I didn't know how to love that year

Text: polarisa (when fresh meat)

In the early summer of that year, there was a bit of a commotion in the capital, and many seniors came to the town one after another. My philosophy teacher, Juan, also came down to intern at that time.

Juan is a simple and quiet girl, full of pursuit of life, but without any extravagance, silently dedicating herself, but she doesn't know that she has become someone else's target. Juan's helplessness stems from her own infighting with the world, which is a later story.

Juan's first lesson, in my life, may have been quite ordinary. My classmates and Juan didn't think so, saying that it was my most glamorous lesson. In fact, my whole life has been so uninhibited, and if you look at the backbone of the back of my head, you will know that I was born to be a person who doesn't like blandness. I have forgotten what I did in that lesson, in fact, I have forgotten it at the time, after all, I have always been so good at forgetting, and this is why I am always happy.

Whenever I think of Juan, I try to remember what Juan said in the first lesson, but I really can't remember it. Vaguely knowing, Juan uses inducement to ask us to write about our feelings about young life. At that time, I liked to write whatever I wanted, and I forgot what I wrote that day. I had to hand it in at the end of class, and because of the short time, no one could really write anything.

Philosophy is not a key class, and it does not need to be taken every day, and when it comes to the second class, there is naturally no memory of what was done in the first class. In fact, at that time, I was most fascinated by physics, and I was not interested in other courses. Even in order to show his personality, in the first year of philosophy, geography, national history, English, and biology exams, all of them scored zero, and the reason was very simple: disdain.

I remember that Tianjuan didn't wait for the bell to ring, so she hurriedly walked into the classroom and started class. In fact, it's not a class, Juan just reads an article emotionally.

The students, including me, were moved by Juan's tone and the content of the article, and at the end of Juan's performance, the classroom was silent, followed by warm applause.

Juan was moved by the response she evoked, and her comments on the article were speechless for a while.

After Juan waited for the students to calm down, she announced word by word that what she had just read aloud was my work: my hasty work in the first class. The above are all memories that my classmates helped me to bring up, and sometimes I don't believe that I can be so powerful, after all, my writing is not very mature until now.

What made me even more unbelievable was Juan's announcement later: let me be a student with a score of 0 in philosophy, be a class representative, and do it for two years.

Like many bland stories, I had to waste my life reciting my philosophy for Juan's trust, and for a score of 0 in the first year, the later 70 points were simply a high-speed evolution, but for those top students, this was still a low score, which made it difficult for me to have confidence in front of other class representatives. However, Juan has never criticized me for this, and I am still the inextinguishable sparkle in her eyes, which makes me more and more moved.

Fortunately, my physics is unrivaled, and I have always been the leader of all kinds of physics knowledge and production competitions, and I can respond to Juan's appreciation. Moved Juan is the Bole of my life, I try to be a horse that only makes Juan tame, philosophical grades are getting better and better, not only that, I also try to do a good job in the service of class representatives, and I have more and more contact time with Juan. Gradually, philosophy classes are no longer a burden for me, and I often look forward to every class being Juan on the podium, interpreting her gentle voice.

Maybe I just know that I just focus on resistors and capacitors, and my maturity comes late.

Later, at noon one day, I don't know why I arrived at school a little early, because the first session in the afternoon was philosophy, so I took the initiative to get the students' homework books from Juan, and the teaching and research room locked the door, so I went to the dormitory to find it.

After knocking on the door, Juan asked who it was inside, and let me in. Because in the summer, the house was a little stuffy, and she wore a sleeveless shirt and uniform skirt. When I was asked if I was here to get my homework, I rummaged through the case, and when I leaned over, because of the thinness and looseness, Juan's young breasts were freely exposed from under the armpits, and I stood aside, and for a moment I looked stupidly at the mature, healthy, elastic cone. Because of the rummaging back and forth, the chest fluttered gently in the air, and from time to time you could see the small particles at the tip of the cone. For a moment, the mischievous mind took over my brain, and I reached out a finger from my side, through the gap in the sleeveless shirt, and lightly tapped Juan's chest.

Juan seemed to have been hit hard, and sat on the edge of the bed, looking at me wordlessly, was she ashamed, was she angry, and looked at me speechlessly. My face burned instantly, I was overwhelmed, and I stood dumbfounded. Suddenly, I noticed that Juan seemed to be staring at something, and her gaze stopped at my waist. I hurriedly lowered my head, only to notice a spot of water, which appeared on the protrusion of my pants, spreading little by little.

Juan snorted: "You go back, I'll take the homework myself." ”

In the days that followed, Juan was no longer fluent in lecturing, and was often interrupted by my gaze. But I didn't know what was going on, I still paid attention to my resistors and capacitors, and I was often excited that I could successfully disassemble a certain part of the circuit, but Juan gradually lost weight.

At the end of the internship, Juan was assigned to another school in the city, and when I left, I didn't see it during the holidays. At the beginning of the school year, the new philosophy teacher was a big boy and an alumnus of Juan. In the first class, the older boy called me outside the classroom and told me that Juan solemnly recommended me to him when he left, and asked me to continue to be the class representative, hoping that I would continue to work hard.

Later, there was no news of Juan for a long time, but occasionally I heard a few broken women in the philosophy teaching and research department, saying that Juan was working hard in the new school, a little too hard, and it seemed that there was some purpose. The women guessed that Juan wanted to transfer back to our school, and in their opinion, for our key school, the chances of transferring back were very slim.

In the winter of that year, for the final exam, the education committee asked the school to exchange invigilators. When I was taking the philosophy exam, I saw Juan again. During the invigilation, Juan often stayed by my side, quietly watching me write, and was reluctant to turn around for a while. Because she had stopped beside me for too long, and was worried about what would be seen, Juan walked back and forth beside me, and when she retreated, she accidentally retreated to the basin by the stove, and fell into the basin, her clothes were burned by the stove, and her pants were soaked with water.

When Juan was pulled up by the main invigilator, I clearly saw her eyes, just like that day, looking at me with shame, disgust, and speechlessness, and I was still at a loss.