serect

The afternoon sun slanted across the corridor floor tiles, casting very long shadows across the entire classroom.

Saito Asuka squatted at the corner of the stairs, burying her face in her knees.

The whistle for physical education class came from afar on the playground, one whistle after another, like some kind of code she couldn't understand.

"Asuka, you go to the third group."

"Sorry, our group is already full..."

"Why don't you ask someone else?"

She looked up; the corridor was empty, with only the wind blowing in from the window at the other end, ruffling the stray hairs on her forehead.

The PE teacher was blowing his whistle by the basketball court. He glanced over in this direction from afar, then turned away.

Feiniao stood up, dusted off his pants, and picked up the basketball he had just borrowed.

She didn't know where she was going; her feet were simply leading her forward.

Passing by the third-grade classroom, past the display wall showcasing outstanding calligraphy works, past the water dispenser—where there was a puddle of water, glistening in the sunlight, spilled by who knows who—

The second floor.

Third floor.

The sound of her footsteps was particularly clear in the quiet hallway, and she subconsciously softened her steps, like a shadow that didn't want to be discovered.

As she turned the corner, she heard something.

It was the sound of a piano.

It wasn't a loud, clear playing style, but rather a gentle one, as if afraid of disturbing something.

Several notes strung together, falling carefully, like the last snow of spring, melting in the palm of your hand before you can even see it clearly.

The bird stopped.

She had never learned to play the piano, but she could tell that the music coming from the practice room was beautiful. The first few notes were played cautiously, but as the player became more familiar with the piano, the music gradually became faster and faster.

Her steps seemed to be pulled back by something, and she involuntarily walked towards the source of the sound.

The music classroom door wasn't completely closed, leaving a narrow crack through which afternoon light leaked out, drawing a golden line on the floor.

She walked to the door, hesitated for a moment, and then slowly peeked out.

There was only one person in the classroom.

He sat in front of the old upright piano, his back straight but not stiff, like a growing bamboo.

Sunlight streamed in through the window, falling on his shoulders and then sliding down his arms onto the black and white piano keys.

His fingers pressed down very lightly and slowly, waiting for each note to completely dissipate before moving on to the next, yet the music was not at all sluggish, and one could even hear a hint of melancholy in it.

The bird did not recognize him.

They're not from their class; maybe they're from the class next door, or maybe they're from another grade.

But that doesn't matter.

What matters are those voices.

The gentle monotone melody flows slowly, the rhythm is soothing and steady, the touch is light, and the notes are connected and rounded without strong fluctuations, like whispering secrets, quiet and pure.

The middle section of the melody rises slightly, with a brighter tone, carrying the sweet and innocent feelings of a young boy, while also hiding a trace of subtle sadness, a gentle yet fragile melody.

They flowed like a quiet stream from the piano, across the wooden floor, past the toes of birds, and all the way to a stuffy spot in her chest.

It seems that place has been blocked by something for a long time, and now those musical notes are gradually softening and dissolving it.

She didn't know how long she had been standing there, or even when she had lost the basketball.

Until the basketball slipped from her hands and slammed against the doorframe with a thud—

The music stopped.

The boy looked up and gazed towards the doorway, a hint of panic on his face.

The bird saw his eyes—not large, but very dark and bright, like two pebbles washed clean, quietly embedded in the afternoon light.

Her face is round with chubby cheeks and soft lines; her thick eyebrows give her a cool, quiet, and introverted look.

He had a small, straight nose and thin lips; he was the kind of handsome, well-behaved, yet slightly stubborn little boy.

He saw her.

What kind of girl is she?

Her slightly flustered, droopy doe eyes were clear and innocent, with bright pupils, which were the most captivating feature of her face.

Her nose is delicate and small, with a round and soft tip. Her small lips and slightly downturned corners give her a cool and aloof, fragile and detached look when she is not smiling. When she smiles, her full eye bags rise up, making her look sweet and lively.

Her features are delicate and compact, with a high degree of facial folds. Combined with her slender and thin figure, her black hair and black eyes make her skin appear even whiter.

The overall look is a blend of coolness and youthfulness, like a delicate girl who stepped out of a comic book, both cool and sweet.

Her face is so small, so tiny, it feels like one hand could cover it.

The panic on her face was slowly masked by calm. The boy remained silent, simply watching her quietly, as if waiting for her to speak.

Feiniao's mind went blank, and his face flushed instantly.

She wanted to say sorry, to say it sounded nice, to say something—but her mouth opened and closed, and no sound came out.

Then she turned and ran.

She clutched the basketball tightly in her hands, her footsteps echoing through the corridor. She ran past the water dispenser, past the display wall, past the third-grade classroom, and only stopped at the stairwell, bending over and panting heavily.

My heart is beating very fast.

It wasn't because I was running too fast.

She slowly straightened up and glanced back at the empty corridor. There was no sound at all, only the wind blowing her hair across her face.

The bird leaned against the wall and slowly crouched down.

She placed her hand on her chest, where her heart was still pounding, as if knocking on a door she had never opened before.

On the playground, the physical education teacher blew his whistle again.

One long note, one short note, one long note, one short note.

She closed her eyes.

The piano music still lingers in my ears, drop by drop, like a quiet afternoon rain.

--------

Feiniao crouched at the top of the stairs, burying her face in her knees. She closed her eyes, trying to pick up each note of the piano music and store it deep within her ears.

Footsteps.

It wasn't a whistle, nor the sound of wind, but real, ever-approaching footsteps. The bird jolted awake, and before she could even stand, a figure had already stopped two steps in front of her.

Sunlight streamed in from behind him, casting a thin layer of gold on his silhouette. She couldn't quite make out his expression, only that he was slightly bent over, breathing a little rapidly, as if he had run over.

It's that boy who plays the piano.

Feiniao's heart skipped a beat, as if she had been slapped on the back. She instinctively shrank back, her back pressed against the cold wall, as if she were born to be against it.

"Um..." he began.

The voice was lower than the piano he played, with a slightly unnatural rolled 'r' at the end, as if each word was being pronounced very carefully.

"Don't be afraid," he said, raising his hand in a reassuring gesture. "I don't mean... I mean..."

He paused, as if considering his words. The bird noticed his Adam's apple move slightly.

"Could you please not tell the teacher what you just saw?"

The bird was stunned. Should she be told not to tell the teacher?

Why did she tell the teacher?

Seeing her silence, the boy assumed she was hesitating, took another half step forward, and lowered his voice even further: "I know students aren't usually allowed in the music room, and that piano isn't for casual use. But... I only go there occasionally at lunchtime, and I didn't break anything. So..."

The bird finally realized what was happening.

She shook her head, her throat still a little tight, but she managed to squeeze out a voice: "I won't tell."

The boy looked at her, a hint of surprise flashing in his bright black eyes, followed by a sigh of relief.

He straightened up, and the corners of his mouth curved slightly, a small but sincere smile.

"Thank you," he said, "for keeping this a secret for me."

Asuka also stood up and brushed the dust off the back of her pants.

The two stood facing each other at the top of the stairs, neither speaking for a moment. A breeze blew from the end of the corridor, making the few steps between them feel a little chilly.

"Your piano playing," Asuka finally whispered, "is beautiful."

The boy seemed surprised by her comment, paused for a moment, and then gave a soft "hmm".

After a while, he spoke again: "You...you ran out during PE class just now?"

Feiniao lowered her head and remained silent. Her gaze fell on the tips of her shoes; the white sneakers were somewhat dirty, and a withered leaf from who-knows-where clung to the shoelaces.

"Me too," the boy suddenly said, "in gym class."

The bird looked up at him.

"I didn't team up either." He said this in a very flat tone, so flat that it didn't sound like he was talking about something upsetting. "Because the people in my class... weren't too willing to team up with me."

He paused, as if making a decision, his voice softening further, carrying a somewhat hesitant seriousness: "My name is Xia Mo. Xia as in summer, Mo as in the end. Class 1, Grade 3. I'm Chinese, and I've been studying here for two years."

Chinese.

The bird blinked. The strange things that had been vaguely noticed before—the rolled "r" sounds, the careful pronunciation—suddenly became clear.

"My name is Saito Asuka," she said, her voice a little louder than before, "Class 3-2."

"Saito?" Xia Mo repeated, her pronunciation quite standard.

"Yes. My father is Japanese, and my mother is Burmese." Asuka said this, she subconsciously touched her face. "So... I look a little different from other people."

She didn't say "so she was isolated," but the words were already in the air, clear and unmistakable.

Xia Mo was silent for a few seconds, then smiled softly. There was no mockery or pity in that smile; it was as clean and pure as a single note he played on the piano.

"No wonder," he said, "but it looks great."

The bird was stunned.

No one has ever said that.

People always say things like, "She has a raven's eye (an insulting nickname)," "Why are your eye sockets so deep?" or "You look really strange."

But no one ever complimented her on her looks.

"If I could see my own face, it would be burning up right now," Asuka thought, her face flushed.

"My business," Xia Mo said, shifting her gaze to the window at the end of the corridor, her voice fading into the distance.

"Actually, it's pretty much the same. When I first arrived, my Japanese wasn't good, and I couldn't understand the lessons. My classmates asked the teacher why we had to accept a foreigner. Later, my Japanese improved, but some things seemed to be fixed—'that Chinese person,' 'that person who can't read the room,' 'that person who's different from us.' When we were grouped for PE class, I was always the one left over."

He spoke calmly, as if recounting something that had happened a long time ago. But Asuka noticed that his hands, hanging at his sides, were slightly clenched around the seams of his trousers.

"So just now..." Xia Mo turned to look at her, the corners of her mouth curving up again, this time with a hint of self-deprecation, "When I thought you were going to tell on me, I was actually quite scared. Not because I was afraid the teacher would criticize me, but because I was afraid that the place I had finally found where I could play the piano would be gone."

Asuka didn't know what to say. She just shook her head vigorously, several times, as if trying to make her silent self speak for herself.

"I won't," she said. "I won't say anything."

Xia Mo looked at her and nodded seriously.

The PE teacher's whistle blew again on the playground, this time a long, drawn-out dismissal. Groups of voices began to drift up from downstairs; PE class was over.

"You..." Asuka hesitated for a moment, "Will you still play it in the future?"

Xia Mo was silent for a moment, then nodded.

"meeting."

He spoke the word softly, but very steadily, like pressing a piano key all the way down, letting the sound ring out completely.

Feiniao looked down at the tips of her shoes, then looked up again. Her lips twitched, not forming a complete smile, but the light in her eyes was warm.

"...Then," she said, "can I still go listen in the future?"

Xia Mo glanced at her, then turned her face away, heading towards the stairwell. Fei Niao couldn't see his expression, only that the tips of his ears seemed to have turned slightly red.

"Whatever," he said.

The voice was very low, almost drowned out by the voices that surged in from the end of the corridor. But the bird heard it.

She heard it all.