Part 1: Summer Apart
The first few days were spent adjusting to new classes. Sophomore courses ramped up in difficulty—Operating Systems, Computer Networks, Data Structures and Algorithms. The pressure was real. Even Jiang Jin toned down his playfulness, worried about failing.
"Dude, this algorithms class is insane," he groaned, staring at the incomprehensible slides.
Lu Zhao felt the strain too. His summer internship experience felt like a drop in the ocean compared to the theoretical mountain ahead. Instinctively, he glanced at Gu Xun—who, as always, looked composed, his notes neat and methodical.
"Gu Xun, did you get this part?" Lu Zhao asked.
"Mm." Gu Xun nodded. Seeing both Lu Zhao and Jiang Jin looking at him expectantly, he picked up his pen. "The key is understanding the structure of the recursion tree…"
As he explained, Lu Zhao noticed that Gu Xun's examples and logic seemed more elegant than the professor's—echoes of the cutting-edge methods he'd likely encountered in Silicon Valley. Lu Zhao was quietly impressed. Gu Xun had clearly leveled up over the summer.
Jiang Jin listened, half-understanding, but didn't ask too many questions—pride held him back. Instead, he studied late into the night or pestered Lu Zhao for help. Lu Zhao realized that while Jiang Jin's foundation was shaky, he had grit. He'd stay up until dawn just to grasp a single concept.
Beyond academics, sophomore year brought more choices and distractions. Clubs launched another round of recruitment, and bulletin boards overflowed with lecture and competition flyers. Jiang Jin, with his athletic skills and charisma, was elected head of the Sports Department in the student council. He grew busier, often absent from the dorm, returning sweaty and excited, rambling about event planning and team coordination.
Gu Xun, meanwhile, ignored all club invitations. His presence shifted to the library's journal section and the school's innovation lab. He joined a professor-led research group, contributing to basic tasks but finding joy in the work.
Lu Zhao stood between them. He lacked Jiang Jin's social flair and Gu Xun's technical obsession. He attended classes, finished assignments, occasionally cheered at Jiang Jin's games, and sometimes helped Gu Xun test his mini-programs. He felt like a balancing point—keeping their triangle stable.
But beneath the surface, subtle changes were unfolding.
Jiang Jin, through student council work, met more people—including girls who showed interest. He'd eat with them, watch movies, even try flirting. But every time he returned to the dorm and saw Gu Xun's quiet profile, the ripple of excitement from female attention would inexplicably fade. He didn't understand why. He chalked it up to "brotherhood."
He even tried, during a student mixer, to connect with a cute literature major. He told himself it was normal—boys should like girls. But after a few exchanges, he felt bored. His mind kept comparing: Her voice isn't as nice as Gu Xun's.She didn't get my joke—Gu Xun wouldn't laugh, but he'd understand. The thoughts startled him. He chugged a beer to drown them out.
Gu Xun, as always, kept distractions at bay. But he noticed he was growing used to Lu Zhao's presence.
When he returned late from the lab and saw the desk lamp left on, along with a simple snack—sometimes a bun, sometimes a carton of milk—he felt a faint warmth. A sense of being quietly cared for. He'd eat it without comment, and the next day, answer Lu Zhao's questions with extra patience.
As for the snacks Jiang Jin occasionally brought back—gifts "from girls," he claimed—Gu Xun would politely decline or leave them untouched.
Lu Zhao remained oblivious. He brought Gu Xun food simply because he worried about his health. He listened to Jiang Jin's complaints out of brotherly loyalty. He interpreted everything through the lens of simple friendship, unaware of the unspoken tension flowing between the two desks, or the complex emotions in Jiang Jin's gaze when he looked at Gu Xun's back.
Sophomore year passed in days that seemed calm but carried undercurrents.
Knowledge accumulated. Experience grew. But instead of resolving hidden conflicts, they added layers—like tree rings—making the internal patterns more intricate, more profound.
Each of them stood at the threshold of becoming a more mature version of themselves. But none of them knew that ahead lay not a smooth path, but a storm that would shatter everything they thought they understood.