At the school gate, the bulletin board still bore the streaks left by last night's rain; morning light slanted across the glass display. The new issue of Campus Window, its cover sealed in plastic, whispered in the breeze—the photograph took up the entire top half.
In the photo the girl hung suspended in midair, the red? and? white jersey billowing with the wind, calves taut like drawn bowstrings. Hair fanned out, like black seaweed drifting in golden light. Behind her, the field blurred into greens and fluttering patches of color; the composition centered on the slight lift of her lips and the way she stared straight into the lens—surprised, and dazzlingly bright.
"Jesus, Yichen—this is yours?" Yu Bo grabbed Lin's shoulder, nearly yanking at the camera strap, tapping the glass with quick fingers. "Look—front cover! Dude, insane! I yelled at you yesterday—total misunderstanding! Su Ziyan—shot to perfection!"
A small crowd pressed at the display, whispering. "Is that Su Ziyan from Grade One, Class Three—the art girl? She looks like a star…" "Who shot it? Lin… Lin something?chen?" "That quiet kid from Class Seven who always hangs a camera around his neck?" Their gazes hooked onto Lin; he pulled at his collar as if to hide his face. Through the reflection on the glass he could see his faint shadow and that magnified, frozen moment—Su Ziyan's eyes. His heart quickened; he edged the camera bag closer to his chest.
"Lin Yichen, come to the office." The homeroom teacher's voice floated over, with a trace of curiosity. Yu Bo instantly made him a face—"you're set, bro."
The office smelled of chalk dust and old homework. Mr. Liu blew across his enamel mug and said, "I saw the photo." He nodded at the open magazine on the desk. "Editor Wang's pleased. We could use more shots that catch the 'spirit' like this. Our regular photographer's gone to art training—think you can fill in sometimes? Shoot events, get some experience." Lin stared at the cover—Su Ziyan edged in sunlight. His throat tightened; his fingers fiddled at his trouser seam before he breathed, "Okay."
"Good." Mr. Liu set down his cup. "Editor Wang wants you to drop by the editorial office after school—meet the team, learn the workflow. By the way, the cover blurb was written by Su Ziyan herself. You two know each other, right? Next issue we have a 'Campus Corner' photo? and? text feature—you shoot, she might add illustrations or short copy. Talk it over." He handed Lin a slip of paper—the editorial office was in the little storage room beside the activity space on the top floor of the lab building.
The paper was still warm in Lin's hand as he left, feeling a bit dazed. Yu Bo popped out like a monkey from behind a pillar. "Editorial office? No way—dude, that's huge! Teaming up with Su Ziyan? Don't blow this!"
The lab building's top floor felt like another world: rusty chemistry models and discarded displays stamped with dust crowded the corridor. The green metal door to the office stood ajar and squealed on its hinges. The room smelled of old paper, ink, and dust. Iron shelves crowded the walls, stacked with yellowing periodicals. A long wooden table scarred with years of use held manuscripts, scissors, glue, and a few dusty old monitors. A narrow high window let in a slanted beam that made the dust dance.
At the far end of the table, by that window, someone sat with head bent—neck pale where light struck, ponytail loosely gathered, stray hair falling at the jaw. She held a pencil and sketched quickly over a stack of pages. The magazine lay open on the table. When the door creaked she looked up; the light framed her profile—Su Ziyan.
For half a second the air froze. Lin's Adam's apple bobbed; his hand tightened on the camera bag strap. Surprise crossed her face, then her gaze dropped to the camera at his chest and her lips curved—exposing a small, pointed canine.
"It's you," she said, clear as a glass clink. "I just went to look at the cover—wanted to know who caught that shot so well." She pointed at the open magazine with frankness.
Lin felt his ears heat; he managed a strained "mm." He didn't know where to stand, shifting his eyes over the cluttered room before returning to the stack of sketches under her hand.
On the paper, rough pencil lines suggested a crowd clustered around a bulletin board—some pointing, some chatting. Though rough, the scene vibrated with life.
"You saw it too?" Su Ziyan followed his glance and tapped her sketch. "At the bulletin this morning. Interesting." She smiled, genuinely engaged.
"Do you…like the photo?" he asked and immediately regretted it.
She smiled into a crescent. "I do. You made me look like I jumped higher than I thought I could." She twirled her pencil, playful. "Editor Wang insisted I write the cover blurb. Your photo did half the work—gave me the image, made the words easier."
Editor Wang shuffled in then, a middle?aged, slightly round man with thinning hair and a thermos of tea. "So you two met? Lin's photos, Su's words—that's a good pairing. 'Campus Corner' is yours—capture unnoticed but interesting little corners of school life. Bring draft photos and copy by next Friday." He rummaged out a box and set a few rolls of leftover film on the table. "Lin, use these for now—your camera's fine."
When the door closed behind him the room returned to a hush broken only by the scratch of pencil. Lin moved a few old magazines aside and cleared a place to sit. He set his camera on his lap and rubbed the cold metal with his fingertips. Unconsciously his eyes tracked the motion of Su Ziyan's hand under the windowlight; her profile was soft in the glow.
"How about something like this?" she asked suddenly, pointing to the sketched crowd. "Between looking and being looked at—little domestic dramas hide there. The magazine doesn't often show that angle."
Lin looked into her bright eyes and nodded. "Yeah. Let's try it." He raised his camera and framed her thinking pose from across the table—the light catching the tiny hairs on her cheek and the slight crease between her brows. His finger hovered on the shutter but he didn't press. He closed the camera and asked more quietly, "Tomorrow after school—behind the library? That path under the plane trees—light's nice and people hang there."
Her eyes lit up and she scribbled a quick note in the margin: Library back path—life feature. She slipped a color flyer for an art? School summer program into her sketchbook, the institute's emblem peeking out.
Dusk thickened the room into gray? blue. Su Ziyan stretched. "Done." She pushed her sketches aside. Lin scrolled through test shots on his camera—sunlit patterns of a small lane. The scent of ink and worn wood hung in the air as they packed.
They detoured to the twenty? four? hour convenience store. Steam rose from the oden pot. They ate at the high counter, talking about composition and capture between bites. She mentioned, casually, that her father pushed her toward the art? school prep class and the cost that came with it; he said his parents barely noticed his photography—fine as a hobby. Their conversation was small, honest.
The next afternoon the westward reading room's light was perfect: large panes softened to honeyed grids that fell across tables and pages. Lin sat by the window with a hefty photography yearbook open to early Magnum black? and? white work—violent contrasts and restrained composition. He turned the pages slowly, fingers tracing the contours of faces in the prints, looking up now and then at the world sliced into panes by the window frame.
"Perfect," the editor murmured, eyes bright. "This one's the cover."