Autumn always announced itself the same way when she returned to the city. The air felt thinner, sharpened by a chill that hadn't yet decided to be cruel.
Beijing in autumn carried a restraint of its own. Plane trees lined the wide roads, their leaves already turning a disciplined yellow while drifting down in unhurried spirals as if the city itself had learned patience over the years.
Morning traffic hummed steadily, bicycles weaving between cars with practiced ease. Vendors along the sidewalks were setting up for the day as steam rose from breakfast stalls — mantou, doujiang, and the faint sweetness of roasted sweet potatoes clinging to the air.
Somewhere nearby, a school bell rang, clear and brief, swallowed almost immediately by the city's constant murmur. Students passed by in clusters with scarves loosely wrapped, voices low and unhurried and laughter breaking out like sudden sparks before settling again.
Chen Yue was still inside that season, watching it slide past through a smudged train window.
The train swayed gently beneath her, metal humming in a low, steady rhythm that seeped into her bones. Outside, the city blurred into long streaks of grey and gold, buildings retreating, plane trees flashing by in rows and their yellowed leaves catching the light before disappearing again.
She followed them with her eyes until the glass reflected her own face back at her instead.
"Ah… It feels so good to be back," she thought in her mind.
Her suitcase has sat between her feet for 3 hours now, one hand hooked loosely around the handle. Every time the train slowed, she glanced down instinctively, nudging it closer with the toe of her shoe, afraid it might slip away the moment she looked elsewhere.
The overhead racks were already crowded, coats and bags pressed together like strangers learning to coexist.
She lifted a hand to her scarf and brushed the wool where it was wrapped too carefully around her. Her mother had done that. This early morning before the sun was up, standing by the door while tugging the ends into place despite Chen Yue's quiet protests.
"Autumn winds bite," she had said firmly, as if the city hadn't already taught Chen Yue that lesson years ago. Now, the fabric still carried a trace of warmth and Chen Yue adjusted it without really meaning to, pulling it closer around her neck.
Around her, the train breathed with life. A student across the aisle was half-asleep, forehead resting against the window. Two seats ahead, someone scrolled endlessly on their phone, the light briefly illuminating tired eyes.
An announcement crackled overhead, formal and distant, naming stations she knew by heart, each one a step closer to campus, to routines she had temporarily escaped and was now returning to.
Semester break had ended. And instead of weighing her down like it would to most people, the thought lifted something light and eager inside her chest.
Chen Yue leaned closer to the window, eyes bright as the city came rushing back into focus. Her suitcase rested obediently between her feet now, another canvas bag can be seen tucked at her side, straps heavy with sketchbooks and rolled paper.
She was adjusting her scarf again, pulling it a little tighter the way her mother had shown her when a voice spoke beside her.
"Going far?" It was the uncle seated next to her, grey-haired and round-faced, dressed in a simple jacket that looked worn but clean. He nodded toward her bags, eyes kind with curiosity. "You've brought quite a lot."
Chen Yue blinked, then laughed softly, a little embarrassed. "Ah— yes." She followed his gaze, finally noticing how crowded her corner had become and meekly adjusted her bags to make some space. "I'm going back to campus."
"Campus?" His eyebrows lifted, then pursed his lips in disapproval. "Already? Holidays pass quickly these days."
"They really do," she agreed, smiling. "I study art, so… there's always a lot to carry." She patted the canvas bag lightly, as if it might protest otherwise.
The uncle chuckled. "Art, hm. No wonder." He glanced at her canvas again. "Hard work, but good work. Young people should study what they like."
Her smile widened at that, something warm blooming behind her ribs at the encouragement. "I like it a lot."
"That's good," he said, nodding with quiet certainty. "When you like it, the road doesn't feel so long."
Right.
Chen Yue had loved art for as long as she could remember. Back when her hands were still small, when colours mattered more than words, she would sit on the floor for hours, crayons scattered around her like fallen stars.
While other children chased games that ended quickly, she chased light, wondering how it slipped through windows, how shadows changed shape, how the world could be held still on paper if she tried hard enough.
She wanted to be a painter. Not because it sounded impressive, but because it felt right. Because standing before a blank canvas never frightened her; it always felt like an invitation. And she was more than enthusiastic to make her dream comes true.
When you like it, the road doesn't feel so long.
"Yes," she murmured.
The uncle's words echoed quietly in her heart. She had learned that truth long ago through countless late nights in the studio and paint-stained sleeves and hands that never quite washed clean.
The road was long, but she had never once thought of turning back.
And love… she thought suddenly, was pretty much the same.
Some feelings didn't arrive all at once. They grew quietly like a line drawn again and again until it became impossible to erase. She had walked that road for two years, carrying a name in her heart she rarely spoke aloud.
Aside from reuniting with her friends and returning to the familiar rhythm of art classes, there was someone she was hoping to see again.
"Haa…" She sighed and lightly tapped her cheek. Just thinking about it now was enough to make her heart lighter.
There was no urgency in it, no demand for a quick prologue or an ending. Just a gentle persistence, like autumn returning to the city every year exactly as it always did.
Eventually, the train slowed, indicating that the station is drawing near. Chen Yue lowered her gaze, her fingers brushing the edge of her sketchbook as her lips curved into a small, knowing smile.
Some roads didn't need to be easy. As long as she liked them enough, she was willing to keep walking.
Once the semester started, there would be long afternoons when light spilled across the studio floor and evenings when laughter drifted through campus paths littered with fallen leaves.
"Perhaps…" she thought, her gaze drifting back to the reflection in the glass.
There would be encounters yet unnamed and moments that would later be remembered as beginnings.
She just didn't expect that it would be so soon.