.chap Winner of page 4’s story contest!”Really nice weather. Want to go out for a walk?” she asks me when she is packing, leaving for home.
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I look through the window, it is. After continuous rain for several days, today is bright, though still a little cloudy. The breeze is rumbling the willow branches. At last, April is coming.
She looks at me, waiting for my reply.
I put down the pen. I can leave the work to tomorrow, I think. Anyway, I never expected to finish it today. ”Certainly,” I say.
During the final thesis work, our time schedule is very flexible. We can be absent for hours without being noticed. Roaming around Delft in the daytime became one of our main pastimes. She hates bicycling, prefers to walk whenever it is possible.
She lives in Roland Holstlaan, so we head toward the city centre. We first take a short cut to the Rotterdamsweg. Our professor takes this shortcut going to work in the morning from central station to our faculty. One day, he met her on the road to the faculty and showed her. After that, every time she followed this way.
We start talking about our teachers. Some of them we heartily adore. To some others, it is only a matter of politeness. We disagree about a certain teacher. I think he is brilliant. She doesn’t have much to argue about that though. But she criticises him as not ”cute” enough.
”That’s a tough requirement to fulfil,” I say, amused. ”How can you measure that?”
Pink cheek
She says it is not just about a person’s look, or clothes, or attitude, it is a feeling, a kind of affability, and graciousness. Upon that we agree that Dutch professors are much ”cuter” than their counterparts in our countries.
Tiny white flowers are blooming in the meadow along the road, like stars in the night sky. Green shoots have appeared on the birch branches. The green hue of the moss gives some tenderness to the look of the rough trunks. A woman passes us from behind riding a bicycle. The little girl on her back seat turns to look at us curiously. Until they are far away, I still can see her pink cheek and golden hair.
The bridge is lifted for a barge when we arrive. Among the waiting throng we are the only pedestrians. I look at her. She is a nice looking girl, dark hair, with typical complexion of Indian. She looks so special among the local people. She seems absorbed in some thinking, without giving any notice of my observation.
We go along the Delftse Schie River further northward. Nobody else is there on the bank. We talk randomly, whatever comes to mind. Something about the leaving of my roommate, her father’s company’s business, our future plans and our common friends. As usual she talks more than me. She enjoys putting her thoughts into language. Sometimes she complains about my quietness, but most of the time she feels content having a good listener.
She asks about my brother’s wedding. I try to describe, but give up realising it is impossible for me to translate certain Chinese into English without sounding ridiculous.
”Ah, you mean incense,” she declares in an exaggerated tone. She never feels shy about commenting on my English.
”At last! Your English is getting worse and worse,” I tell her.
”Being your classmate, how could it not?”
Destiny
We are the only two MSc students of our grade majoring in our section. Almost every class we took together. Basically, we are the same kind of students, ambitious but not diligent enough. She is more practical and efficient; I am relatively deeper and more patient. And we both are perfectionists, reluctant to compromise. Anyway, though clash and argue kept going on, we ended up being the best study partners we had ever met.
”Time is really running fast,” she suddenly says, turning to me.
With our impending graduation, this becomes the most mentioned sentence between us. The heavy task, the future planning, and termination of student life, all those, make us somehow melancholy.
”Life is full of changing. These two years are really special to me,” I say. ”I feel I have never been so carefree before in my life.”
”Me neither.”
She is the only child of her parents and has never been far away from them before she came to the Netherlands. On one hand, she said, she is looking forward to return and be together with her parents; on the other hand, she make so many good friends that she wishes she never had to depart from them.
”But anyway, this is only a transition phase. We have to go after our own destiny. Isn’t it?” She says conclusively. ”So I am afraid there’s not much time left for you to fool around with girls.”
Bizarre
I smile at her. She is so different from other girls. We trust each other. By my word, we are ”pals”. Believe it or not, we are each other’s best friends, no more, no less.
Several boats are anchoring along the bank. Nobody is in the cabin, only some plants on the sill, facing outside behind the glass, holding up the delicate flowers. I wonder where the hosts have been. What are they doing now? And where will they go tomorrow?
At the crossing we decide to say goodbye. She will turn left home and I’ll return to the faculty.
”What are you going to do after dinner?” I ask.
”I will go to the city centre with my camera to make some pictures of the buildings. I will bring them home as memories.”
Memory. Very soon, everything here will be memory. I can’t help turning around to watch her departing figure. Spring is here, I can feel it now from the gentle brush of the warm air on my forehead. There is something in the air, entering my body with my breath, tickling my heart, making me feel languid and blue. My mind is depressed by some heavy burden, keeps shooting out bizarre and irrelevant thoughts. I walk along the road, looking around, trying to indulge myself into the beautiful dusk of Delft.
.chap Winner of page 4’s story contest!
”Really nice weather. Want to go out for a walk?” she asks me when she is packing, leaving for home.
I look through the window, it is. After continuous rain for several days, today is bright, though still a little cloudy. The breeze is rumbling the willow branches. At last, April is coming.
She looks at me, waiting for my reply.
I put down the pen. I can leave the work to tomorrow, I think. Anyway, I never expected to finish it today. ”Certainly,” I say.
During the final thesis work, our time schedule is very flexible. We can be absent for hours without being noticed. Roaming around Delft in the daytime became one of our main pastimes. She hates bicycling, prefers to walk whenever it is possible.
She lives in Roland Holstlaan, so we head toward the city centre. We first take a short cut to the Rotterdamsweg. Our professor takes this shortcut going to work in the morning from central station to our faculty. One day, he met her on the road to the faculty and showed her. After that, every time she followed this way.
We start talking about our teachers. Some of them we heartily adore. To some others, it is only a matter of politeness. We disagree about a certain teacher. I think he is brilliant. She doesn’t have much to argue about that though. But she criticises him as not ”cute” enough.
”That’s a tough requirement to fulfil,” I say, amused. ”How can you measure that?”
Pink cheek
She says it is not just about a person’s look, or clothes, or attitude, it is a feeling, a kind of affability, and graciousness. Upon that we agree that Dutch professors are much ”cuter” than their counterparts in our countries.
Tiny white flowers are blooming in the meadow along the road, like stars in the night sky. Green shoots have appeared on the birch branches. The green hue of the moss gives some tenderness to the look of the rough trunks. A woman passes us from behind riding a bicycle. The little girl on her back seat turns to look at us curiously. Until they are far away, I still can see her pink cheek and golden hair.
The bridge is lifted for a barge when we arrive. Among the waiting throng we are the only pedestrians. I look at her. She is a nice looking girl, dark hair, with typical complexion of Indian. She looks so special among the local people. She seems absorbed in some thinking, without giving any notice of my observation.
We go along the Delftse Schie River further northward. Nobody else is there on the bank. We talk randomly, whatever comes to mind. Something about the leaving of my roommate, her father’s company’s business, our future plans and our common friends. As usual she talks more than me. She enjoys putting her thoughts into language. Sometimes she complains about my quietness, but most of the time she feels content having a good listener.
She asks about my brother’s wedding. I try to describe, but give up realising it is impossible for me to translate certain Chinese into English without sounding ridiculous.
”Ah, you mean incense,” she declares in an exaggerated tone. She never feels shy about commenting on my English.
”At last! Your English is getting worse and worse,” I tell her.
”Being your classmate, how could it not?”
Destiny
We are the only two MSc students of our grade majoring in our section. Almost every class we took together. Basically, we are the same kind of students, ambitious but not diligent enough. She is more practical and efficient; I am relatively deeper and more patient. And we both are perfectionists, reluctant to compromise. Anyway, though clash and argue kept going on, we ended up being the best study partners we had ever met.
”Time is really running fast,” she suddenly says, turning to me.
With our impending graduation, this becomes the most mentioned sentence between us. The heavy task, the future planning, and termination of student life, all those, make us somehow melancholy.
”Life is full of changing. These two years are really special to me,” I say. ”I feel I have never been so carefree before in my life.”
”Me neither.”
She is the only child of her parents and has never been far away from them before she came to the Netherlands. On one hand, she said, she is looking forward to return and be together with her parents; on the other hand, she make so many good friends that she wishes she never had to depart from them.
”But anyway, this is only a transition phase. We have to go after our own destiny. Isn’t it?” She says conclusively. ”So I am afraid there’s not much time left for you to fool around with girls.”
Bizarre
I smile at her. She is so different from other girls. We trust each other. By my word, we are ”pals”. Believe it or not, we are each other’s best friends, no more, no less.
Several boats are anchoring along the bank. Nobody is in the cabin, only some plants on the sill, facing outside behind the glass, holding up the delicate flowers. I wonder where the hosts have been. What are they doing now? And where will they go tomorrow?
At the crossing we decide to say goodbye. She will turn left home and I’ll return to the faculty.
”What are you going to do after dinner?” I ask.
”I will go to the city centre with my camera to make some pictures of the buildings. I will bring them home as memories.”
Memory. Very soon, everything here will be memory. I can’t help turning around to watch her departing figure. Spring is here, I can feel it now from the gentle brush of the warm air on my forehead. There is something in the air, entering my body with my breath, tickling my heart, making me feel languid and blue. My mind is depressed by some heavy burden, keeps shooting out bizarre and irrelevant thoughts. I walk along the road, looking around, trying to indulge myself into the beautiful dusk of Delft.
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