It Seems Like My Senior Seems to Like Me - Chapter 71

“I can prove it right now.”

Those words were like the very first notes of a concert, struck crisply beneath the conductor’s baton—shattering the stillness of the hall. Tap, tap, tap—drumbeats followed, then the swelling of more instruments, and a grand, unrestrained symphony began.

Ye Wanjia kissed Pei Suyue.

In the gentle spring evening, on the soft grass, she pressed her lips to the petal-like softness of Pei’s. Bathed in the sunset, the tennis court was covered in a golden glow, outlining the towering buildings and the tender shadows of their bodies.

It was a scene that stabbed Du Ai’s eyes with pain—yet she had to admit, it was beautiful. She watched Pei Suyue close her eyes. Not only did she not push Ye Wanjia away, she returned the kiss hungrily, as though a dying traveler in the desert had found a stream and was drinking desperately.

From surprise, to disbelief, to treasuring every second, and finally to an endless longing.

Du Ai knew—she had lost.

Beneath the vast banyan tree, breath mingled with breath, lips pressed against lips. The wide canopy shielded them like a giant umbrella, blocking the wind from the road and guarding this gentleness that seemed enough to heal the whole world.

Perhaps a long while passed. Perhaps only two minutes. Ye Wanjia finally let go of her lips, adjusting her chaotic breathing.

She turned her eyes away and looked toward the now-empty space under the tree.
“She’s gone.”

Pei Suyue was still dazed. She turned to Ye Wanjia but saw only a hurried retreat, no meeting of eyes. Following the direction Ye had glanced, realization struck—yes, Du Ai had been standing there just moments ago.

Linking things together, she forced herself to reason it out, and tentatively guessed:

“You only kissed me to spite her…”

Ye Wanjia would never have kissed her on her own.

Maybe she had sensed Du Ai’s scheming, and was afraid Ye might struggle to reject her because of their lab partnership—so she’d staged a kiss to drive her away.

So that was it.

The truth uncovered, Pei Suyue felt a pang of disappointment. Yet this was the only explanation that made sense.

Still, her heart itched with something unsatisfied, a tiny trace of unwillingness. She wanted to ask Ye Wanjia—was it really just a performance to chase Du Ai off, or… was there a little truth in the desire to kiss her?

Her gaze clung to Ye Wanjia. She still looked the same—energetic in her baseball jacket, long legs striding to the banyan tree, carefully putting her racket back in its bag before tossing it coolly over her shoulder. For a moment, it was as if she were still that girl who once smiled and called her Senior.

The sun finally sank. In the instant the light disappeared, Ye Wanjia turned, tossing her an unreadable look.

“What do you think?”

The way back was dark.

There weren’t many streetlights in Davis; everything was shrouded in blackness. Fortunately, after more than a year, Pei Suyue was used to it. She had a lamp clipped to her bicycle’s front basket and a tail light behind, and they rode along the asphalt road.

One ahead, one behind. Like two adventurers stepping into a secret realm for the first time—groping their way forward by touch, a trust stretched between them, but beneath it ran a faint thread of doubt.

Neither spoke. After Ye Wanjia’s quiet question, she waited for Pei Suyue’s response. But Pei only tortured herself back and forth between “She likes me” and “She doesn’t like me.”

Each carried her own turmoil.

Back home, they parked the bikes in the locked yard. As they stepped out, Ye Wanjia unlocked the stairwell door, while Pei Suyue locked the front gate.

Still no words passed. They stood two meters apart, facing different doors.

The night coated everything in darkness. Moonlight gave only a pale outline—just enough to sketch faint shapes. Whether it was Pei Suyue locking the gate or Ye Wanjia opening the stair door, both of their figures looked like slender willow leaves—delicate and long, yet sharp as blades.

Clink.

The stairwell door opened. The red-painted wood shifted the wind chime, triggering the sensor light, burning a hole of brightness into the vast night.

The glow fell over Ye Wanjia’s face, spreading like ink in water. Her fair features looked serene, cheeks faintly flushed, lips pale red. Everything was clear—even the fine down on her skin was visible.

Except for her eyes. Hidden under her lashes, they lowered in thought for a few seconds. Then she lifted them, light flashing in her gaze as she turned.

She asked, “Don’t you have something to say to me?”

Like about that ambiguous kiss. Like why she had to provoke Du Ai. Like what she was really thinking.

Like… if Pei Suyue could find the courage to ask for reconciliation again, maybe—just maybe—she would agree.

But after so many rejections, had Pei’s little flame of hope already been drowned out?

Had she already lost faith in them? Lost the strength to keep this love alive?

The words fell into the dark like snowflakes onto a blanket—vanishing without a sound the instant they landed.

Pei Suyue froze, her hand slowing on the keys. All the tangled thoughts of the night surged to their peak. She zipped her jacket to the top, her throat shifting once, and turned her head toward the light, meeting the girl before her.

“What do you mean?”

The clever Pei Suyue asked the stupidest question in the world.

Sure enough, the light in Ye Wanjia’s eyes dimmed bit by bit. Her lids lowered, then lifted again—her gaze now calm, flat as water.

“Nothing.”

She turned to go upstairs.

The eyes are the windows to the soul. Sometimes, a single glance can reveal one’s truest thoughts.

Sometimes, no glance is even needed.

At the moment she lowered her eyes, the alarm clock inside Pei Suyue struck its final chime. She realized—her Little Leaf might really have given her a chance, just like in her dreams. A chance to make things right.

The impulse lasted only a moment. The balance tipped back, and the thought was denied again.

But then—her gaze shifted, catching that graceful back going up the stairs. Memory flashed—back to college, when Ye Wanjia had first kissed her, stealing a quick peck on the cheek before darting upstairs.

In an instant, the image of the past overlapped with the one before her. And from deep inside, a fierce thought burst free.

Her feet flew as she ran upstairs—twelve steps, a turn, then another sixteen. She dashed through the front door, turned left, crossed the entryway and the living room—just as the bedroom door was about to close, she thrust out her hand to stop it.

Bang!

Her palm met the door with the sound of a pounding heart.

Tick, tock, tick, tock…

The old living room clock echoed, counting down each vanishing chance.

Outside, her hand gripped the door with force. Slender fingers dug into the wood, bones standing out, fingertips pressing as if to carve into it—white as bone.

Inside, a hand resting on the railing trembled, jolted like from a shock. Fingers quivered slightly, then released.

And so, after the barrier between them gave way, the door slowly opened. Their eyes finally met.

Pei Suyue’s hair was a little messy, strands falling from her clip to frame her face, shadowing her beautiful eyes. She looked disheveled, almost worn—but those eyes brimmed with a lifetime’s worth of love, clear as morning dew.

She stared into Ye Wanjia’s grape-like eyes, and for a moment her throat closed. Stumbling, halting, yet utterly sincere, she said:

“I’m sorry I didn’t knock, but I—I just want to say… Little Leaf, I love you.”

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