Chapter 2 – The Boy Behind the Screen

Chapter 2 – The Boy Behind the Screen

The weekend sun shone warmly over Yulan High School, painting golden light across the courtyard. The air buzzed with energy — laughter, chatter, and the rustle of colorful papers fluttering in the breeze. The school festival was only a week away, and every student was busy with preparations.

Yuèliàng stood quietly beneath the shade of a maple tree, brush in hand, writing neat strokes of black ink across a banner. His elegant calligraphy spelled out the festival’s name in flowing characters: “Autumn Harmony.” Around him, students painted signs, arranged lanterns, and tied silk ribbons to poles.

“Yuèliàng!” his friend Lín Hǎo called out, balancing a stack of brushes. “We’re short on volunteers for the decorations! Want to help hang the lanterns?”

Yuèliàng shook his head. “You know I’m terrible with ladders.”

Lín Hǎo laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Fine, fine. Stick to your brushwork, Mr. Artist. You and your quiet world.”

As his friend ran off, Yuèliàng glanced at his phone, hidden beside his ink set. A new message flashed across the screen — from Lìhuā.

What are you doing today?

He smiled faintly before replying. Festival preparation. It’s loud here.

A moment later came the reply: Loud? Sounds fun! Maybe I should visit your school someday.

Yuèliàng hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. He’d never actually wanted to meet anyone from the app. But somehow, the idea of meeting Lìhuā didn’t feel unpleasant. That would be… nice, he finally typed.

He set the phone down, returning to his calligraphy. The rhythmic strokes of ink calmed him — steady, certain, controlled. Yet his heart wasn’t calm. Lìhuā’s messages had become a quiet thread in his days, something he secretly looked forward to.

Across town, Yángguāng sprawled across his desk, spinning his phone between his fingers. His grin widened as he read the message.

“That would be nice, huh?” he murmured to himself, a spark of mischief lighting up his eyes.

He’d created the fake girl profile out of boredom. Pretending to be Lìhuā had started as a harmless prank — something to tease strangers online. But Yuèliàng wasn’t like the others. He didn’t flirt, didn’t joke, didn’t fake interest. He was quiet but sincere, his words thoughtful and oddly comforting.

Yángguāng leaned back in his chair, looking out his window where autumn leaves drifted down. His cousin attended Yulan High. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to “visit.” After all, coincidences sometimes needed a little push.

That afternoon, the courtyard buzzed with activity as Yuèliàng pinned up banners near the school gate. He crouched down to straighten a sign when a cheerful voice broke through the noise.

“Hey, are you the one who made these calligraphy signs?”

Yuèliàng turned. Standing before him was a tall boy dressed in a casual hoodie, sunlight glinting off his brown hair. His smile was so bright it almost felt like it could melt away shadows.

“Yes… that’s me,” Yuèliàng replied, startled.

“They’re amazing! I’ve never seen such clean strokes. You must have practiced for years.”

“Since middle school,” Yuèliàng murmured, uncertain why he was even answering.

“I knew it! I’m Yángguāng,” the boy said, extending his hand without hesitation. “I’m visiting my cousin today. He’s in Class 3-B.”

“Yuèliàng,” he replied quietly, shaking his hand. Yángguāng’s grip was warm — confident, alive.

“Well, Yuèliàng,” Yángguāng said with a grin, “you look like you could use an extra pair of hands.”

Before Yuèliàng could protest, Yángguāng began helping hang lanterns, climbing ladders with ease and humming softly. His energy filled the courtyard like sunlight breaking through clouds.

“You don’t talk much, huh?” Yángguāng teased as he tied a red ribbon.

“I prefer listening,” Yuèliàng replied simply.

“That’s fine,” Yángguāng said. “I talk enough for both of us.”

The corners of Yuèliàng’s lips twitched — a small, almost shy smile.

As the afternoon faded into gold, the courtyard transformed into a picture of warmth: crimson lanterns swaying, gold calligraphy shimmering, and the scent of blooming osmanthus in the air. They stood side by side, gazing at their work.

Yángguāng rested his elbows on the railing, looking out at the lotus pond beyond the courtyard. “You come here often?” he asked casually.

Yuèliàng blinked. The same words. Exactly the same.

His chest tightened. “Sometimes,” he said slowly, watching the boy’s face.

“Yeah,” Yángguāng said softly, a familiar glimmer in his eyes. “I can see why you like it. It’s peaceful.”

Yuèliàng’s pulse quickened. He looked away quickly. “How did you know that?”

“Huh? Just a guess,” Yángguāng said too quickly, scratching his cheek.

They stood in silence for a moment, the only sound the distant chirping of crickets and the soft rustle of lotus leaves in the pond.

For the first time, Yuèliàng found the silence between him and someone else… comfortable.

That night, back in his dorm, Yuèliàng sat on his bed, phone glowing faintly in the dark. His fingers hesitated before typing a message to Lìhuā.

Today was tiring but nice.

The reply came quickly: Glad to hear that. You sound happy today.

He paused, then typed: I met someone at school. He reminds me of you.

Across the city, Yángguāng froze. He read the message twice, his heart pounding unexpectedly. His fingers hovered over the screen before he typed back carefully: Oh? What’s he like?

Yuèliàng smiled faintly. He’s loud. But kind. And… bright.

Yángguāng leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair. For the first time, his little game didn’t feel so funny. The boy on the other end of the screen was talking about him — not Lìhuā.

He typed one last message before turning off his phone: Then I hope he makes you smile a lot.

In his dorm room, Yuèliàng set the phone on his desk and looked out the window. The moonlight spilled gently over the courtyard, painting silver ripples across the lotus pond.

He didn’t know why, but something about that boy — the one with the warm grin and eyes that held sunlight — had stayed with him all evening.

Maybe, he thought, some people enter your life like a quiet breeze, while others arrive like sunlight — sudden, bright, and impossible to ignore.

And somewhere in the same city, Yángguāng whispered into the night, “Moonlight, you have no idea what you’re doing to me.”

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