Hannah was stunned for a second, staring at him with inexplicable round, puzzled eyes, "Why would I cry if you don’t do your howork?"
This question was a bit perverse.
Arnold Simmons realized what he said a mont too late and touched his nose, "Never mind, I’ve accepted your howork gift pack, but whether I’ll do it—"
He paused, slinging the backpack over his shoulder, "You wouldn’t have a way to know."
Hannah looked at him, unexpectedly not getting angry.
Since they t today, it’s been a back-and-forth of pranks and teasing between them. Seemingly, these argunts brought them joy as well.
Just as Arnold was about to leave, Hannah suddenly called out to him.
The boy turned around, standing under the tree amidst countless dark patches of light and shadow.
"Even if you’ve done the howork, you don’t necessarily have to submit it. I know you’re great, but please—at least don’t give up on yourself."
A breeze blew past, and the dark green leaves shed drops of rain, reflecting the city’s glittering lights on the puddles below, yet they still couldn’t outshine the girl’s eyes.
Because in those eyes, he saw himself.
Returning ho at night.
In the old house, even the light seed dim and yellowish.
Arnold still opened that backpack.
The blue backpack, the sa style as the one Hannah usually carried, only a shade darker and slightly bigger.
Was it... a style ant for boys?
Arnold was startled by this sudden thought.
The young girl couldn’t possibly like him that much, right?
To the point where she would secretly buy a matching couple’s set and then give the male version to him, with the howork just being a pretext?
Arnold threw the pen in his hand, rubbed his damp black hair irritably, and stared absent-mindedly at the ceiling light.
He was still wearing the jacket from earlier in the day, reaching inside for a lighter, but what he pulled out instead was the white decorative puppy, Little White, from the day before.
Thinking of the young girl holding the puppy and laughing, Arnold subconsciously smiled too, but then quickly placed Little White on the desk with a look of disdain.
He had no idea when she had secretly slipped it into his pocket.
Outside the window, the night was dark and starless, trains roared into the distance, and it was unknown whose neighbor was having a lively party in their yard again.
Arnold got up to close the window and then returned to his seat, gazing at the papers laid out on the desk.
Just like Hannah said, she had already written her na on each paper.
Clean and neat, they looked so well-behaved, especially the part where "Arnold Simmons" was written.
He took a pen and wrote his na beside his again.
The handwriting was clearly more flamboyant and sharp-edged.
Totally different styles, how could they match?
How could they be fitting?
Arnold let out a self-mocking laugh, picked up the pen, and began to work on the problems.
After midnight, Hannah finished another paper and massaged her slightly sore wrists and fingers.
Howork was so tiring.
More exhausting than her past training sessions.
And had to sit still for so long.
Having once again experienced the "bitterness" of studying, dark circles ford under Hannah’s eyes, a faint layer that fortunately wasn’t too noticeable.
She looked at herself from side to side in the mirror, then despairingly tossed the mirror on the bed.
She seed a bit worn out.
Studying was like a little demon, sapping one’s vitality.
Under the cover of night, all was silent. The only sounds were the occasional cars passing on the distant road and the wind rustling through the treetops, with leaves falling onto the windowsill.
Hannah stood up to close the window and then returned to her desk to continue working on the papers.
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