blistering afternoon, the school's main courtyard was a chaotic mess of noise and heat. I stood there, chest heaving, clutching the crumpled piece of paper in my hand like a life raft. Just minutes ago, I'd finally mustered the courage to confess my feelings to Li Huan, the campus beauty everyone envied. Now, the paper was nothing but ragged confetti, and Li Huan had just shut the door on my face, her expression a cold sheet of ice.

Around me, the usual buzz of high school life—students laughing, teachers yelling, the distant hum of a basketball game—seemed surreal. I felt like an idiot, standing there with my heart on display, while the world kept spinning without a care for my dignity.

That was when I heard it. A wave of chatter swept through the crowd, growing louder with each second. People were turning to look, pointing, whispering. My blood ran cold as I spotted Li Huan turning around, her face flushed with something that wasn’t shame or embarrassment. It was excitement.