Chapter 3
I insisted. "Rules are rules. I can help you contact Mr. West."
He pursed his lips, which tightened his jawline. "No need." After saying that, he turned and left.
Something compelled me to chase after him. I stopped him at the stairwell. "Wait! Why did you refuse my help?"
The look in his eyes made me shudder. There were so much emotions in it, including stubbornness, anger, hurt, and a hint of vulnerability.
"I don't need pity," he said slowly.
"It's not pity," I said, "It's justice. You deserve this opportunity more than anyone else."
He was stunned. The sunlight passed through the corridor window, casting a shadow under his long eyelashes.
At that moment, I saw who he truly was. He was simply a young man who was scarred but refused to bow his head.
Three days later, he reappeared in front of me with a recommendation.
"Thank you," he said stiffly, then left quickly, as if staying another second would burn him.
I began to pay attention to this mysterious boy. The corner of the library was his exclusive territory. He would stay there the entire day every day.
He always had a piece of toast and a glass of water for lunch, and his notebook was densely packed with neat notes.
I sat next to him on purpose once. He didn't even look up, but I saw the tips of his ears quietly reddened.
"Grayson." I finally stopped him when we were leaving the library one day.
I said, "I'm organizing a study group. Can you come as a teaching assistant? We can pay you."
He looked at me warily. "Why me?"
"Because you got a perfect score in advanced mathematics, and we're all about to fail," I said half-jokingly.
The corners of his mouth rose slightly, and this was the first time I saw him almost smile. He asked, "When? Where?"
The study group gathered twice a wekk. Grayson was a strict teacher, unsympathetic but patient.
Gradually, the girls in the group began to find excuses to approach him, but he always kept a polite distance.
Only I knew that he would stay an extra hour after each session to help me organize my materials.
"You don't have to do this," I told him, "We pay you by the hour."
He lowered his head to organize the books, and his voice was barely audible. "I'm not doing this for money."
On a late night in November, we worked until the early hours of the next morning to prepare for school celebrations.
When we walked out of the building, it suddenly began to rain heavily. Without a word, he took off his coat and put it over my head.
"Wait." He rushed into the rain and returned a few minutes later with a battered umbrella, half of his body soaked.
When he walked me to my dormitory, I suddenly asked, "When is your birthday?"
He was obviously stunned. "I don't celebrate birthdays."
"But you have a birthday, right?"
"December 24th."
Christmas Eve was his birthday, but he never celebrated it. That realization hit me hard.
After that day, I began to gather information about him. His parents divorced while he was in middle school. They each started a new family later.
He grew up with his grandmother, who made a living by picking up waste. He worked three jobs a day, but always maintained perfect grades.
He never attended any parties, and he had no friends.
On December 24th, I waited for two hours under his dormitory building with a cake and a gift.
When he dragged his tired body back from the workplace, he had almost turned around and left as soon as he saw me.
"Raven, please don't." His voice was hoarse.
"Just give me ten minutes," I insisted. "Just blow out the candles."
Eventually, he compromised. In his humble dorm room, I lit a candle and sang softly the birthday song.
He stared at the small flame, his eyes dazed.
"Make a wish," I said.
He closed his eyes, his long eyelashes casting shadows on his face.
When he opened his eyes and blew out the candle, I was sure I saw tears shining in his eyes.
The gift I prepared for him was a dark blue shirt, almost identical to the one I had first met him in, only of better texture.
"It's time for a new one," I said while feigning lightness.