Water Lily

4

The November wind carried a chill, swirling parasol leaves onto the corridor of the Art Building. Lin Yan held the freshly copied economics documents, his steps light — this was his first time in the Art Building, here to deliver materials for a collaborative project between his professor and the Fine Arts Department. Both sides of the corridor were lined with students’ paintings: vibrant oil paintings, crisp sketches, each exuding lively vitality. For someone accustomed to numbers and formulas, he felt an unfamiliar awkwardness.

As he turned the corner, a faint rustle of paper suddenly reached his ears. Lin Yan looked up and saw Su Wan squatting on the ground, her sketchbook open in her arms, dozens of drawings scattered at her feet, some dusted with dirt from the floor. She wore a cream-colored sweater, her hair loosely tied up with a silver hairpin, stretching for the farthest sketch, her fingertips just out of reach.

Lin Yan’s steps halted. He stood there, gazing at the scattered sketches — most were scenes of the parasol-lined path: branches in the morning light, tree trunks in the rain, their exquisite brushwork and soft colors exactly like the Su Wan he remembered. After hesitating for a few seconds, he strode over and knelt down to help her pick up the sketches.

"Thank you," Su Wan’s voice came from above, with a hint of barely perceptible fluster. When Lin Yan looked up, he caught her brushing dust off a sketch, her fingertips gliding gently over the paper, her movements careful as if tending to something precious.

"It’s fine," Lin Yan handed over the collected sketches, his gaze inadvertently falling on one of them — it depicted the window seat on the third floor of the library, sunlight on an empty chair, an open copy of the Water Lilies album on the desk, and a half-finished cup of coffee beside it. His heart skipped a beat; this was clearly the day they first met.

Su Wan took the sketches, quickly sorted them into her sketchbook, and didn’t notice Lin Yan’s gaze. She closed the sketchbook, stood up, and nodded in thanks: "Thank you so much today, Lin Yan."

Lin Yan froze, not expecting her to remember his name. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but didn’t know what, eventually managing only, "You’re welcome."

Holding her sketchbook, Su Wan stepped aside: "Are you here to deliver materials? The Fine Arts Department office is the third room ahead." Her tone was still gentle, but there were no extra questions, no sign of staying — clearly, she was ready to leave.

"Yes, thank you," Lin Yan nodded, watching Su Wan walk toward the end of the corridor. Her steps were light, the hem of her sweater swaying gently with each movement. Sunlight streamed through the corridor windows onto her, wrapping her in a thin halo. He suddenly noticed her sketchbook was an Italian handcrafted brand — he’d seen it at a luxury counter in the mall, its price equal to half a year of his living expenses.

Lin Yan stood there until Su Wan’s figure disappeared at the staircase, then turned toward the Fine Arts Department office. In his hand, he still held a small sketch he’d accidentally picked up with the others — a quick drawing of a parasol leaf, its lines simple yet warm. He hesitated for a moment, folded the sketch, and slipped it into his pocket.

As he left the Art Building after delivering the materials, Lin Yan ran into Su Wan again at the entrance. She stood under a parasol tree, holding a paintbrush, sketching the tree trunk gently. The wind swirled leaves onto her sketchbook, but she didn’t notice, her gaze focused intently on the paper, a faint smile on her lips — this was the first time Lin Yan had seen her so relaxed, no polite distance, no deliberate gentleness, only pure concentration and joy.

Lin Yan didn’t approach; he just stood far away watching. He saw her pause occasionally, look up at the branches, then bow her head to continue drawing. Sunlight glinted off her hairpin, scattering tiny sparks. Suddenly, he felt this was the real Su Wan — not the wealthy young lady wrapped in politeness, but just a girl who loved painting.

But this touch was quickly faded by reality. He looked down at his slightly dusty cuffs, then up at the expensive paintbrush in Su Wan’s hand, a familiar sense of loss welling up. Even if she stopped to admire a parasol leaf, even if she flustered when her sketches scattered, an insurmountable distance remained between them — her sketchbook held delicate drawings, while his schoolbag was filled with thick exercise books; she could paint leisurely in the sun, while he had to rush to his part-time job at the restaurant.

Su Wan seemed to sense his gaze and looked up. Lin Yan quickly bowed his head and hurried away, fearing she might see his embarrassment. As he reached the Art Building entrance, he couldn’t help glancing back — Su Wan had bowed her head to paint again, sunlight on her, as quiet as a painting.

After finishing his part-time job that evening, Lin Yan returned to his rented room. He took out the parasol leaf sketch from his pocket and examined it under the desk lamp. The lines on the paper were light yet warm, reminding him of Su Wan’s focused expression under the parasol tree that day. He tucked the sketch into his postgraduate exam real questions book, right at page 128 — the same page he’d marked with key points the day he first met Su Wan in the library.

He turned on the desk lamp, picked up the real questions book, but didn’t start working immediately. Instead, he stared at the parasol leaf sketch for a long time. Outside the window, parasol leaves rustled in the wind. Suddenly, he felt that this hidden affection in his heart was just like this sketch — fragile yet precious, something to be carefully tucked away, not to be known by anyone, not to be cherished with any delusions.

He took a deep breath, closed the real questions book, and took out his phone. The unmarked number in his contacts still lay quietly there. His finger hesitated on the screen for a long time, but he finally turned off the phone. He knew that even if he summoned the courage to make the call, he wouldn’t find a proper reason to speak, let alone step into Su Wan’s world.

Perhaps this was for the best — occasionally meeting on campus, helping her pick up sketches, watching her paint from afar, hiding these tiny moments deep in his heart as a faint glimmer in his plain life — not disturbing, not coveting. Lin Yan looked at the parasol leaf sketch under the lamp, smiled softly, then picked up his pen and threw himself back into solving the real questions.