The high-speed rail station bustled with its usual chaos. Announcements echoed overhead, wheels clattered against the tiles, and footsteps crisscrossed the hall like a restless tide. The air was thick with the tension of departures and the warmth of returns—every passerby carrying a story of their own.
Di stood slightly apart from the crowd, leaning against the glass wall of a coffee shop. In his hand was a cup of iced Americano, beads of condensation slipping down his fingers. Dressed in a grey windbreaker, he blended into the mass of travelers around him—just another silhouette in the sea of people.
Somewhere in the crowd, a familiar voice called out.
"Di!"
The sound cut through the noise like a ripple across a still pond. It came from a summer long gone, and Di's heart gave an involuntary jolt.
He looked up. Jie was rushing over with a suitcase in tow, excitement lighting up his face—though beneath it lingered a flicker of uncertainty. Lan followed a few steps behind, not nearly as hurried, but just as steady. Her eyes sparkled the moment she spotted Di, and her lips curled into a soft smile.
In that brief second, the three of them locked eyes. The air turned thin, almost transparent, stretched with all the words they didn't dare speak—tentative, hopeful, anxious, and threaded with something achingly familiar.
"It's been a while," Lan said first, her voice light and careful, as if testing the ground.
Jie grinned. "Did you get a haircut? Not bad—looks like you're ready for adventure."
Di's lips moved ever so slightly, then he gave a small nod. "You got here early."
With those few lines, something between them seemed to relax. The weight lifted, just a little. They slipped into easy banter—how Jie's ticket purchase glitched at the last minute, how Lan nearly forgot to pack a toothbrush—and even Di allowed a quiet chuckle to escape.
It was like some invisible reset button had been pressed. For a moment, it felt like they had returned to those days of walking side by side.
When the train pulled in, the three of them boarded together. They were seated in two rows facing each other.
Jie took the window seat on one side. Di sat directly across from him by the opposite window. Between them sat a narrow white folding table. Lan took the seat beside Di, her energy still bright as she leaned toward the window, watching the platforms and neon signs blur past in streaks of light.
The cabin lights glowed warm but gentle. Outside, the scenery began to stretch, then dissolve into motion. It was as if someone had pressed the fast-forward button, dragging their youth along with it.
They had talked about filming vlogs, playing Uno—plans full of laughter and distraction. But within ten minutes, the conversation faded. Lan began to nod off beside Di. Jie rested his cheek against his palm, eyes drifting to the window. Di sat still, gaze locked somewhere far away.
Suddenly, Jie turned and looked directly at Di.
He hadn't meant to stare—only to say something light to cut through the silence. But their eyes met, and for a few long seconds, neither of them looked away.
Jie was just about to speak when Di moved first.
He reached into his windbreaker pocket and slowly pulled out a card.
A Pikachu holofoil card—aged but gleaming under the train's soft lighting.
Jie froze for a beat, then instinctively reached out to take it.
"You still have this?" he asked, surprised, his voice carrying both wonder and warmth.
His fingers brushed along the edges, lightly tracing the surface as if touching a memory. It was the card they once fought over, the card that led to hours of silent punishment—and the card Lan once quietly returned to them with a question in her eyes.
"I thought you threw it out."
"I didn't." Di's voice was soft. "It's been in my drawer all this time. When I was packing yesterday… I found it. Thought I'd bring it along."
Jie laughed. A real laugh this time. His eyes lit up, a flicker of joy dancing inside them—as if he'd just opened an old toy box and found a piece of his childhood still humming.
"Honestly—this thing might be worth some serious money now." He winked, voice teasing like it used to be.
"Only now you remember you're greedy?" Di shot back, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly.
And just like that, the years felt less distant. The silence less heavy.
The cracks hadn't disappeared, but maybe—just maybe—a single glint of light was enough to start filling them.
Their youth was still complicated. But in that moment, they were no longer avoiding it.