It Seems Like My Senior Seems to Like Me - Chapter 64

The clouds blushed red, spreading a sea of flowers across the horizon—vast yet romantic.

The sunset burned brightly, casting slanted light along the straight road. The bicycle wheels rolled slowly forward, like reels of an old film, recording this scene onto nature’s screen.

It usually took ten minutes to ride from the seventh bus stop back to the dormitory, but that day it took twenty.

Slowly, neither of them was in a hurry. Every second was etched into their lives, savoring the long-lost intimacy.

When the sun was left with just a “tiny hat,” the light dimmed. The bicycle stopped at the foot of the dormitory. Pei Suye squeezed the brakes, planted her feet on the ground, and steadied the balance for the person behind her.

Yet the hands clasped tightly around her waist did not loosen.

Her beautiful eyes lowered, gaze falling on the pair of reddened hands—cracked with chilblains, numb with cold, yet unwilling to withdraw. A sharp ache tugged at her heart.

Her lashes trembled slightly, fluttering in the sunset like butterflies. Her fingers shifted on the handlebars—lifted, withdrew, lifted again. Tentative, cautious, long-forgotten. At last, they settled on the frozen hands behind her.

Snap!

The instant of touch—heat met ice—both of them shivered, as if a faint current ran through them, awakening memories of their fingers once entwined.

Pei Suye hesitated, her slender, fleshless fingers hovering an inch away. Then, as though deciding something, she gripped firmly, enclosing the icy hands in her warm palms.

In that moment, dew fell, glaciers melted, and torrents surged into the deep green mountains.

Pei Suye turned her head, trying to glimpse the person behind her, but could only see the shadow pressed against her back, cast on the ground. Her throat worked twice, then choked softly:

“Wan Jia, no matter when—if you need me, I’ll always be here.”

She paused, steadied her breath, and went on:

“I said it before—I love you. As long as you’re willing, we can be together again anytime.”

She said it. While holding her hands, she spoke the words she had kept buried for nearly two years. She told her—she loved her.

Ye Wanjia’s eyelids lowered, shadows pooling beneath them, hiding her eyes. Like a bud in the depths of the forest, unwilling to bloom, only retreating further.

For a long, long time, the sun sank completely. From afar, streetlights flickered on, tracing the faint outlines of the two embracing figures.

At last, Ye Wanjia spoke. Every word carried nearly two years of pain:

“If you loved me, you wouldn’t have treated me like that.”

She pulled her hand from Pei Suye’s grasp. When she came back to herself, she was already inside the stairwell—without a backward glance.

Pei Suye’s mind blurred. The last time Ye Wanjia had run into the dorm without looking back was the day of their first kiss.

That kiss—softly pressed against her cheek, tingling, numbing. Ye Wanjia kissed her, then bolted away like a thief.

But today, the world had shifted.

When Ye Wanjia arrived in America, she was exhausted.

The dormitory arranged by the lab housed two people per suite. Her roommate was an Argentine girl named Alma.

Alma had the classic European features—large eyes, deep-set sockets, and ice-blue irises that seemed to see through everything.

She gave Ye Wanjia a tour of the suite—two bedrooms, a living room, kitchen, bathroom, all fully equipped, no different from a normal household.

Afterward, Alma shared some pizza with her. As they ate, Alma’s restless gossiping nature broke through.

“Did you know Jessica before?”

Jessica—Pei Suye’s English name.

Ye Wanjia bit into her slice, her chewing slowing. Meeting Alma’s sapphire-like gaze, she answered:

“We come from the same school.”

“Oh…” Alma took a large bite, then pressed on cheerfully: “I thought you were gonna have a good-bye kiss.”

Ye Wanjia froze—her first taste of Western bluntness.

In Eastern countries, first meetings usually meant politeness and restraint. Even if one had private curiosities, they would be suppressed until later, when familiarity grew.

But Alma had seen Pei Suye escort her back, had seen their lingering reluctance downstairs, had even noticed Pei Suye standing alone in sorrow after Ye Wanjia went upstairs.

She thought they were quarreling lovers.

“OK.” Ye Wanjia set down her fork, compromising a little. She couldn’t pretend never to have known her. “She’s my friend.”

Alma trusted only her own eyes. Narrowing them slightly, she pushed: “Girlfriend, or just friend?”

Ye Wanjia gave a helpless little laugh and shook her head. “Just friend.”

Alma nodded politely, not pressing further. But in her heart, she knew—these two were definitely more than just friends.

Thus, her first day in America ended with gossip.

The last Sunday of every month was the lab’s traditional party day.

Everyone paused their work to gather at the director’s villa—both to relax and to strengthen social ties.

This time, the party had another purpose: welcoming the new member, Leafage.

Leafage—Ye Wanjia’s chosen English name. Meaning “leaf,” easy to remember.

That day, she happened to wear a green sweater trimmed with cloud-like lace, radiating the fresh vitality of spring. When she smiled, her round eyes curved like crescent moons—bright, lively, beautiful.

“Our lab’s beauty standard just leveled up again,” a Chinese PhD joked.

Ye Wanjia gave a detailed self-introduction—her name, alma mater, hobbies. The room applauded. Then a frivolous male voice rang out:

“Do you have a boyfriend?”

He even whistled after asking, smug with his humor.

Ye Wanjia shifted uncomfortably. She had come here to study, not to be sized up like that. After listing so many serious things, this man only cared whether she had a boyfriend—just like female entrepreneurs giving speeches only to be asked how they balanced career and family.

She smiled lightly, answering with flawless wit:

“Paper is my boyfriend.”

The response was perfect: answering his question, while making her stance clear—she was here for academics.

The girls around her instantly understood and praised her cleverness, then fired back at the clueless man:

“If you’re so worried about boyfriends, maybe find one yourself first.”

“Are men some kind of rare treasure? Must a successful woman have one?”

Their banter flew.

Just then, the closed doors swung open.

A graceful figure stepped in, drawing every gaze.

Pei Suye.

Her long blue down coat was cool and elegant, brushing her knees. Her delicate jaw was wrapped in a snowy scarf. One hand cradled a bouquet of lilies, the other tugged down her scarf to reveal her calm, lightly made-up face.

“Sorry, I’m late.”

She apologized naturally, her smile poised yet warm. Walking straight toward the person in the center of attention, she held out the fresh lilies.

“Welcome to Davis.”

She said.

Ye Wanjia’s eyes trembled. Meeting Pei Suye’s confident smile, she couldn’t summon the same composure. Because what faced her was not only a fragrant bouquet—but also the brooch pinned on Pei Suye’s chest.

A willow leaf heart brooch—handmade by Ye Wanjia, given as a birthday gift years ago. Even after the breakup, Pei Suye wore it every single day.

Under the cheers of the crowd, Ye Wanjia accepted the lilies. None found it odd—Pei Suye was, in their eyes, simply considerate. Buying flowers for a newcomer was perfectly normal.

But what wasn’t normal came later—when the games and drinking left Ye Wanjia dizzy. She slipped out to the balcony, hoping the night air would sober her.

Instead, when Pei Suye followed her out, she sank deeper into the haze.

She leaned weakly against the railing, elbows propping her up, head drooping. Beneath her sweater, her butterfly bones jutted sharply—she was back to her freshman frame, nothing but skin and bone. Yet unlike then, she now carried a tempered steadiness.

The balcony door opened behind her. She didn’t need to turn—she knew who it was.

Staring dully into the dark night, Ye Wanjia murmured:

“What do you mean by this?”

Pei Suye didn’t answer. Instead, she draped her coat over her shoulders. “It’s too cold. Let’s go inside.”

Her question ignored, Ye Wanjia bristled. She slapped away Pei Suye’s hand, straightened up, and spun to demand:

“Then why are you still wearing that brooch?”

Pei Suye’s brows drew together. Lips pressed tight, her gaze sank, full of deep affection.

“Wan Jia, this was your birthday gift to me. I still love you—that’s why I’ve always worn it.”

The alcohol twisted Ye Wanjia’s stubbornness. She reached to unfasten it. “I regret it. You’re not allowed to wear it.”

Her slender fingers fumbled at the pin, frantic. But Pei Suye’s grip was firmer.

“Wan Jia!” Clutching her hand to her chest, her eyes glimmered with pain, her voice pleading: “This is the best birthday gift I’ve had in twenty-some years.”

Ye Wanjia broke. “What’s the use of liking? No amount of love matters more to you than wanting to be ‘normal’!”

The words that had once shattered her heart came roaring back.

Their struggle grew fierce. Just as the clasp loosened, the pin pricked Ye Wanjia’s fingertip.

“Ah!”

She recoiled as if shocked, blood beading instantly from her thumb.

Perhaps from the pain, perhaps from sorrow, her tears finally spilled over—sparkling like pearls under the moonlight.

“Xiao Yezi!”

In her panic, Pei Suye called her by that old, intimate nickname. She snatched tissues from her pocket, pressing them gently to the wound, her voice breaking:

“I’m sorry, senior sister didn’t mean it, I’m so sorry…”

Xiao Yezi. Senior sister.

Those long-buried names and memories pierced Ye Wanjia’s heart like arrows.

She turned her face, eyes burning, staring fixedly at the woman before her. At this usually unshakable person unraveling in panic. At the face that haunted her dreams countless times. At the tears sliding down her cheek.

Snap!

The taut string of reason inside her broke. Her frail body lunged forward—punishing, desperate—biting hard onto those soft lips.

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