Who left behind this unfamiliar figure?

     Who left behind a strange figure,

    accompanying the hazy March as I stepped into the long-missed campus? Occasionally, I paused to observe the shimmering lake, to envy the couples' quiet rest, to reminisce about those silently reading and the air filled with the sound of morning recitation…

    April in the human world, the springtime charm of university. Accompanied by bits of insight, accompanied by a touch of hesitation, I lingered in the springtime, gently breathing in the breath of youth, quietly feeling the warmth of the sun…

    I kept asking myself, who left behind a familiar yet unfamiliar figure?

    She was a pure and beautiful girl, a denim jacket revealing her capable and diligent appearance. Her neatly tied hair and fair skin evoked an instant urge to kiss her. Her gaze always seemed to be immersed in those thick literary books, her slender fingers turning the slightly wrinkled pages. But alas, she was a disabled girl, a small pink cloth shoe, leaning on a brown, smooth cane—supporting her frail body, seeking her paradise in the cramped space of the bookshelf. I didn't know her at all; I only encountered her last time while idly strolling among the bookshelves…

    She was using a cane, and things that were easy for ordinary people seemed so strenuous for her. Her hands gripped the rounded cane tightly, and she skillfully moved her body with one foot, taking small steps each time, then instantly using the cane to maintain her balance, slowly repeating her rhythm. Then she looked up at the brown-covered book on the top shelf. She tried to reach it, but because of her body, she couldn't reach it. She began to straighten her petite… Her frail body, one hand gripping her cane tightly, head tilted back, strained upwards, desperately reaching for the book. But the surrounding books were deathly silent, as if countless eyes were mocking her embarrassment and helplessness. The cane seemed to be working against her too; due to a loss of balance, it scraped across the ground with a thud, and she fell heavily to the floor with a slight scream. But in the sixth-floor library, near the edge, it seemed to go unnoticed; everyone else was simply absorbed in their own world.

    Unfortunately, I happened to be in the gap between the bookshelves with her, but she was sitting on the floor with her back to me. Hesitant, and with my own withdrawn nature, I hesitated, not even having time to help her up. I saw her slowly reach for her cane, then, with one leg bent and her hands pressing her weight onto the cane, she struggled upwards with difficulty. She stood up, steadied herself, and unconsciously laughed, perhaps trying to alleviate her so-called "embarrassment."

    Just then, she saw me standing very close to her with a book.

    She smiled slightly at me and said, "Excuse me, could you help me get a book from the shelf?" That same natural warmth and friendliness washed over me, while I, in responding, felt a pang of apology and awkwardness. I promptly took the book down and handed it to her, casually offering a thank you as I walked past her towards the window. Then, her eyes lingered on that book…

    My brief encounter was initially unremarkable; I simply lingered in a small, quiet corner of the library, whiled away the precious time. But without realizing it, I found myself repeatedly observing her. Once, twice… her repeated appearances made me accustomed to seeing her out of the corner of my eye. There was always a figure, leaning on her cane, slowly making her way through the literature shelves on the sixth floor, her expression revealing a hint of satisfaction and contentment. Sometimes she would close her eyes and lean against the shelves, lost in quiet contemplation… I was also curious why she didn't find a seat, but simply used her cane for support, silently leaning against the narrow space between the bookshelves, absorbed in her own literary world. Sometimes she would remain like a statue for an hour or two. I wondered what she was reading? What was she persisting in with her disabled body? Sometimes I also thought about how fortunate I was to be whole and unharmed. I wanted to approach her and strike up a conversation, but my introverted nature made me afraid of tainting the tranquil atmosphere and beautiful scenery… At times like these, time always seemed to stretch on endlessly. The more I tried to break free from this loneliness, the more uncomfortable I felt…

    A month had passed, and I finally mustered the courage to talk to her about something. But time always plays tricks on people; what's lost is lost forever. I felt like something was missing. Time just slipped away unnoticed, leaving me with some regret and sighs, even regret for my introverted nature and why I hadn't tried to share my literary insights. Perhaps she liked the atmosphere of the library, or its tranquility, or something else… Countless mornings, countless slightly weary afternoons, countless evenings with the library's distant, flickering lights, countless people coming and going… Time always leaves regrets. April arrived, but her figure had vanished from my world, flowing away like water before my eyes…

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