He can recall every moment he’s willing to remember, every single frame, no matter how much time has passed.

When he left the rooftop railing, he heard Grace Thompson’s lowered voice: “No fish! You’re incredible.”

At the stairwell down from the rooftop, he ran into the homeroom teacher, Mr. Clark. Mr. Clark is not yet forty this year, and since they share the same surname, Edward Clark has always called him “brother.”

“Was it premeditated?” Mr. Clark blocked his way.

“No,” Edward Clark replied, “Do I need to plan ahead just to go up and say a couple of words?”

“It’s about the content, though.” Mr. Clark smiled.

“Nope,” Edward Clark thought for a moment, “Will it affect you in any way?”

“How could it affect me?” Mr. Clark said.

“Then it’s fine,” Edward Clark said quietly, “Can I leave early? I’m hungry.”

“Go, go, go, go, go.” Mr. Clark waved him off.

Edward Clark dashed down the stairs and headed back to the dorm first.

There were four people in the dorm. Except for him, who had to go to the rooftop as a student council member, the other three were all hunched over their desks, and none of them looked up when someone came in.

“Is the event over?” Jason Reed looked up and asked.

“So soon?” Adam Brooks was buried in his book. “I thought it’d last until dismissal.”

“It’s not over yet,” Edward Clark took off his jacket and reached out to take the glasses off Jason Reed’s face, “Did your prescription get worse again?”

“Yeah, you can tell?” Jason Reed rubbed his eyes, “Counting the rings?”

“No need to count rings,” Edward Clark picked up the lens cloth that Jason Reed almost never used from the corner of the desk and started cleaning his glasses, “I can just see your eyes got even smaller.”

“Damn.” Jason Reed sighed.

Everyone in the room burst out laughing.

“Fish, are you eating in the cafeteria tonight or going out?” Adam Brooks stretched and turned to look at him.

“Just say what you want to eat.” Edward Clark handed the cleaned glasses back to Jason Reed, watching as his big eyes instantly shrank by half.

“Up to you.” Adam Brooks patted his stomach, “I’m satisfied as long as I get a free meal.”

Edward Clark changed into another jacket, and just as he was about to leave the dorm, Adam Brooks called after him, “Can you come back before evening self-study?”

“Me?” Edward Clark pointed at himself.

“…Forget I asked,” Adam Brooks clasped his hands in a mock salute, “You’re not someone who needs evening self-study.”

Edward Clark closed the dorm door. He hadn’t even reached the stairwell when his phone chimed—a new message.

He didn’t check it right away. Although his phone buzzed with messages all day long, this time, he could almost immediately guess who it was from.

That sixth sense always steals the show.

It had been fifteen minutes since he spoke on the rooftop. Based on what he knew about Brian Foster, from realizing what happened, to hesitating, to finally deciding to send a message, that was about the right amount of time.

In terms of handling this kind of situation, he was pretty decisive.

Edward Clark admitted he still didn’t dare look at the message.

He went to the convenience store, bought an ice pop, and gnawed on it to calm his nerves.

There was no good dǎlǔ noodles around the school; the best dǎlǔ noodles were at home, made by his dad.

His home wasn’t far from school—in fact, it was so close that his parents didn’t even have to guess to know he lived on campus just to get away from home.

But today, he was really craving dǎlǔ noodles. Normally, he wouldn’t go home unless he needed to get clothes, but after standing at the school gate for a few minutes, he turned around and headed down the road home.

After a few steps, he took out his phone and opened WeChat.

Then he quickly tapped the red “1” at the top.

—Genius, you’re awesome! No matter if you like guys or girls, I’ll always be your best friend.

Edward Clark didn’t pause, walking forward while reading his phone.

His finger hovered over the screen for a long time, but in the end, he didn’t tap anything. He quickly turned off the screen and stuffed the phone back in his pocket.

It wasn’t until he entered the neighborhood that he suddenly stopped.

Only then did he start to feel his breathing was a little labored.

Actually, he shouldn’t have been surprised. If Brian Foster could figure out who he was talking about, this reply was inevitable.

When he received the message, he could pretty much guess what it would say: gentle yet decisive, not hurting anyone, but leaving no room for anything else.

It’s just that when he stood at the edge of the rooftop and spoke, he deliberately didn’t think about this “what if.”

And now, this deliberate avoidance made him realize he had overestimated his own ability to handle it.

It was a bit hard to take.

“Why are you coming home today?” A voice from behind interrupted Edward Clark’s attempt to feel sorry for himself.

“Craving dǎlǔ noodles.” He turned around and saw his mom behind him, carrying a bag of groceries.

“Why do you look so pale?” As soon as his mom saw his face, she immediately stepped forward and stared at him, “Are you sick? Not feeling well?”

“No,” Edward Clark said, “Maybe I went to bed too late last night.”

“Are you sure you’re not feeling unwell? Headache? Stomachache?” His mom kept asking.

“No.” Edward Clark reached out to take the groceries from her and walked ahead.