Jack spent nearly two hours at the bookstore selecting the right books, but the choice of a bracelet took only a second. It was a small flower stall on the street tended by a middle-aged woman, selling more than just flowers—there were these delicate woven strings too.

When Jack saw the flowers, he wanted to gift them to her. And then, when his eyes landed on the little red string, he wanted to give her that as well. Just as he was debating whether to get it, the stall owner urged him, "Buy it for your girlfriend."

And so he did.

The next time they met, Jack subconsciously glanced at her wrist. She was well-behaved; after he had tied the bracelet on her, she hadn’t taken it off. The red string was just barely visible beneath the cuffs of her school uniform, and that sight alone set Jack in a buoyant mood.

With senior year in full swing, the morning exercise routines were replaced with English listening exercises, half an hour dedicated to honing their comprehension. Before the audio began, an announcement was broadcast over the speakers.

Amy didn’t catch the details of the notice; she was too distracted by the announcer’s voice, murmuring to herself, "He has quite a nice voice."

Jack paused his review of the listening questions and said, "Oh, really?"

Amy glanced at him. "Yeah."

Jack fell silent, ostensibly focusing on the listening exercise.

Suddenly, Amy covered his notebook with her hand, displaying the red string bracelet he’d tied. "Does it look nice?"

"Yes, it does."

"It’s a bit loose. Can you fix it for me?"

"Sure." Jack put down his pen, untied the bracelet, then secured it again.

Little liar, he mused internally—it hadn’t been loose at all.

Amy was not only adept at making up quick fibs, but she could also easily throw in a flirtatious comment.

"I think your voice is even nicer," Amy suddenly said, turning her palm up to play with his fingers. "Say something so I can hear it."

Jack’s heart skipped a beat, but he played it cool, letting her toy with his hand. "What should I say?"

Amy considered for a moment. "Do you know any love poems?"

"Which one do you want to hear?"

They didn’t get to continue because the English listening exercise started playing over the speakers.

She withdrew her hand, settling back into her space as she whispered, "Next time."

Amy might have forgotten most of the high school subjects, English included, but her time at the advertising company kept her listening and speaking skills sharp.

Nowadays, Amy had developed a habit of competing with Jack on any given assignment. In the past, these comparisons were silent, personal measures. Now, they were open challenges. Back then, losing made her doubt herself and harbor resentment toward him, but now, she had grown thick-skinned. On losing, she simply claimed she wasn’t prepared, and Jack never argued.

Luckily, this time she had the upper hand—she got everything right, whereas Jack missed one.

"I won," she chirped, her voice lifting like a proud peacock.

Jack obliged her need for praise. “Yes, you won.”

Once the listening exercise ended, they had a few minutes before the next class. Mr. Joe called both of them outside the classroom.

“Tomorrow, our school and the neighboring school will be observing classes for mutual learning. You two will join me and the head of the department to attend some sessions.”

“How long will we be gone?” Amy asked.

“Most of the day,” Mr. Joe replied.

Jack said, “What time do we leave?”

“You should come to school as usual. I’ll call for you when it’s time, probably around 9 am,” Mr. Joe informed.

“Alright.”

As Mr. Joe prepared to leave, Amy finally voiced her reluctance, “Is it okay if I don’t go?”

“You can opt out,” Mr. Joe considered for a moment, likely assessing alternative choices, and finally said, “Then, Vicky can join Jack instead.”

The question mark hung in the air.

Amy quickly shot back, “I’ll go.”

Her decision seemed to amuse Jack, who let out a soft laugh.

By lunchtime, it was rare for the teacher to dismiss them on time, but as soon as the word "dismissed" was spoken, the classroom emptied swiftly, leaving only a handful.

Jack prepared to leave, only to realize Amy had her head down, taking a nap.

He sat back down, careful not to disturb her. “Not feeling well?”

Amy lifted her head, shaking it slightly. “Too many people—I don’t feel like standing in line. I’ll go later.”

Jack contemplated before suggesting softly, “Would you… like to come home with me?”

Jack’s parents were teachers here, which Amy remembered, though she hadn’t known they lived in the faculty residences right behind the school.

Following Jack into his home, Amy found everything tidy and organized—much like Jack himself, neat and precise.

“Have a seat,” Jack said as he headed into the kitchen. “Does fried rice sound good? It’s quick.”

“Sure.” Amy didn’t sit; instead, she followed him.

“Any dietary restrictions?” Jack asked, grabbing an apron but then paused, suddenly unsure if wearing it in front of her would seem odd.

“None,” Amy remarked, noticing his stillness, and playfully nudged his side, “Why aren’t you putting it on?”

Jack snapped back to reality, slipping the apron over his head, but his limbs turned awkwardly rigid.

Her arms encircled his waist—not a hug but a gentle touch, her fingers tracing from his abdomen to his sides, and he shivered as a subtle tingling spread from her touch.

And just like that, the sensation vanished, replaced by the snugness of a bow tied around his waist.

“All set.”

Already feeling uneasy, Jack suddenly questioned his decision of bringing her here. Was it wise or a mistake?