"I Hated You Until I Didn't" (我恨你，直到不恨)

Chapter 2: The Assignment

The next day started with rain.

Not a dramatic storm—just a steady drizzle, soaking the edges of uniforms and dripping off classroom windows in slow, rhythmic trails. The kind of rain that made the world feel just a little quieter. Or maybe just heavier.

Liang Yuhan sat in the library's back corner, fingers poised over his laptop keyboard. He had already outlined three research topics for the history project: the founding of the school, the student-led protests of 1996, and the mysterious shutdown of the east wing basement after "renovations" ten years ago.

He didn't believe in coincidences, and he definitely didn't believe in baseless rumors. But something about the basement—and that announcement yesterday—itched at the edge of his mind.

The seat across from him screeched as it was pulled back.

"You picked the creepiest corner," Chen Xizhou said, dropping his wet hoodie onto the chair beside him.

"You're late," Yuhan replied without looking up.

"I'm dramatic," Xizhou said, flashing a grin. "There's a difference."

Yuhan sighed. "If you're not going to take this seriously—"

"Relax, Professor." Xizhou leaned in, his voice low but oddly sincere. "You're not the only one who's curious about what's going on in this school."

Yuhan finally looked at him. There was something sharp behind Xizhou's grin. Not just arrogance—experience.

"Fine," Yuhan said slowly. "We look into the school's... closed areas. Rumors. Urban legends. Cross-check with actual history. Could make a solid report."

"Finally," Xizhou said. "We're agreeing. It's weird. I kind of hate it."

Yuhan muttered, "The feeling's mutual."

Still, neither moved from their chairs.

 Later That Day – Music Room

The rain hadn't stopped, and the halls had emptied fast after final bell. Most students had darted out, but Yu Haoran found himself lingering, again, in the east wing.

The music room door was slightly ajar. That same soft melody drifted out. Slower today, but no less haunting.

Haoran leaned in.

"You always play when it rains?" he asked.

Wen Zhiqi, seated at the piano, barely looked up. "The piano sounds better when the school's quiet."

Haoran stepped inside, letting the door fall shut behind him.

"Why do you play that song?" he asked.

Zhiqi's fingers paused over the keys. "It was written by a student who went missing... ten years ago."

That made Haoran blink.

"Wait, what?"

Zhiqi finally looked at him. His eyes weren't cold, just distant. "The east wing used to be a music wing. That piano was his. No one else plays it now."

Haoran looked at the dusty nameplate above the keyboard. The inscription had faded.

"Are you saying that missing student—?"

"I'm saying," Zhiqi interrupted gently, "that people forget the things they're told to forget."

Haoran looked at him differently now.

"You're not just a music nerd, are you?"

Zhiqi gave a rare, faint smile. "And you're not just a loud idiot."

"Hey," Haoran said, grinning. "That's progress."

 End of Chapter 2