caused her any real harm.
This soft but firm hostility didn’t have the intended effect at all. It turned out I was blind to true dangers, having been deceived by my own thunderous tactics.
On an ordinary day, my friends pulled me out for a walk before evening study. The wind carried a slight chill that day. We didn’t often take walks, but that evening the sunset was so beautiful it was hard to ignore, and the breeze was refreshing. I clearly remember a large patch of purple clouds on the horizon, with strands of pink light shimmering within. The sunset passed in an instant; the more beautiful it was, the more it made one sigh in regret for not being able to capture it.
On such an evening, nothing should disrupt the atmosphere. I was the one to ruin it. In a split second, I lost control of my body.
I screamed loudly, my throat felt like it was sliced by sharp thorns, producing a sound that didn’t belong to me. I could feel blood rushing from my spine to the top of my brain. My arms flailed wildly, my vision blurred as I swung with all my might at a face. Even through my hazy sight, I could recognize that face. I was terrified; there was no other option but to fight back with all I had.
Jake had transformed.
Had he not transformed, I wouldn’t have been so scared by even the most serious of situations. He was too important to me—much more so than all my friends combined.
I was certain he was not the same as before; I immediately concluded that someone had replaced him. Who would do such a thing? I didn’t care who it was, whether human or ghost. I just knew I had to defend Jake’s claim to that tall, handsome body.
I gathered my strength and jumped, aiming straight at the handsome face that was twenty centimeters taller than me, throwing an unpracticed left hook and two swinging slaps. It flowed effortlessly and naturally.
Jake was mine; that face belonged to my boyfriend, and my attack was entirely justified. I put all my strength into it, equivalent to a character in an anime pouring everything into a final battle against a formidable boss. Unfortunately, after using all my might, my energy was depleted, and I had no way to rescue my missing boyfriend.
In a daze, I saw a familiar face beside a girl filled with panic and confusion, like a little rabbit. She was just grazing in a daydream, having accidentally wandered too far into the woods, witnessing the savage slaughter of a beast.
Next to her was a familiar face, with a pair of vacant eyes. The dazed beast. I doubted myself.
Below his eyes, his lips parted slightly, as if relieved, forming a strange curve. My math grades were excellent; there was no curve in a test I couldn’t solve. Yet that curve etched itself into my brain and heart.
That curve easily erased all the foolish standards I had held dear. He was a sharp scythe, and my feelings were like a strand of straw.
In the years that followed, all the functions I learned in school would prove useless. The only thing that mattered was this scythe that cut through my soul with its shock.
He used a scythe to cut my spirit, and I screamed in desperate retaliation. You shameless people! How dare you! Who are you? Do you know he has a girlfriend?
If the situation had been put online as a fill-in-the-blank question, a hundred netizens could have suggested ways to handle it. But I was too foolish. I couldn’t think of a second option. I swung my arms, hitting the face of my beloved. I yelled at the little rabbit.
The gym teacher should come see—this girl, who had failed all her sports tests, was actually throwing such powerful slaps and shouting with a loud voice. I could even take up track and field. He used to shake his head and say I had no athletic talent, but he was too quick to judge.
My friends were indeed my friends. After my flurry of yelling and hitting, when my vision began to blur, she hugged me tightly. Only she noticed that I was running out of strength and was about to fall.
The purple sunset dimmed slightly, becoming even more magical. It made Jake’s already rosy lips appear particularly enchanting. Later, whenever someone remarked that my lips looked kissable, I would think of his lips from that day.
In the chaos of people gathering and shouting around us, I saw those full, rosy lips gently part, just like they did when he kissed me, almost uncontrollably.
I saw him say, “Why do you look like a ruffian?”
In the blink of an eye, things became a bit clearer. I panickedly glanced at his fingers.
I loved his fingers—long and fair, with clean nails. Not only his fingers, I loved everything about him—my perfect boyfriend. But this time, he was holding a pair of beautiful hands that didn’t belong to me.
Their hands looked so lovely together, as if her presence made him even more perfect.
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