Tang Poems and Thunderclouds

By the next morning, Liang Meiyu had come prepared: two pens, a backup notebook, and enough inner calm to ignore her desk partner no matter how annoying he tried to be.

Which was very.

Zhao Yichen slouched in his seat like the desk personally offended him, earbuds in one ear and his hoodie halfway on, halfway off. He didn’t say good morning — not that Meiyu expected him to — but he did casually nudge her notebook with his elbow until she gave him The Look.

He grinned like that was exactly what he wanted.

Immature. she thought. Like a five-year-old in a teenager’s body.

The teacher entered moments later, carrying a stack of paper and a grin that meant trouble.

"Today, we’re starting a group project. Tang Dynasty poetry analysis. Partners are your current desk mates."

A quiet groan rose across the classroom.

Meiyu’s heart sank.

Zhao Yichen tilted his chair back and looked at her with mock horror. “Oh no,” he said dryly. “Stuck with the class genius. Whatever shall I do?”

She sighed. “Try learning something for once.”

“Bold words for someone who hoards pens like candy.”

“Don’t start.”

“Too late.”

---

📚 After School - The Library Steps

Meiyu waited at the school library steps after the last bell, clutching her poetry handouts. She checked her phone. Ten minutes late. Typical.

Just as she was about to give up, a shadow fell across her page.

“Didn’t think you'd actually wait,” said Zhao Yichen, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“You said you’d come.”

“I also said I hate literature. You believed me anyway.”

She rolled her eyes and led him inside, finding a table near the window. Peach blossoms danced outside in the spring breeze, but Meiyu had little time to enjoy them — not when her desk partner kept tapping his pencil and flipping pages just to annoy her.

“Zhao Yichen, stop acting like you’re allergic to paper,” she whispered.

“I might be,” he said seriously. “This much poetry can’t be good for anyone.”

“Well, I’m not doing the whole project alone.”

He leaned back. “Then don’t. Let’s do it the fun way.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Your definition of fun involves detention.”

“And yours involves footnotes and full citations.”

“And grades,” she snapped. “Which I’d like to keep.”

Zhao looked at her for a moment — really looked. “You’re serious about this school stuff.”

“Of course I am. I want to get into a good university. Make my parents proud.”

He paused. “Must be nice.”

She blinked. “What?”

He shook his head and stood up. “Never mind. Let’s go.”