I lay in bed, not sleepy at all, work and Hai Lin frequently disturbed my sleep nerves, but I still had more of a Helen in my mind.

When I learned her name at the exhibition, I was determined to call her name in front of her, and I had an opportunity at the end of the exhibition that night, but I didn't make it. I thought that I might not have a chance again, and I felt that there were things that seemed to need to be brewed, but brewing would make the courage I had wear away. I never thought I'd call her name to my face anymore, I didn't think it was possible.

However, in the afternoon in the library, she took the initiative to sit across from me, which changed my perspective on everything in the world. When she told me her name, I was still shocked. I remember very well that I still didn't call out her name. The state of mind and environment I imagined in my mind to call her name to her face was not like this, and if it was shouted in the book, it would have an element of cheating, making everything seem too banal - and too self-deceptive.

In the next few days, I continued to have a "chance encounter" with her, because the time she left the dormitory building was not very fixed, so a "chance encounter" took me nearly half an hour. When we met again, she and I both seemed much more enthusiastic, but we didn't stop talking. I'm covering it up, and as for her, I think it's out of habit.

I would go to the library every afternoon and sit in the same position every afternoon, hoping that she would come. Sometimes the library is quite crowded and a little noisy, and sometimes it is very few people, and it is surprisingly quiet, and you can hear the sound of the sun moving around, occasionally accompanied by the sound of flipping books and coughing quietly. I knew she would come back, at least the books I borrowed last time, and all I had to do was keep an eye on the administration.

After a few days, I had finished reading Dawei Copperfield, took a copy of Balzac's Uncle Bunce on the shelf, turned the book on the title page, looked at the title and the author's name, thought of Helen, and hoped that she would sit across from me again.

I spotted her early this time. When I turned my head, I saw that she was returning the books she had borrowed a few days ago at the library at the door. I flipped the book back about a third of the way, and if she came over, she would think I was really reading the book and not staring at the title page. She walked from the management office to pick up the book, her eyes looked at me, I saw that she saw me, raised her hand to say hello to her, she saw that it was me, and also raised her hand to me, but did not say anything, and went to the bookshelf to find the books she needed.

I stared at the exit of the row of bookshelves, and after a while, she came out of the shelves with a thick English book in her arms. She sat in front of me and put the book and her notebook and pen on the table.

Just like that day, the sun was shining through the window on her — and on me.

"Do you sit here every time you come to the library?" She asked.

"Yes." I pointed to the seat on the other side of the library and said, "But it's different in the summer, I'll sit there." ”

She told me that her roommate had left the dormitory, that the girl had been interning at an anime company for a month, and that she was now alone in the dormitory. Her class will be over for a while, after New Year's Day.

"How's your business going?" She asked me.

I remember the last time she asked me in the library, I just vaguely told her that I was dealing with something. Just replied that she had already dealt with it. She asked me what I was going to do next. I told her I was looking for a place to intern.

"What kind of internship are you looking for?" She asked.

"It's not clear, it's being considered for the past two days." I thought of the design drafts that the squad leader brought back that night, and said to Hai Linlin: "Maybe I went to an advertising agency and became a hand painter or something." ”

She replied, stopped talking, and looked down at the thick English book, taking notes as she read.

I can't talk to her anymore, even if it's just sitting quietly facing each other like this. I also lowered my head and pretended to look at "Uncle Bunce" in front of me, but I really didn't start reading that book, the book had already been turned by me a third of the way, and I couldn't start reading a new book in the middle, and I was afraid of being discovered by her on the other side from the beginning. Two people sitting facing each other reading their books, who cares how the opposite book is turned - unless the person opposite is turning the book upside down. When people have a weak heart, they will always show a trait that is easy to misjudge - they will feel that the people around them are particularly intelligent and sharp.

I thought it was a good time to call her name in person, and before calling her name, all I had to do was figure out what to ask her after calling her name, but I racked my brains for a long time and still didn't think of it, and I didn't think it was appropriate to ask her anything.

I called out to her in a not very loud voice: "Hai Linlin." ”

She looked up at me with a calm gaze: "Well, what's wrong?" ”

I asked her if she had been painting lately, and that was the most reasonable question I could come up with. She told me that she went back to the studio once every two days, and that there was one painting that had been painted for almost a week, and that she was finishing it in no time. I asked her which studio she was in, and told her I would love to go with her. She said yes very simply, saying that there was no problem, and then saved my phone number in her phone so that she could notify me when the time came. When she told me that her phone number was fine, I quickly asked her to stop.

"Wait!" Just as she was about to speak, I interrupted her, "Let me guess your phone number." ”

"Oh." She smiled noncommittally: "Then you can guess." ”

"The first one is 1."

"All cell phone numbers are 1." She said teasingly: "You guessed accurately, and then what? ”

"3-5-7......" I said to her intermittently, number by number. That night, after the class leader told me her phone number, I took it to heart, but I never called or texted.

She restrained the expression on her face when she heard me say the first few words, and when I was finished, she stopped the pen that was shaking in her hand and looked at me motionlessly, with a little anger in her calm eyes, as if she wanted to see through everything.

I also thought about guessing her phone number temporarily, and it came out of my head. After talking to her for a few first words, I felt like I was so relaxed that I forgot the basic principle of thinking about the consequences of something and the consequences of a sentence. When I'm a little nervous about her, I may not speak beautifully, or even a little dull, but at least I won't be wrong.

I was a little panicked by what she saw, and I knew I had done something wrong or said the wrong thing. Her eyes became a little complicated, calm with anger, blame, helplessness, and inquiry, as if she wanted to see my internal organs through my pupils. I wanted to avoid her eyes, which would only make it more difficult to end, so I shrugged my shoulders and smiled at her.

She tilted her head to look out the window, and the sun outside made her eyes squint slightly. She turned her head to look at me again, and I saw that she wanted to ask me something, but she didn't. After a while, she seemed to want to ask again, but she didn't.

We sat quietly facing each other, and no one spoke. I don't know what to do, it's like a student who has done something wrong sitting in front of the teacher, not daring to look at her, and not daring not to look at her. I occasionally look into her eyes and occasionally look away. I wondered if I should give her a humble word, and she was visibly angry. I just don't understand why she's angry, I'm thinking about why she's angry, she must think I'm teasing her. Maybe I should ask her what's wrong and figure out why. I had countless possibilities in my mind, regretting what I had done, and I was also puzzled by her sudden reaction.

I heard her sigh, close the book and notebook, and say to me, "I have something to do, let's go first." After saying that, he turned around and left.

I sat there without moving, feeling a little difficult to breathe, and my body was a little irritable, I did not get up to say goodbye to her, nor did I dare to look her eyes, but looked down at the book in front of me, the cover design of the book was very simple, only the title of the book in bold letters, "Uncle Bunce", and Balzac, the author of Song characters. After a long time, I timidly raised my head and looked around the library, where there were a few people sitting around, and she was long gone.

I saw that she had forgotten her notebook, and when she got up to pack her things and was about to leave, I was sure that I saw her close her notebook, and she must have been affected by her heart and forgot to bring it. I don't know if she borrowed the thick English book or put it back on the shelf. I didn't touch her notebook, and I thought that when she returned to the dorm room and found that the notebook was gone, she would know that it had been left in the library, and she would come back to pick it up. Thinking that she would come back, in order to avoid unpleasantness between the two, I wondered if I should go away early, but I thought I should help her take care of it.

I sat there until the library was about to close and she hadn't shown up, and for hours I hadn't read at all, planning what I was going to say to her when she came back to pick up her notebook. I thought about a lot of possibilities, but I didn't feel satisfied, either too relaxed or too serious.

I knew she wouldn't be coming back to pick it up, and I just wanted to take her notebook with me and return it to her another day. The moment his hand touched her notebook, he retracted his hand at the thought that she might come back tomorrow to retrieve it. It wasn't until finally, when the librarian informed me again that it was time to go, and I picked up her notebook.

I walked to the management office at the door, gave Uncle Bunce to the caretaker, and told him that the lights in the library area had been turned off and that the book could not be put back, and that he should put it back the next day.

Back in the dormitory, I flipped through her notebook, which contained more than half of the contents, all related to English. Her handwriting is very neutral, and if she is a stranger, you can't tell whether it was written by a man or a woman. She likes to use a long drag pen, and the vertical drawing is relatively long, from heavy to light, and the tip of the pen is exposed. The English alphabet is written in a very standardized manner, and the transitions of the pen are coherent and delicate. Occasionally, a few pages would draw something, and I think it must have been a pastime when she was bored drawing in class or reading.

I really wanted to look at it carefully from beginning to end, but what she inadvertently left behind, I felt that it was not good to read it in private, so I didn't look at it again and closed the notebook.