It Seems Like My Senior Seems to Like Me - Chapter 60

On the day they broke up, Pei Suye was utterly decisive, leaving no room for retreat.

A month after the breakup, she regretted it.

She rescheduled her flight, rushed back to school, and intercepted Ye Wanjia on the cherry blossom avenue.

By then, Ye Wanjia no longer broke down in tears over a single sentence. Fifty days of heart-wrenching pain had numbed her. Facing Pei Suye again, she now had her own logic, her own thoughts—she wouldn’t just cry and beg blindly.

Only, her heart still hurt.

“If you want to talk, make it quick. I don’t have much time.”

They stood on the roadside—Ye Wanjia in a matcha-colored dress, Pei Suye in the T-shirt and sweatpants she had prepared for her flight.

Two months earlier, in this very place, Ye Wanjia had been practicing laps for her final PE exam. After finishing, she had leaned on Pei Suye, playfully pouting and asking her to carry her back to the dormitory.

In just two months, the one wearing the skirt had changed. Now it was Ye Wanjia. And her expression was cool, her voice calm—no longer the girl wrapped in sunshine.

She faced the road, while Pei Suye faced her. Her delicate brows furrowed with guilt.

“I came today to apologize. What I said back then wasn’t what I truly meant. I’m sorry.”

Ye Wanjia didn’t look at her. Her eyes were fixed straight ahead, wandering aimlessly as the late cherry blossoms fell. Her sculpted profile was cold, almost frightening in its stillness.

“If you only came to apologize, there’s no need. You just did what you thought was right. I don’t mind.”

But an apology wasn’t what she wanted to hear.

Pei Suye’s gaze clung greedily to her side profile. She circled around to stand in front of her, stepping down to the street. The small change meant that the height advantage she once had was gone—she now had to look up at Ye Wanjia, lowering herself.

She opened her mouth again.

“Ye Wanjia, I want to explain why I suddenly broke up with you. Actually, I found out—”

This time, she was interrupted. Ye Wanjia raised her eyes, locking straight onto hers. Her voice was sharp, calm:

“Does the reason for breaking up really matter?”

The question was so flat, so absolute, that Pei Suye’s lips parted and closed, then parted again—yet no words came out.

Standing on the step, Ye Wanjia had ten centimeters of height over her. For the first time, she was looking down at Pei Suye.

She had never been completely rational in front of this person. Now she was—because her shattered heart had been pieced together bit by bit with glue. Under sunlight, it could only barely reflect a faint glimmer.

Seeing her silenced, Ye Wanjia continued:

“I used to think it mattered. I even imagined—maybe you discovered you had a terminal illness, maybe you found out I was the daughter of your enemy, maybe you found out we were sisters, maybe the world was ending. But what’s the point? Reasons are just reasons.”

Her crystalline eyes shifted slightly. The gaze she cast on Pei Suye was colder than ever, yet heavy with emotion.

“These reasons are nothing more than a manual—explaining that in your heart, you and I were never equal. No matter what happens, you choose to bear it alone, solve it alone. And me? In your eyes I was insignificant, useless, not qualified to take part in your life. When you can’t solve it, your choice is always to break up—not to share the burden with me.”

Pei Suye froze in place. Her beautiful eyes trembled. Her lips pressed tight, swallowing back the explanation she had prepared. She had underestimated Ye Wanjia’s clarity of thought, and underestimated the depth of the wound she had caused.

She had thought that if she explained the reasons clearly, Ye Wanjia might understand her, maybe even forgive her.

But just as Ye Wanjia had said—does the truth matter? Whatever the reason, the fact remained: she had unilaterally ended things, without a word of explanation.

For the first time in her life, Pei Suye wanted to slap herself.

“Ye Wanjia, I’m sorry.” Her eyes fell, her voice collapsing. “I never imagined my ignorance and selfishness would hurt you this much. If…”

She licked her lips nervously, took a deep breath, hesitated, then whispered:

“If I tell you that I still love you very much, would you find it laughable?”

Ye Wanjia thought for a moment. “Not laughable.”

A pause—then she explained:

“Because a month ago, I felt the same way.”

Finally, she made her stance clear:

“But in this world, reason must come before emotion. I can’t keep loving someone who isn’t worth it. Even if you want to get back together, I won’t agree. After all, you broke up with me out of nowhere—I wasn’t prepared at all. I don’t want to go through it again. And I won’t live in fear every day, waiting for you to leave again.”

Pei Suye lowered her eyes, staring at a trampled, torn flower petal. She gave a bitter laugh. When she lifted her gaze again, her eyes carried what might be the last trace of unwillingness to part.

“Little Leaf.”

She called the nickname one last time—the nickname that had belonged only to her. From now on, neither the nickname, nor the person, nor the face would be hers to see again.

“Tell me this—are you calm and certain about your decision? Not angry, not trying to get back at me, but simply… not in love with me anymore. Is that it? If so, I’ll never bother you again.”

Ye Wanjia’s brows quivered faintly—but only once, so it went unnoticed.

A breeze passed. Loose strands of hair were tucked behind her ear with slender fingers. A blossom slipped from her hair and drifted down to the ground, drawing the curtain on that summer.

“Let’s break up.”

From that day onward, they had no contact.

Ye Wanjia posted a short update, the words simple, just one line:

“Love is nothing more than a fleeting joy, but its undertone is eternal sorrow. The rest of life is only the endless replay of that fleeting moment.”

Elsewhere, on the way to the airport.

Pei Xin drove slowly. He didn’t know what his daughter had been through, but he could see the despair on her face. He knew what to say.

“In this world, where there are mountains, there will also be plains.”

The middle-aged man’s voice was calm, like a warm bowl of tonic medicine.

“Where there are rivers and seas, there will be shores. Where there are bends, there will be turns in the road. Nothing stays the same forever. As long as you have the heart, there’s always a way forward.”

After a year of hard work, Ye Wanjia finally won the National Scholarship in her third year—8,000 yuan in full.

At the same time, as student union president, she thrived in her work. From morning till night, her busy schedule filled the emptiness in her heart.

She had thought it was completely filled—until she met Pei Suye again.

By then, it was already the second semester of junior year. In March, when seniors were preparing for graduate school applications and recommendations, the Academic Department was set to host a postgraduate exchange forum. They would invite outstanding fifth-year students who had been recommended or admitted to graduate programs, to share experiences with the soon-to-graduate seniors.

Such academic events had always been taken seriously by the college. At the planning meeting, not only was president Ye Wanjia present, but even the counselor attended.

When discussing potential speakers, the head of the Academic Department nervously brought up a name that no one had dared mention in front of Ye Wanjia for over a year—

“Um, I think… maybe Pei Suye would be a good choice.”

He glanced left, then right. Seeing no objections, he gathered courage to continue:

“Because she secured a guaranteed place for graduate school at the start of senior year. The joint lab has cooperation with our university, so it’s essentially a combined bachelor’s-master’s program. For her, the fifth year is like the first year of grad school—one year less than others. And… she’s already started publishing papers within just a year. She’s… an outstanding case.”

When he finished his reasoning, the room fell silent. Everyone turned to look at Ye Wanjia at the end of the U-shaped table, hardly daring to breathe.

She tucked her short hair behind her ear, wrote a few words on the candidate list, then looked up. Her expression remained cold and composed.

“That’s fine. Go ahead and contact her.”

It had been so long since the breakup. She could handle it—she thought she could.

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