Secret Love at the Equator by Xia Zhiyao

Epilogue

They say youth is an unsolvable equation. Is it my own baggage, or the sheer difficulty of letting go of that time? Even my writing career, embarrassingly enough, is tied to him. His old username sparked a fire in me, launching me on this writing journey. Back then, naively, I thought excelling would somehow change things. Reality, of course, had other plans.

Three years later, the path of a writer has proven even more heart-wrenching than unrequited love. Little validation, a constant barrage of harsh realities from online platforms—it's a recipe for self-doubt and anxiety.

Is writing another obsession, mirroring my feelings for him? A stubborn insistence fueled by a lack of fulfillment, a desperate need to prove myself?

Looking back on my unrequited love, I can see a kind of bravery in my persistence. But bravery doesn't guarantee a happy ending, and I'm left with a lot of regrets. The mixed signals, his wishy-washy rejections, those lingering glances over his shoulder...maybe it's just me overthinking, or maybe seeing couples around me reunite rekindles that foolish hope, overriding logic.

Driven by some nonsensical hope, I convinced myself I needed to contact him for "research" on a book I wasn't even writing. It was a flimsy excuse, one I figured he'd easily see through. But he accepted.

That's just us, I guess: both a little weird in our own ways. Maybe he didn't think much of adding another friend. Regardless, the notification popped up: "I have accepted your friend request, we can start chatting now." Awkward doesn't even begin to describe it.

The notification blared across the screen: "You have successfully added each other as friends." Staring at that digital confirmation, a wave of embarrassment washed over me. All I could muster was a weak message: "Sorry to bother you again. I got carried away. Maybe what lingers isn't you, but the faded glow of youth, and your presence in that time."

He replied soon enough. "It's okay, but I hope you're looking forward. The past can't be rewritten."

My response was flippant, a way to mask the awkwardness. But it hung unanswered. That's when it hit me: I was the one stuck in the past, clinging to a ghost. You, Li Yingze, had moved on.

I remember a conversation from back then, when I used a fake online persona. I told him I preferred hanging out with guys because girls seemed so high-maintenance, worried he'd judge my carefree personality. He said I reminded him of a friend. Did he ever suspect it was me? Why did it feel like I'd walked myself to a dead end, with no way back?

The whole thing still feels messy. Even now, the urge to reach out to him feels impulsive, childish, and frankly, a bit entitled.

Re-reading my messages, I cringe. They were clumsy, failing to capture what I wanted to say. Maybe it's my inability to let go, this ache for a time that's gone. If I could have a do-over, I'd do things differently, strive for something more meaningful, something without regrets. But there are no time machines, no rewind buttons on life.

So why "Secret Love by the Equator"? It's pretty clear who my secret love was. But the audience sees the whole play, while the actors are often oblivious. In this case, I was the only one trapped in my own drama.

Li Yingze, did you ever feel anything for me? Do you ever think back to our youth and remember me? Did you keep those letters I wrote, or have they crumbled to dust by now? What about the painting and the scarf? Do you still have them?

If by some chance you come across this someday, I hope I'll be a distant memory by then. The past is set in stone, but the future is an open book. I genuinely hope you find someone who truly deserves you.

And on a selfish note, I wish you a life filled with safety and peace. Happiness almost felt like a forbidden wish, because I wouldn't want you to end up like me. But for this once, I'll break the rule: I wish you everlasting happiness. May you not be just Friend A, but the leading character in your own story.

Suddenly, a memory surfaces. It's something Li Yingze said to me after things ended, during that messy time in my life. "This love can wait to be remembered only when it's past." I obsessed over those words, wondering if they meant anything. Did they mean that maybe, just maybe, amidst all those times I looked your way, there was a single moment when you looked back because of me?