Late ripening

The doorbell rang, Lin Jingyan put down his pen for homework, and listened attentively to the sound of his father opening the door.If that little uncle came, Dad would always walk faster.

After my mother passed away, the three-story bungalow, which was originally a bit empty, became even more secluded.More people showed up at home, the gardener replaced mother's favorite job of tending flowers and plants, and the hourly laborer would take care of his father's three meals a day when he was busy at work, but Lin Jingyan's only thought was that there was no one. word.

When there were only father and son in the family, Dad always closed the door in the study.Sometimes Jing Yan would open the door and look at the grandfather clock in the living room from the railing in the corridor. Since then, the time had sounded. This sound made him afraid, as if it was a lingering ghost lingering around him.

He wanted to knock on the door of the study to ask his father to accompany him for a while, but the sound of knocking on the door appeared in his dreams many times—he knocked on his mother's door but got no response, and when he opened the door again, nothing was the same up.

For a 15-year-old child, the loss of his mother is certainly sad.But for Lin Jingyan, what hits the face more than sadness is the fear of no one responding.Whether it was the light slapping of his footsteps on the floor alone on the stairs, or the echo of his whispering for his father at the door of the study but got no answer, each of them suppressed the sadness in his heart for his mother's departure.

Jing Yan couldn't help but wonder, have I been abandoned?Abandoned in this house that conveys nothing but sound?

However, since that little uncle appeared a few weeks ago, time not only has a sound, but also a smell.

"Little Uncle" is Dad's friend.There were quite a few people present at the funeral, but Lin Jingyan's parents had no siblings, and his grandparents had passed away one after another, and his father, who was usually a little cold, had never contacted any distant relatives.Jing Yan has only met Lu Qian as a friend who can really come to the house as a guest.

Jing Yan always remembered the scene of being called downstairs by his father that afternoon, he just woke up from a nap and was still dazed.Recently, his vision has become more and more blurred. I don't know if Dad has time to take him to get a pair of glasses.There are more and more students wearing glasses in the class. The teacher asked him a little reproachfully if he also went home to play on the computer secretly. There is no difference.

He rubbed his eyes and walked down the stairs, the living room seemed to have just been cleaned, the windows were opened, and the April wind in the southern city was blowing with faint heat.A figure appeared vaguely on the curtain, and the wind rolled up the curtain one after another, drawing that figure into Lin Jingyan's eyes.

"Lu Qian, come and meet my son." His father's voice came from behind, before Lin Jingyan turned his head, his father pushed him forward.As he got closer, the picture before Jing Yan's eyes finally became clear.He raised his head, and his gaze met those eyes.

Lu Qian looked as if he was a senior in the same high school, with the ends of his short black hair swaying in the wind, and a pair of calm eyes under his sword eyebrows, with the pity Lin Jingyan often sees in the eyes of people around him recently— —But it seemed that there was some bland and tasteless tenderness in addition to the pity.

"Hello brother..." Lin Jingyan said hello blankly. Is this the son of his father's friend, he thought in his heart.

"Jing Yan, this is Dad's friend Lu Qian who just returned to China, you can call him Uncle Lu." Dad reminded him from behind, and Jing Yan's ears gradually turned red. "Hello, Uncle..." His voice became softer and weaker. In Lin Jingyan's perception, the word uncle belongs to adults who are as busy as his father. I don't know if this uncle will mistake him for the same age because of him. People are not happy.

"It's okay, Mr. Lin, I can only be his little uncle at my age." Lu Qian's deep and cold voice came from his ear.A hand with distinct knuckles appeared in the increasingly drooping sight, "Hello, Jing Yan, I'm Lu Qian."

It was the first time someone treated him like a grown-up and extended a hand that he could hold. Jing Yan stared blankly at the thin and slender hand, stretched out his hand timidly, and shook it, then quickly withdrew like a thief. back.

"Okay, Jing Yan, go upstairs and do your homework. Uncle Lu and I will chat downstairs." With his father's permission, Jing Yan ran upstairs with a pair of small red ears.Before closing the door, he sneaked a glance downstairs. From the door of his room, he could only faintly see a corner of the sofa. He saw Lu Qian sitting on the single sofa, and there seemed to be a twist in his short black hair.

Jing Yan closed the door as quietly as possible, sat at the table and stared at his hands in a daze.Lu Qian's hands are slender but much bigger than his.It was the first time someone shook hands with him to say hello, and he regretted not responding seriously and like a mature boy, but there were fine beads of sweat on his hands, and he was even more afraid that this strange but well-meaning guest would dislike him.

He opened the notepad, and he had developed the habit of keeping a diary since his mother passed away.Maybe it’s not a diary either, he doesn’t feel that there is anything particularly worth recording in his daily life, but occasionally there will be a little bit of things that he wants to say but no one can confide in.More importantly, he wants to grow up and try to remember what happened every day. "Today, a..." He paused, "A little uncle came to the house." He silently named Lu Qian in his heart.

Putting down his pen, Lin Jingyan laid his hands on the table, listening to the indistinct conversation downstairs, he felt more and more sleepy, before falling asleep, there seemed to be a vague mint smell on the tip of his nose.

The author says:

If there is no pressure, there is no motivation to do more first, so as to urge myself to code every day