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As the jingling bell rang, the silence of self-study was instantly shattered, and whispers spread around like mold.
Tabi slowly straightened up from her slumped position, glanced at the clock—it was already 11:00, time to go home.
There wasn't much to pack. Layers of textbooks piled on the desk like oppressive mountains. She hastily gathered the test papers scattered messily across the table, weighed them in her hand, then stuffed them into her backpack.
"Ah, finally done with school."
Tabi's deskmate, Seawatt, opened his eyes, looking like he'd just woken up. In his words, the relentless grind of studying had crushed his nerves, forcing him to embrace the embrace of sleep.
He sat up and stretched, only then realizing Tabi had already packed up and was heading out.
"Wait up, Tabi. Evbo said you should leave through the west gate."
"I always leave through the west gate."
Tabi shot him a speechless glare and stepped out of the classroom without a second glance.
It was still high summer. Mosquitoes and insects loved to swarm under the streetlights, and passersby would always irritably wave them away, only for them to return moments later. The short-sleeved school uniform wasn't too clingy, but as Tabi walked along the slightly dim campus path, she was glad she'd sprayed mosquito repellent right after leaving—now she didn't have to worry about being nibbled on.
"Tabi, over here—!"
Evbo spotted her figure from afar. He stood under a streetlamp whose pole was chipping white paint, holding an MP3 player with the earbuds still dangling from his ears, a grin tugging at his lips.
Tabi walked toward him, step by step, her own footsteps clear in her ears. Evbo was only a little taller than her, just enough to meet her gaze at eye level. He handed her an ice cream bar with his other hand, and though his words brimmed with smiles, fatigue still lingered beneath them.
"I saw this trick on TV. At noon, I snuck over the wall, bought an ice cream, and put it in a thermos. Didn't think it'd actually stay frozen—here, eat it quick!"
"Thank you."
Tabi took it gently, revealing the watch on her wrist as she motioned for him to hurry up.
"Well then, time to head home! As your good neighbor, it's my duty to protect—my good neighbor Tabi's personal safety! Let's go!"
The streetlight stretched Evbo's shadow long across the ground. Tabi walked, stepping on his shadow, taking small, slow licks of her ice cream. It had a rich milk flavor, sweet but not cloying—just the way she liked it.
"You snuck over the wall at noon just to buy this?"
"Wasn't just for that, really."
Evbo fiddled with the MP3 earphone cord, wrapping it around his fingers, a little distracted. She really wondered what song he was listening to.
"Stopped by the bookstore, too. There's a new reference book coming out next month—put in a pre-order."
"Oh."
"That's it? Couldn't at least praise me for planning ahead or something?"
He pouted helplessly, not really minding her brief reply. The lightness in his steps showed he was in a good mood anyway.
Tabi glanced at him but said nothing, just kept licking her ice cream. Evbo didn't take offense, grinning as he matched her pace. The two walked side by side along the dim campus path. By the gate, there were hardly any people left—most students had already surged out like a tide earlier. The security guard sat outside his booth, waving a palm-leaf fan, and nodded at them as they passed.
West of the school gate ran a little road lined with plane trees. During the day, it bustled with breakfast stalls, stationery vendors, sausage grills—all crammed in tight. Now, they'd packed up, leaving only a few shops still lit, their rolling shutters half drawn, the sound of TVs seeping out from within.
"Did you finish your physics homework today?"
Evbo suddenly asked, his tone a little off.
"Yeah."
"Let me copy it."
Tabi stopped and turned to look at him. Evbo's expression was perfectly composed, almost expectant. Ah, this guy. Always so lazy.
"Didn't you say the relentless grind of studying crushed your nerves?"
"That was Seawatt who said it, not me."
He quickly retorted, though his eyes darted slightly up and to the right, betraying his guilt.
"You were nodding along with him in the classroom just now."
Tabi corrected him mercilessly.
"I was groggy from sleeping, just mumbled a response."
Evbo said it with utter confidence, as if he saw no problem at all.
"Besides, if my nerves were really crushed, could I have snuck over the wall at noon to buy you ice cream?"
Tabi thought about it. The logic seemed off somehow, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. So she ate the last bite of ice cream and clenched the wooden stick in her palm.
"Not letting you copy."
"Why?"
"Do it yourself."
"I can't."
"Then learn."
"Can't learn."
Tabi didn't want to deal with him anymore. She quickened her pace and walked ahead. Evbo scrambled after her, his backpack straps swinging against his shoulders, the little charms on his zipper pulls clinking together—a faint sound that carried clearly in the night.
"Hey, don't walk so fast—I'm kidding, I'll do it myself, okay—"
Streetlights stood every twenty meters or so, some lit, some not, cutting their shadows into segments. Occasionally, a late-returning bicycle would ring past them, the bells jingling a few times before quickly fading into the darkness.
When they reached a fork in the road, Tabi stopped.
"Aren't you going that way?"
She pointed toward the narrow alley on the left, looking genuinely puzzled, with no trace of the earlier annoyance.
Evbo shook his head and spread his hands helplessly.
"Not taking that way today. The streetlight in that alley's broken—pitch black."
"Didn't you say it was your duty to protect my personal safety?"
"Exactly, which is why we can't take a dark road. What if something jumps out and scares you?"
Tabi glanced at him, said nothing, and kept walking. Evbo followed alongside, chattering on and on—about how he still didn't understand that formula the physics teacher explained today, about how he almost got caught by the discipline director when he climbed over the wall at noon, about how Seawatt was drooling in class and got whacked awake with a book by his deskmate. Tabi just listened, occasionally murmuring acknowledgment, but mostly walking in silence.
As they passed a fruit shop, the owner was carrying watermelons inside. Seeing them, she called out.
"Heading home from school?"
"Yep! Hi, Auntie!"
Evbo responded sweetly, waving with a bright smile. Tabi nodded along too, but not as enthusiastically as Evbo, earning her a displeased nudge from his elbow. The owner chuckled without minding and went back to moving her watermelons. The warm yellow light from the shop fell on the grapes and peaches displayed outside, making them look fresh.
"You want some grapes?"
Evbo looked at the bunch of fresh grapes, suddenly struck by some thought.
"No."
Tabi frowned, puzzled by the question. Besides, they weren't cheap.
"I'll treat you."
Evbo started tugging at her arm.
"I said no."
"Then pretend I want some, and you're keeping me company while I buy."
Evbo had already dashed over and was saying something to the owner, who laughed and handed him a plastic bag. He crouched there, picking and choosing. Tabi stood nearby watching. The streetlight from the side outlined his figure in a soft, fuzzy glow.
"Which bunch do you want?"
He looked up at her, his green eyes sparkling with mirth, completely unbothered by her coldness.
"Didn't you say you wanted some?"
Tabi looked utterly speechless, but still honestly leaned in to look.
Evbo shot her a glance and launched into his usual "whatever I say is right" nonsense, his blond hair lying softly against his ears, giving him a look completely at odds with his personality.
"Even if I want some, I still have to buy the ones you like, right? Otherwise, if I buy them and you won't eat a single one, wouldn't I be losing out?"
Tabi crouched down and randomly pointed at a bunch. Evbo picked it up, looked at it, then put it back and chose another, tapping her head with his finger to tell her to be more serious.
"This bunch is good—plump."
The owner weighed it, named a price, and casually mentioned she'd give him thirty percent off. Evbo thanked her profusely while pulling some crumpled bills from his pocket, counting them carefully before handing them over, still spouting exaggerated words of gratitude.
The streetlight cast a hazy yellow glow, stretching their shadows long—overlapping, then separating, separating, then overlapping. The wooden stick from the ice cream was still clutched in Tabi's hand, a faint coolness lingering at her fingertips. She looked around but couldn't find a trash can, so she just held onto it. Evbo walked on her left, the plastic bag dangling from his hand, the grapes gently swaying inside, occasionally bumping together with a soft thud.
Plane leaves fell at their feet. The dried ones crunched satisfyingly when stepped on; the freshly fallen ones, still moist, made no sound. Tabi deliberately stepped on a dry one—crunch. Evbo stepped on one too—crunch.
And so they crunched their way down the path.
"Do you still have any allowance left?"
Tabi suddenly asked, a hint of hesitation in her voice, though she tried not to let Evbo notice.
Evbo was busy grinding a leaf under his shoe and looked up at the question.
"Plenty. Why wouldn't I?"
"Didn't you buy ice cream at noon?"
"Ice cream didn't cost anything."
Tabi blinked, her steps faltering.
"Didn't you say you bought it?"
"I'm tight with the shopkeeper. When he saw it was for you, he insisted on giving it to me without a second thought."
Evbo said it with utter confidence, sneaking a glance at Tabi's expression. Relieved not to see any obvious anger, he breathed easier.
Tabi was silent for a moment. The alley was quiet. In the distance, a dog barked twice, then fell silent. The streetlights were spaced far apart; they were walking through a dark stretch, with only the faint glow from the next lamp casting a blurred outline around them.
"What, touched?"
Evbo leaned in, tilting his head to look at her.
"Thinking I'm a pretty great guy?"
Tabi felt his presence close by, carrying the lingering heat of the evening and the faint, clean scent of sweat unique to a teenage boy. She didn't turn her head, just kept walking.
"No."
"Then why aren't you talking?"
"Thinking about physics problems."
Evbo burst out laughing.
"Liar. You already finished your physics homework—what's there to think about?"
Tabi quickened her pace. Evbo chased after her, the grapes in the plastic bag jostling with a soft rustle. His shadow caught up, overlapped hers, then fell back. Beneath the next streetlight lay a scattering of tiny insects—some still fluttering, others already still. Tabi walked around them; Evbo followed suit.
They stopped in front of a residential building.
"I'm here."
The light in the stairwell had been broken for ages—a pitch-black cave gaping outward. The wall beside it was plastered with ads—unclog drains, install security screens, buy old appliances at high prices—layers of colorful paper overlapping, curled at the edges from rain.
"Oh."
Evbo stopped too and held out the plastic bag.
"Here."
Tabi looked down at the grapes, then up at him. The streetlight caught him from the side—half his face bright, half in shadow. The stray hairs at his forehead were a bit long, nearly covering his eyes, but his eyes held light, bright and warm.
"Didn't you buy these for yourself?"
"When did I say they were for me?"
Evbo mumbled vaguely, persistently holding the grapes up to her.
"I said, 'pretend I want some, and you're keeping me company'—they're for you."
The evening breeze blew, carrying the day's lingering heat and the smell of cooking oil from someone's dinner. She caught it—and the faint sweetness of grapes seeping through the gaps in the plastic bag.
"I don't want them."
"Why?"
"Your allowance isn't enough."
Evbo blinked, then smiled. The corners of his mouth curved, his eyes crinkled—soft and faint. Gently, he placed the bag in her hand.
"It's enough, it's enough. Don't worry about me. Go on up—I'm not carrying them up for you, you know. See you tomorrow."
With that, he turned and ran.
Tabi stood there, the plastic bag in her hand, the coolness of the grapes seeping through. She watched his retreating figure—the hem of his uniform puffing slightly in the wind, his backpack straps swinging on his shoulders. As he ran past the next streetlight, his shadow stretched long, reaching all the way to her feet.
He stopped under a streetlight and waved back at her.
Then he ran on, into the deeper night, past the next light, and the next—smaller and smaller, until he became a blurry silhouette vanishing at the end of the alley.
Tabi looked down at the grapes in her hand. The plastic bag was printed with the fruit shop's name and number, slightly creased from the owner's grip. Through the transparent plastic, she saw the grapes—purplish-red, plump, still dotted with undried water droplets, glistening under the streetlight.
Footsteps echoed from the stairwell, growing closer, accompanied by the jingle of keys.
Ah. Mom, coming down to take out the trash.
The iron gate creaked open, and Mom emerged with a garbage bag. Seeing Tabi standing there, she blinked.
"Home? Why aren't you coming up? What's that in your hand?"
"Grapes."
"Where from?"
Tabi thought for a moment, then looked up.
"The neighbors gave them."
Mom didn't get it. Frowning, she looked at Tabi, then down the alley—empty, nothing there, just streetlights burning quietly, one after another.
"What good neighbor?"
"Nothing."
Tabi turned and walked into the stairwell. Mom followed behind. The iron gate creaked shut, plunging the stairwell back into darkness. Tabi felt her way up the railing—first floor, second floor—her footsteps echoing in the narrow space, one after another, clear and distinct.
On the third floor, she stopped, fished out her keys, and opened the door.
The living room light was still on, warm yellow seeping through the crack. She pushed the door open, changed her shoes, set her backpack on a chair, and placed the grapes on the table.
"Wash them and eat them," Mom said from behind. "Don't let them go bad."
Tabi murmured an acknowledgment, went to the kitchen, and took out a bowl. She poured the grapes in, turned on the tap, and let the water run. One by one, she washed them, droplets splashing onto her hands—cool. She popped one into her mouth.
Sweet.
She washed another. Another into her mouth.
Still sweet.
One by one, she ate them, until the last grape was gone. She put the bowl in the sink, turned off the kitchen light, and walked back to her room.
She'd forgotten to close the window—but it was summer, so it didn't matter. Warm air filled the room, the curtains swaying gently. Silently, she walked to the window and looked out.
The alley was still that alley. The streetlights were still those streetlights.
Empty. No one.
She stood there for a moment.
Then she drew the curtains.