Ever since that day, the two of them had tacitly begun avoiding each other on campus.
They stopped greeting each other when they crossed paths. For class committee matters, they’d go out of their way to ask others to relay messages rather than deal with each other directly. From being inseparable shadows, they had turned into strangers going their separate ways.
Whenever their eyes met by chance now, there was no longer any lingering ambiguity or unspoken understanding—just awkward complexity, quickly averted.
The strange tension between them was soon noticed by the other classmates.
Those seated around Nan Qi felt it the most acutely.
They discovered that the cold, unapproachable, world-weary aura around Nan Qi had grown even stronger…
A chilling intent radiated from her, enough to freeze the air within a meter, as if it could shatter the mortal realm.
Every day, they trembled in her presence, afraid to make noise or say the wrong word, lest they get caught in the icy waves emanating from her.
They could only huddle together after class, whispering guesses about what irreconcilable conflict had arisen between Nan Qi and the Arts Committee Member to make things so stiff.
If they didn’t know Nan Qi was utterly devoted to her studies with no room for romance, they might have thought she had just gone through a breakup.
But no matter how much they pondered, they couldn’t come up with a solid explanation. They could only vaguely speculate that the two had fallen out completely…
What a pity.
In a way, Bo Ranying was like the catalyst for the Class President. It was only after encountering Bo Ranying that Nan Qi, that icy mountain lotus, had been willing to melt into something more human, infused with warmth.
They had all basked in that spring breeze by extension.
·
Parting always came with reluctance, especially since their friendship had been so close before. Unless someone had crossed a boundary and the other had misinterpreted it as a romantic signal, sparking unexpected feelings, things never would have reached this point.
For the next couple of weeks, Bo Ranying’s mood remained a tangled mess.
She kept replaying the scene of Nan Qi’s confession that day, every detail crystal clear. She also recalled all the moments from when she had seen Nan Qi as her closest friend, each one vivid in her mind.
Only then did she realize that while she had been oblivious, Nan Qi had been carrying the heavy weight of her feelings alone, silently loving her.
Nan Qi’s emotions were too sincere, too intense…
Bo Ranying didn’t dare respond lightly.
Yet she couldn’t bear the thought of cutting Nan Qi off completely. She always remembered how happy she had been in Nan Qi’s company, only to feel a profound sense of loss afterward, realizing she might no longer be Nan Qi’s special one.
Her mind was filled with it every day, leaving her distracted during dance practice. The teacher scolded her repeatedly in frustration.
Trembling, she typed questions into search engines, social sites, and knowledge bases, seeking to understand that unfamiliar world.
[My friend suddenly confessed to me. What do I do? I’m a girl, and she’s a girl too. Online, urgent!]
[Can girls date girls?]
[Why would a girl like another girl?]
[Is this kind of behavior normal…?]
[Should I agree to date my friend just to preserve our friendship?]
[Has anyone here been confessed to by someone of the same sex? How did you handle it?]
Bo Ranying searched endlessly and stumbled into a forum for lesbian friendships, where people posted about exploring their sexual orientation and sharing love stories.
The forum explained that people like them had a specific term: LGBT.
They often used rainbows as a subtle symbol, so anyone with a rainbow tag had a 70% chance of being part of a sexual minority.
Through the wondrous internet, she encountered a wealth of knowledge.
For instance, people had many sexual orientations.
Life wasn’t limited to heterosexuality.
The world also held gay men, lesbians, fourth love, bisexuals, demisexuals, and more.
Some said orientation was innate; others believed it was fluid, changing across life stages—a person might like boys one year and girls the next.
The answers to her questions were all over the map.
Some accepted a same-sex friend’s confession, dated for years, won their parents’ blessings, married abroad, and were still together after twenty or thirty years.
Others accepted but broke up soon after for various reasons, losing the friendship too.
Those who rejected same-sex confessions often cut ties to avoid awkwardness—or the confessor did, to escape painful daily reminders.
Bo Ranying thought it over carefully and realized that no matter the choice, she stood to lose Nan Qi as a friend. The thought filled her with reluctance…
These days, every time she danced and her skirt flared, glancing at the audience below, that familiar figure was gone. A wordless sadness welled up inside her, like a knife had carved out a piece of her heart, leaving it hollow—
Even her dance classmates asked, “Where’s that pretty friend of yours lately?”
“She has something going on,” Bo Ranying replied, hiding the loneliness in her eyes.
“Oh.”
“You should tell her ahead of time to make space in her schedule. Our upcoming performance is going to be amazing, especially your part—it’s the highlight. She’d regret missing it live!!”
“Mm-hmm.”
She’d mention it if she got the chance.
Their performance was still a month away.
Bo Ranying held little hope. With how things stood between her and Nan Qi, they might truly become strangers. What future was there?
She couldn’t convince herself to date Nan Qi just to save the friendship—that would hurt Nan Qi more in the end. Better to let it end here… that way, they’d remain beautiful memories for each other.
Life went on unchanged after that, the only difference being the absence of that person by her side.
Yet she couldn’t help wondering: if Nan Qi truly liked her that much, wouldn’t she come looking eventually?
The devastated, heartbroken look on Nan Qi’s face when she’d rejected her played on repeat in her mind like a slideshow.
Then, the day of the dance performance arrived.
Bo Ranying changed into her costume and took the stage. Just like in countless rehearsals, she danced gracefully, twirling and spinning to a perfect close amid thunderous applause from the crowd.
She bowed in thanks, her gaze sweeping over the excited, enthusiastic faces below—until it landed on one that was familiar yet strangely distant.
Bo Ranying froze. Then immense joy surged in her heart, mingled with a quiet thrill of vindication.
Nan Qi had come!
She had chosen to watch her performance after all!!
Her focus shattered, Bo Ranying dazedly followed the others offstage to the dressing room. Ignoring their teasing winks, she hurried down the corridor toward the audience seats with urgent, uneven steps. Just at the exit, someone pulled her into an embrace.
The girl buried her face in Bo Ranying’s neck, her voice muffled and choked with sobs.
“Ranran… I missed you so much. I held back for so long, trying not to come find you, but I couldn’t anymore.”
“I thought about staying away from you from now on, but I just can’t…”
“Ranran, you’re so cruel. You really ignored me for this long.”
Feeling that familiar scent at her nose and the soft embrace before her, Bo Ranying savored the long-lost contentment. She let out a breath of relief. After waiting so long without reaching out first, she’d finally gotten the outcome she hoped for. The wait had been worth it.
Her own eyes welled up a little. She wrapped her arms around Nan Qi’s waist, her throat tight as she said, “Little Qi, how come you came to my performance?”
“Waaah, of course I had to. I want to always be Ranran’s audience.”
“You didn’t tell me, but I still have my informants,” Nan Qi said proudly, referring to the others in the dance troupe who had tipped her off.
“Pfft.” Bo Ranying burst out laughing unexpectedly, her pent-up tears spilling out with her smile.
“The Class President sure knows her stuff.”
“Ranran, I don’t want you to be my girlfriend anymore. Can we just go back to being friends, like before?”
“Okay.”
Bo Ranying hugged Nan Qi tightly.
It was exactly what she wanted.
She couldn’t accept Nan Qi vanishing from her world.
