Four days pass, though time has lost its meaning. There is no hunger, no sleep, only the shifting of light from morning gray to evening shadow. Unable to endure the suffocating grief inside her parents' apartment, Xiaoyu drifts back to the place that defined her entire life: Room 302 of the senior building.
It is 8 PM, the middle of evening self-study. The classroom is a pressure cooker of silence, broken only by the rhythmic scratching of M&G gel pens against practice booklets and the heavy sigh of the ceiling fan. The air smells of old paper, citrus-scented hand sanitizer, and collective anxiety.
Xiaoyu walks down the aisle to her old seat. It has been left completely empty, a strange, hollow gap in the neat rows of desks stacked high with towers of mock exam papers.
Sitting right next to her empty desk is Xu Jiang.
They have been friendly since primary school. Xu Jiang isn't the flashy, handsome school idol who plays basketball and gets love letters tucked into his locker. He is quiet, kind-hearted, and entirely dependable. He is the boy who always helped her carry the heavy hot-water thermoses up four flights of stairs and shared his spicy gluten snacks behind the teacher's back.
Right now, he isn't studying. His textbook is open to Page 45, but his eyes are fixed on something hidden under his thigh.
Xiaoyu leans closer. In his left hand, concealed from the teacher's podium, Xu Jiang is holding her old Chagee milk tea keychain, the little plastic cup replica she had accidentally dropped near the school cafeteria the day before her accident. His thumb gently rubs the smooth plastic surface, over and over, until his knuckles turn white.
A heavy ache swells in Xiaoyu's ghostly chest. He is grieving for her. Quietly, completely alone in a crowded room.
Suddenly, Xu Jiang sets his smartphone face-up on his desk, masking it behind a massive stack of English vocabulary guides. The screen lights up with a vibration, a notification from a social media app flashing across the glass.
Curiosity gets the better of her. Xiaoyu leans over his shoulder and extends her right index finger, pressing it lightly against the glowing screen.
A tiny, sharp spark of static electricity crackles at the point of contact. The capacitive glass registers the sudden burst of spiritual energy as a physical touch. The screen responds instantly, sliding the notification open.
Xu Jiang blinks in surprise. He hadn't touched the screen, yet the phone had unlocked itself, navigating away from the chat and opening his hidden photo album.
Displayed on the screen is an old, grainy photo from their primary school graduation. The two of them are standing side by side under the blazing summer sun, holding their certificates and smiling like idiots, their oversized uniforms hanging off their small frames.
Xu Jiang stares at the screen, his breath hitching. He looks up from the device, his eyes darting directly toward the empty desk beside him, right where Xiaoyu is standing.
The temperature in the corner of the room plummets. Xu Jiang shivers slightly, rubbing his arms, his gaze lingering on the empty air. He cannot see her, but as Xiaoyu holds her breath, she realizes the truth.
She isn't entirely powerless. The screens that dictate so much of their teenage lives can hear her. And more than that, she is still connected to the people who care about her.
四天过去了，虽然时间已经失去了意义。没有饥饿，没有睡眠，只有从清晨灰暗到傍晚阴影的光线变换。无法忍受父母公寓里令人窒息的悲伤，小语飘回了定义她整个生命的地方：高三年级的三零二教室。
现在是晚上八点，正是晚自习的时间。教室里是一片沉默的高压锅，只有晨光文具笔划过练习册的有节奏的沙沙声和吊扇沉重的叹息。空气中弥漫着旧纸张、柑橘味洗手液和集体焦虑的气息。
小语沿着过道走向她以前的座位。它被完全空置着，在整齐排列的课桌中形成一个奇怪的空洞，那些课桌上堆满了模拟考试试卷。
坐在她空座位旁边的是许江。
他们从小学就认识了。许江不是那种光鲜亮丽的篮球校草，也不是会收到夹在柜子里情书的那种人。他安静、善良、完全可以信赖。他是那个总是帮她把沉重的热水瓶扛上四层楼梯、偷偷在老师背后分给她辣条吃的男孩。
现在，他不在学习。他的教科书翻到第四十五页，但他的眼睛盯着藏在大腿下的什么东西。
小语凑近看。在他的左手里，藏在讲台的视线之外，许江拿着她那个旧的茶姬奶茶钥匙扣，就是事故前一天她不小心落在学校食堂附近的那个小塑料杯仿品。他的拇指轻轻地一遍又一遍地摸着光滑的塑料表面，直到指关节发白。
一阵沉重的疼痛在小语幽灵般的胸口涌起。他在为她哀悼。安静地，完全孤独地，在一间拥挤的教室里。
突然，许江把智能手机正面朝上放在桌上，用一大堆英语词汇指南遮挡住。屏幕亮起震动，社交媒体应用的通知在玻璃屏上闪烁。
好奇心战胜了她。小语探身到他肩膀上方，伸出右手食指，轻轻按在发光的屏幕上。
接触点噼啪作响，一道微小的、尖锐的静电火花。电容玻璃将这股突然爆发的灵能登记为物理触摸。屏幕立刻响应，滑动打开了通知。
许江惊讶地眨眨眼。他没有碰屏幕，但手机自己解锁了，从聊天界面跳开，打开了他隐藏的照片相册。
屏幕上显示的是他们小学毕业时的一张颗粒感的旧照片。他们两个并排站着，在烈日下举着证书，像傻子一样笑着，过大的校服挂在瘦小的身上。
许江盯着屏幕，呼吸一窒。他从手机抬起头，眼睛直接看向他旁边的空座位，正是小语站的地方。
房间角落的温度骤降。许江微微发抖，揉着手臂，目光停留在空旷的空气中。他看不见她，但小语屏住呼吸，意识到了一个真相。
她并非完全无能为力。那些支配他们青少年生活如此多的屏幕能听到她。而且更重要的是，她仍然与她在乎的人连接着。