Only talk about love, can't say love

Author: Luo Qingjie
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2005-01-01
Features: A teacher who dares not to accept love, a candy shop owner secretly in love with a girl from the neighboring store, an office worker who specializes in solving love troubles for colleagues, and a theater director who painfully lets love go. Through the delicate brushwork of Wasabi, the different experiences of the four main characters in their love lives are portrayed, capturing the myriad flavors of being able to talk about love but not be able to love. The novel includes four theme song lyrics performed by Leung Ka-man, Fong Lik-sun, Tang Kin-hong, and Ku Kui-kei.
At six in the evening. I like this time, sitting alone on the playground in silence. I’ve been back at this school for nearly two years, not sure how long I’ll stay! I graduated here and came back to teach—it’s my biggest dream. After graduating from normal school, I waited for two years before finally getting a teaching position; however, it’s not a permanent job. Only when a teacher goes abroad for further studies can I take over the position. I cherish these two years because every corner of the school holds many unforgettable memories for me, especially this playground. Every day after class, I sit alone by the dragon gate pillars, watching the sunset. I gaze at the ground of this court—the gray concrete seems to have a trace of blood. It’s mine, only I can see it!
“SORRY, Mr. Huang!” I hear a gentle voice calling from afar, so soft that I almost didn’t notice it, as if I had never realized there were other people on the court. After the voice reaches me, I realize there’s a volleyball nearby. She comes over and stands in front of me for a long time. Naturally, I look at her. Her gaze is stubborn. I recognize her—I know she often appears around me, but I don’t know her name. I only know she’s in senior six, and I only know that her gaze hasn’t left me in these two years. She stands in front of me, motionless. I try to avoid her gaze, but for some reason, over the past two years, I’ve felt the need to evade it. She still doesn’t move.
“Jia Jia!” she says.
“What?” I’m a bit flustered.
“Call me Jia Jia.” I sense an odd atmosphere—I think I should avoid it, not just her gaze but her too. I stand up straight, turn past her, and pick up the volleyball.
“Is it yours?” she still stares at me with her stubborn gaze. I avoid it again.
“Why do you avoid me?” I’m surprised; she’s very direct. I look at her. It’s not to assert authority over her, just a natural reaction. For the first time, I look directly at her, and I realize her eyes are beautiful. From this moment on, I remember her name is Jia Jia.
“I love you! Don’t avoid me anymore!” With that, she snatches the volleyball from my hand. I, still standing there, frozen. I finally understand what I’ve been avoiding these past two years. It was bound to happen—I did.
That night, lying in bed, I toss and turn. I don’t know how to handle this tomorrow. Should I sit down and have a proper talk with Jia Jia? Should I reevaluate my abilities as a teacher?