I got into Qixiang Middle School by myself.

Dad was very surprised about this. He was always busy with his business, rarely coming home. When he did, I was often not there. Between father and daughter, we were like the most familiar strangers.

Mom casually said, "A blind cat ran into a dead mouse."

She got a new car, driving my sister to school every day. Many people at Qixiang Middle School knew that the math teacher, Teacher Li, was Lin Shiqi's mom.

But no one knew that Lin Xiaonian was also her daughter because Mom never looked at me in school.

At least I left behind the mess of junior high school, and I was happy about that.

Not long after school started, a very beautiful music teacher arrived at the school.

The first time I saw her, I was stunned. Her face was too familiar.

Seeing me in a daze, she called me by name to stand up and sing.

I've been tone-deaf since I was young, so I had to muster up the courage and sing as loudly as I could for a few lines.

Teacher Jiang interrupted me, her voice cold, "What are you singing?

"Stop singing. Pretend this is a Chinese class and read an essay."

I froze, not expecting her to be so direct.

She then turned to my sister and said, "Lin Shiqi, you sing."

My sister stood up, cleared her throat, and sang melodiously, her voice clear and beautiful.

Teacher Jiang looked at her lovingly, her face brightening, full of charm.

I looked at my sister, then at Teacher Jiang, realizing how similar they were.

At the end of the class, Teacher Jiang asked my sister to stay behind. They sat side by side on the bench in front of the piano, whispering to each other.

The aisle of the music classroom was narrow. As I was leaving, I was pushed by a classmate and accidentally bumped into Teacher Jiang's beige coat, causing it to fall to the ground.

I quickly picked up the coat, dusted off the dirt on it.

She shot me two cold glances.

Then, she raised her chin slightly and coldly said to a student nearby, "Throw it away for me."

That angry face suddenly triggered a memory deep in my heart.

Many years ago, I saw a black and white one-inch photo in my dad's wallet.

The photo showed a young girl, very beautiful, looking angrily at the camera.

That strong emotion, through the photo, across time, overlapped with the scene in front of me.

My desk mate, Li Dan, tugged at my sleeve and whispered, "Let's go."

As we walked out of the classroom, she gently placed her hand on my shoulder.

I knew this was a form of comfort.