I dreamed that I told you how I felt.
I know a confession is supposed to be icing on the cake, not the opening charge. But in the dream I was still that cautious person, always looking for the smallest opening.
The real trouble started on Wednesday afternoon. My mood sank, and even the performance assessment result could not lift it. After dinner I hesitated for a long time, then went upstairs to see you. I said almost nothing and let no emotion show. When I came back, I wrote the same line on sticky notes again and again: "Could you smile at me?" None of them came out right, and I never had the chance to leave one quietly on your desk.
I sat by the edge of the playground and called my father. I asked how he was, and mentioned that this year had felt especially rough. Seventeen minutes later, class was still in session, but the night had completely settled. I gathered my courage and went up again. The three of you were in the office. I backed off, stood outside in silence for a while, and finally left.
I did not go there to declare my feelings, or to say that terribly sentimental line. You have always been poised; you smile that captivating smile at everyone. I told Lao Liang that your smile felt healing. But beyond the sentence on the sticky note, there were so many things I wanted to say to you, and every time I could not begin.
I remember an earlier day when I ran into you at a meal. I said, "It feels so nice that they wait for you to eat." The two of them had no last class that day, so they sat in the office waiting for you to finish. You laughed happily and said, "Of course—we're a loving family."
You are often together, so I could never find the right moment to speak. Even when there was a moment, I could not find the courage.
So the dream was easier.
You, I, and Teacher Tan were walking together. I said, "There's something I want to tell you." Teacher Tan may have sensed something; he quickened his pace and walked ahead. I can no longer remember how I confessed, but I remember clearly that when you sensed something was wrong, you began to apologize. You said you were sorry, that we really were not suitable. You were not smiling then. It made me feel that my liking for you might be a burden.
Then the scene changed. We were sitting at a table eating, as if I had said those words during the meal. The result was the same. For a moment I did not know what to do with myself. In the end I picked up my bowl and chopsticks, smiled, leaned forward slightly, and left.
Before getting into the car, I saw a road sign in the glow of the sunset. It did not have a blue background. Its color was one I cannot describe, and it was enclosed by branches growing out of the bushes. Faintly, it read "Sunset Boulevard." So Sunset Boulevard was here after all. I pushed into the bushes on foot and found a long stone stairway stretching down into the village. With every step down, the sky changed: from morning glow to evening glow, as if I were walking from dawn to dusk in one descent.
I took out my phone to photograph the clouds, dense and layered like fish scales. In the lens they were not vast at all. They looked like a printed film strip pasted onto the sky. When I tilted the phone slightly, the clouds shook violently, as if they might collapse at any moment.
And so I walked slowly into dusk. The sunset at the edge of the sky stained the clouds red. The trees around me began to yawn. Night had already covered the hill opposite, and before I knew it, I was trapped in the darkness too. My phone began to act as if it had a will of its own. Every second it took many photos automatically, applying all kinds of filters. The compositions were poor and the colors were hard to describe—it seemed I could not hold on to all beautiful things.
Then I suddenly remembered that afternoon after dinner, when I saw the sunset about to disappear and tried to photograph it. Through the gaps in the leaves, the sun and the afterglow lost their color in my phone. They were far less beautiful than what I saw. Later you came out and took out your phone to photograph the afterglow after the sun had gone. He was behind you, also holding up his phone.
So I think I cannot confess to you. We do not talk enough, and I cannot attract your attention. Love does not arise out of nothing. Since a confession cannot be the opening charge, I may never have the chance to tell you that I like you.