The morning sun came as scheduled, and my only hope that day was to see her again. It's just that her painting has been hung in its original place, and the person is not next to it. Several teachers began to grade all the paintings, almost all the authors went to the scene, and I also met almost all the students in my class, and there were other classes that I could know, but I didn't see her, I felt lost, and I complained about her. I thought she should show up and let me see her, even for the sake of me helping her get the paintings.

The teachers began to grade the paintings along the entrance, and I watched as the teachers got closer and closer to my paintings, four of the five teachers substituted for us, and one I had seen on campus but didn't know about it. Every time they go to an area, students in that area will gather around and tell them which one is their work.

Some students are very successful in their relationships with their teachers, and their ability to handle interpersonal relationships seems to be innate, and no one can learn them. They can chat or mingle with the teacher happily, regardless of age, seniority or seniority, but still make the teacher feel respected. When necessary, they always show their low-key and humble attitude towards the teacher's eternal subservience. Such people are more or less taken care of by their teachers – especially during exams and graduations. More teachers still maintain an impartial approach to the law, but it is only a human instinct to give special favors to students whom they really like, and when they give them, they may not even feel them.

Five teachers walked up to my drawing, pointed me with a stick, said what my strengths were, what my weaknesses were, and gave me a score of 7.5. When they were judging my paintings, I was serious and courteous, nodding yes to their words from time to time, occasionally interjecting a sentence or two to show that I was really listening to their teachings. It wasn't until they heard me say "thank you" that they went to rate other students.

They stood in front of the girl's painting and asked the classmates whose painting it was, and then the author of the painting said that it was hers, and she appeared out of thin air like magic, which made me stunned but excited. In the daytime environment, she seems much more realistic. As I expected, the teachers praised her drawings and gave her a high score of 9.0. She didn't seem very excited to see the score, and when the teacher left, her calm expression was like when I knew I had scored 7.5. But I think the teachers gave me a low grade, and if it were me, I would have given her a perfect score.

She was standing in front of her painting, facing me sideways, and I no longer saw her silhouette, everything was so real. She looked at it for a while, propped her hands back on her waist, and straightened her waist forward, which made her breasts look unusually straight, and I really saw it from the side. I wanted to say hello to her and tell her that I was the guy who helped her get the painting last night. Then talk to her, ask her name, her class, her hometown......

I've never had this kind of cowardice in front of others, I'm not the kind of person who is naturally sociable, but I'm not an introvert who doesn't say a word in front of strangers. But I always had shyness and fear in my heart about her. I didn't dare to call her, I was afraid that my voice would tremble, and under such shyness and fear, I felt like I had fallen into the abyss of darkness, and I couldn't even breathe.

It wasn't until she turned her eyes to me that I saw her eyes and quickly looked away—just like last night. I felt that this was too revealing my inner tension, and I looked back at the original place, and I saw her smiling at me, she seemed to be unable to remember who I was, and I felt an unspeakable pain in my heart when I thought of it, but then I realized that I was just too dim last night, and she couldn't see who I was.

I was tempted to tell him that I was the one who had helped him get the painting last night, but it was too blatant for me to rush her to know who I was, and that impatience must have been enough for her to classify me as a disciple. I hope that she will come to me and extend her hand to shake my hand to show her gratitude for her help last night, and also to heal my nervousness caused by shyness and fear. I would hold her soft hand and listen to her tell me what her name was, happy to have my help. She didn't do that, she just gave me a polite smile and turned her head away. Still, I should probably be glad that she didn't notice the pain I endured when I felt she forgot me.

A grading teacher turned back, pointed to my drawing, and asked if it was me. He is our third-year Introduction to Aesthetics teacher, surnamed Ou. He came to me as if he remembered something, something he had thought about a long time ago but had forgotten for a while. I told him that I had painted the picture. He told me to go to room 507 in the office building at 19:35 in the evening to find him. Before that, I always thought that no teacher remembered me, but judging from Mr. Ou's words just now, he clearly remembered that there was a student like me, and he was impressed.