Water Lily

5

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. The strap of his canvas schoolbag slipped off again; the mended stitches stood out prominently on the light-colored fabric. He instinctively shifted the bag behind him, afraid of scratching the delicate frames on the walls.

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, a small pearl brooch pinned at the neckline, her hair loosely pinned up with a silver hairpin, a few strands falling beside her cheeks. She stretched for the farthest sketch, her fingertips just half a centimeter away, but her body swayed gently to maintain balance, like a white magnolia slightly tilted by the wind.

Lin Yan’s steps halted. He stood there, his gaze sweeping over the scattered sketches — most were scenes of the parasol-lined path: dewy branches in the morning light, glistening tree trunks in the rain, even the fallen parasol leaves painted with warmth. The brushwork was as delicate as moonlight woven in, the colors as gentle as spring marshmallows, exactly like the tone of Su Wan’s voice in his memory. He hesitated for a few seconds, clutching the document bag in his arms, then finally strode over and knelt down to help her pick up the sketches. When his fingertips touched the paper, he felt its delicate texture — the imported drawing paper he could never bear to buy at the stationery store.

"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, as softly as stroking a newborn kitten, afraid of damaging it with even a little force. Her nails were neatly trimmed, coated with clear nail polish, shimmering faintly under the corridor lights.

"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 steaming cup of coffee beside it. Even the page number of the open album matched his memory exactly. His heart skipped a beat, his fingertips trembling slightly; this was clearly the day they first met. Did she remember too? The thought popped up, then was quickly suppressed by himself — perhaps it was just a casual sketch of the scenery, like the parasol trees downstairs, with no special meaning.

Su Wan took the sketches, quickly sorted them in order and put them into her sketchbook, her long eyelashes hanging down, not noticing the sudden change in Lin Yan’s expression. When she closed the sketchbook, Lin Yan finally saw the branded logo embossed on the side — an Italian handcrafted brand he’d seen while wandering the mall with classmates. At that time, the sales clerk had said the cheapest sketchbook in that series cost at least three thousand yuan, equal to half a year of his living expenses. She 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 "Do you like that seat in the library too" or "Your paintings are beautiful," but the words that came out were a dry "You’re welcome." He could feel his ears burning, so he quickly bowed his head, staring at his frayed canvas shoes.

Holding her sketchbook, Su Wan stepped aside: "Are you here to deliver materials? The Fine Arts Department office is the third room ahead, the door’s unlocked." Her tone was still gentle, but there were no extra questions, no sign of staying — her fingertips had already hooked the sketchbook strap, clearly 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, separating her from the surrounding environment into two worlds. He suddenly remembered the nearly untouched steak in front of her at the cafeteria last time, the watch on her wrist that always kept perfect time, and his heart felt blocked, stuffy and uncomfortable.

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 half-finished drawing of a parasol leaf, its lines simple yet warm, with a trace of wet lead gray at the tip. He hesitated for a moment, folded the sketch into a small square, and slipped it into his inner pocket, his fingertips feeling the residual warmth of the paper.

As he left the Art Building after delivering the materials, Lin Yan ran into Su Wan again at the entrance. She stood under an old parasol tree, holding a silver 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. When she painted, she would gently bite her lower lip, her brows furrowed slightly, as if conversing with the scenery on the paper.

Lin Yan didn’t approach; he just stood behind the Art Building door watching. He saw her pause occasionally, take out a small handkerchief from her pocket to wipe the lead dust off the brush tip, then look up at the branches, trace imaginary lines in the air with her fingers, and bow her head to continue drawing. Sunlight glinted off her hairpin, scattering tiny sparks onto the paper, just illuminating the newly painted parasol leaf. Suddenly, he felt this was the real Su Wan — not the wealthy young lady wrapped in politeness, but just a girl who loved painting, someone who would pour her whole heart into the things she cared about, just like him.

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 — he’d seen the same model at the art supply store, costing over two hundred yuan a piece, enough to buy him a week’s worth of groceries. He touched the thin sketch in his pocket, 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 and pocket money earned from part-time jobs; she could paint leisurely in the sun, while he had to rush to the restaurant to wash dishes for three hours just to cover this month’s water and electricity bills.

Su Wan seemed to sense his gaze and looked toward the door. Lin Yan quickly bowed his head and hurried away, his steps so fast he almost bumped into the trash can in the corridor. He could feel his heart racing — not from infatuation, but from embarrassment. He was afraid Su Wan would see his faded jacket, notice the worn edges of his shoes, and even more afraid she would see through the inappropriate affection hidden in his heart.

He walked along the parasol-lined path toward the restaurant. Passing the exquisitely decorated art gallery at the school gate, he couldn’t help stopping. A poster in the gallery window read "Su Family Gallery Young Artists Exhibition," with Su Wan’s name printed in the corner, accompanied by her photo — in the photo, she wore a white dress, standing in front of an oil painting, her smile gentle yet still distant. He stood in front of the window for a long time, until the clerk cast a doubtful glance, then hurried away.

It was almost eleven o’clock when he finished his part-time job that evening. The restaurant owner handed him eighty yuan in cash, saying, "Come early tomorrow, it’ll be busy on the weekend." Lin Yan took the money, carefully folded it and put it into his wallet, which still held the sticky note he’d picked up from the library, its handwriting already somewhat blurred. He walked out of the restaurant; the night wind was colder, so he wrapped his jacket tightly around himself and hurried back to his rented room.

Back in his room, he first boiled a pot of hot water and made a bowl of the cheapest instant noodles. While waiting for the noodles to soak, he took out the parasol leaf sketch from his inner 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, where traces of the words he’d covered with correction fluid still remained.

The aroma of instant noodles filled the air, but he had no appetite. He picked up his phone, hesitated for a long time, then dialed his grandma’s number. When the call connected, his grandma’s familiar voice came: "A Yan, haven’t you slept so late?"

"I just got back from work, Grandma," Lin Yan’s voice softened, "How’s your health lately? Do you still have enough medicine?"

"Enough, I received the medicine you sent. The doctor said it works well," Grandma said with a smile, "Don’t overwork yourself at school. Remember to eat on time, wear more clothes now that it’s cold, don’t catch a cold."

"I know, Grandma," Lin Yan’s eyes felt a little warm, "I’m preparing for the postgraduate exam recently. Once I pass, I can find a good job, and then I’ll take you to live in the city."

"Good, Grandma will wait," Grandma instructed a few more things before hanging up the phone.

After hanging up, Lin Yan looked at his grandma’s photo on the phone screen, his heart calming down a lot. 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, as if sighing softly. 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 glanced at the unmarked number in his phone — he’d copied it from the sticky note last time, but had never had the courage to dial it. Even if he did, what would he say to Su Wan? "I saw you painting" or "I kept a sketch of yours"? These words sounded like a joke, only making him more embarrassed.

He put his phone aside, picked up his pen, and threw himself back into solving the real questions. The sound of the pen scratching the paper intertwined with the wind outside the window, forming the quietest melody of the night. 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 formulas in the exercise book, smiled softly, and pushed down those inappropriate thoughts. What he needed to do now was focus on the postgraduate exam, earn more money, and let Grandma live a better life. Everything else was too distant.