I stepped on a field of autumn leaves and walked into the cafe. Just as I was about to go to the seat next to the wall, I heard someone talking. "Sir, could you lift your foot up, please?" I stopped and followed the direction of the sound, and saw a girl sitting by the French window. She sat up straight and looked towards me. The afternoon sun covered her left face with a layer of pale white. "Are you talking to me?" I pointed to my nose. "Yes," she said, "if you please." "Which foot?" "Left foot." Although I was puzzled, I lifted my left foot.

"No, I want to see the soles," she said. I spun my calf so that the soles of the shoes were facing her, and my body swayed a little as I tried to maintain my balance. She stared at the soles of my shoes, nibbled on the pen, lost in thought. I looked down and found a fallen leaf stuck to the sole of the shoe. "Okay." She gave a gentle smile, "Thank you." I tore off the fallen leaves, put down my left foot, and said, "Do you want to give it back to you?" "No." She shook her head, "That doesn't belong to me." I went on, sat down on the seat by the wall, and put the fallen leaves on the table.

The boss came over, I caught the Menu in his hand and ordered a cup of coffee. I picked up the fallen leaf and looked at it carefully, and found that there was something yellow and yellow on the back of the fallen leaf, and the shape of the mark was very similar to the profile of a person. Other than that, there's nothing special about it. I couldn't help turning my face slightly to the left, secretly paying attention to that girl. She was picking up a pen and scribbling on a pad. It's like writing, but also like painting. The action is quick and neat, without any sloppiness.

This is already the eighth or ninth time I've seen her. Sometimes when I arrived earlier than her, I would see her go directly to the second table by the floor-to-ceiling windows, take off the "reserved" sign on the table, put the book on the table, and sit down slowly. Then lean forward, turn your face to the left, and look out the window. Her eyes were always looking out the window, and even when she picked up the coffee cup to drink coffee, her eyes remained unchanged. Ordinary people stare at something for a long time, and their jaws should be sore, so they will rest their cheeks with their palms or prop up their chins.

But she never did these movements, and I suspect that her jaw muscles are particularly good. Perhaps this is the appearance of the male protagonist described in many romance novels - with a firm chin. I never figured out that the chin had something to do with perseverance before, but I never thought that seeing a thing is believing a thousand things. The boss just put the coffee in front of me and gave me a look. I was a little embarrassed, and quickly looked away from the girl. Open the briefcase, take out a pen and a piece of white paper, and put them on the table. Because I don't have a firm chin, I rest my cheek on my left hand and turn the pen with the fingers of my right hand, thinking about how to write.

Suddenly there was a "bang", and my left elbow propped on the table slipped, and I was startled. It turned out that the girl bumped into the corner of my table, turning the table about 10 degrees clockwise, and the coffee cups and spoons on the table also clanged due to the collision. But she just turned her head to look at me, didn't stop, and turned away quickly. When the store door was opened, the three small bells hanging on the doorknob shook nervously and collided with each other. The sound of "Dangdang" is endless. My gaze followed her, and it felt like she was an antelope being chased by a lion on the grassland.

She stopped at a zebra crossing with red lights on, her eyes fixed on the opposite side of the road, looking anxious and uneasy. After the green light came on, she walked forward quickly, rushed to the opposite side of the road, and ran seven or eight steps to the right. Then quickly got into a red car parked by the side of the road. The car moved and she drove off. I looked back and went back to the cafe. Now there are only me and the boss, but he didn't stop what he was doing out of curiosity. Even the "bang" of the table, the "clang" of coffee cups and spoons, and the "dang" of bells, he turned a deaf ear to them.

It's so calm, it's very suitable to be the prototype of heroes in martial arts novels. Compared with him, I seemed to be making a fuss, and I couldn't help laughing. When I looked back at the white paper on the table, I saw a drop of smudged coffee on the lower left of the white paper. Picking up a pen, he drew several concentric circles around the coffee drop. The circle gets bigger and bigger, making the graph look like an archery target with the coffee in the center. Draw a few more arrows and shoot them from the upper right. In order to emphasize that the arrows are coming fast and fiercely, behind each arrow, a few lines are drawn vigorously, and at the same time, the soundtrack of "咻咻" is issued from the mouth.

This is my bad habit when drawing. When I was a child in art class, the teacher once said: "A great painter, when painting style, people will hear the sound of "huhu"; When painting rain, people will hear the sound of "cracking"; When drawing lightning, people will involuntarily cover their ears. " In order to let my classmates praise me as a great painter, and I was afraid that their ears would not be able to hear my "painting", so I always made some sound effects in my mouth when I was painting. Over time, I got used to it. So I bark when I draw dogs, meow when I draw cats, and coo when I draw birds.

At that time, I naively thought that I would become a very good painter. Until one time when the teacher asked us to draw "My Mother", my mouth naturally shouted: "Damn boy! Why don't you watch TV if you don't read books!" As a result, the whole class roared with laughter. The teacher stepped down from the podium and came to me. After looking at my painting, he said, "My child, drawing is a matter of talent, so don't force it too much." I just realized that I'm not made to be a painter. Far away. Pull your eyes away from the white paper full of arrows, and move to the dark coffee cup next to it.

Then move to the dark table, the dark chair, me in the dark shirt sitting on the chair. Then he raised his head and looked at the boss who was making coffee in the dark bar. My mind finally returned to this cafe. Since I didn't want to be a painter, I'm not very good at distinguishing colors. Anything dirtier than brown, darker than purple, lighter than black is dark to me. My personality is that if you can't do one thing well, then it's just bad. But now is not the time to mess around. I had to come up with names for a boy and a girl to represent the hero and heroine of the story. Although the name is just a convenient name, it is not important, what is important is the story itself; But I still hope that before the story begins, I can give the protagonists appropriate names to show respect. My personality is that if you don't want to make one thing bad, then you have to do it best. So, what should it be called? I scratched my head and turned my gaze back to the white paper, where the coffee drips had dried up. Upon closer inspection, the shape of the traces still resembles the profile of a person. Just as I was about to compare it with the shape of the trace on the fallen leaf, there was a sudden, subtle but crisp "Dangdang" sound from the front left. I raised my head reflexively, and headed towards where the sound came from. The girl pushed open the door and walked in again. "Hi, I'm so sorry," she said. I looked up at her, puzzled. Standing by my desk, she pointed to the slightly askew table and straightened it with both hands. "It doesn't matter." The table is not mine, and if you break it (or your bones), it's none of my business. "Huh? Do you also draw?" She tilted her head and stared at the white paper on the table. "Just doodling." I was a little embarrassed. "Hmm..." She seemed to study this "painting" very carefully, and after looking at it for a while, she said, "Can I sit down?" "Oh?" I froze for a moment, "Please sit down." "Standing and looking at pictures is tiring." She smiled slightly and sat down on the chair diagonally opposite me. She picked up the white paper, brought it close to her eyes, and then stopped moving. "You must not have learned to draw." After waiting for a few minutes, she finally spoke, but her eyes did not leave the white paper. I felt a little ridiculed, and my face turned red. "This picture has almost no sense of painting, just a lot of messy lines." "Oh." I replied vaguely. "And no drawing skills at all." Yes, yes, I don't know how to draw. "The composition is terrible and there is no theme at all." what!is it not OK? "How can Huahua do this?" She shook her head, "Oh, what a pity this blank paper." Haven't said enough?Miss. I closed the zipper of the briefcase, lifted the briefcase with my left hand, and planned to get up and leave. "You must have been in a mess just now." She didn't notice my movement, still looking at the blank paper. "Well, I was just thinking about something." I admired her acumen a little, so I answered her. "Surely you haven't figured out the answer yet?" "That's right. How do you know?" "Because although many arrows are drawn in this picture, none of the arrows are inserted into the bull's-eye." Her eyes finally left the white paper and glanced at me. I let go of my left hand holding the briefcase and looked at her too. "You're studying science, right?" She put the blank paper on the table and asked me. "I studied engineering, so it should be considered science." "Hmm. I guessed right." "Why do you guess so?" "Look," she said, pointing to the target formed by many concentric circles on the white paper, "these circles are not paintings, but a pure geometric figure." She moved her finger and pointed at several arrows, "And these diamond-shaped arrows too." I followed her fingers and looked at the graphics, but I didn't feel anything special. "You should be quite used to drawing triangles, squares, circles, things like that." She looked at me, then nodded, exuding confidence. "But these graphs don't express how you 'feel', they are just tools to help you understand or think about things. This seems to be a common habit of people who study science." "Oh." I looked at the white paper carefully and felt that what she said seemed to make sense. "But I don't quite understand these lines." She pointed to the lines behind the arrows, and said, "These lines are very powerful, and they are the most interesting part of the whole picture. But, what do they represent?" "Guess what." I was embarrassed to tell her that it was the sound of "咻咻". "I can't guess it. It's just that I can hear the sound of feather arrows piercing through the air." "Really?" I suddenly became a little excited. Teacher, you lied to me!I should have the talent to be a painter. "What's wrong?" She seemed curious. "It's all right. It's good that you can hear." Although I still don't quite believe that she can really hear the sound of whoosh, but I have begun to think that this girl is very cute. My personality is that as long as a girl believes in me, she will find her cute. "Can you lend me a piece of white paper?" She smiled, "I want to draw." I immediately took a piece of paper from my briefcase and gave it to her. She got up and went to her desk to get a pencil, and then went back to sit diagonally across from me. Then she lowered her head, drew the picture very intently, and stopped talking. I noticed that when she began to focus, the air around her smelled of tranquility. It was as if all the sounds had fallen asleep. The cafe became very quiet, only the rustling sound of pencils rubbing against white paper could be heard. Occasionally there is the sound of her blending pencil lines with her fingers or the palm of her hand. So I watched her paint quietly, not wanting to make noise so as not to disturb her. "All right." She put down her pen, raised her head and said. "Can I watch it?" I asked. "Of course." She turned the white paper 180 degrees and gently pushed it in front of me, "Please advise." "Don't dare to be. I don't know how to paint, I just want to see it." "Painting is a kind of beauty, not for understanding, but for appreciation." I think this sentence is a bit philosophical, with a hidden layer of truth. My personality is that as long as I think a girl is cute, I will believe her words make sense. The composition of this pencil drawing is simple. On the left there is a man walking along the path of several trees with three fallen leaves flying in the air. The man's hair was slightly disheveled, and a fallen leaf was stepped on under his left foot. The sky has drawn a few arcs, and there are traces of blurring the pencil lines with my hands. After staring for a while, I felt a bit of coolness. It was the feeling of being blown by the autumn wind on the road just before entering this cafe. I can't help but close my eyes and take a deep breath. "What's wrong?" she asked. "It's nothing." I opened my eyes, "It feels cool." "cold?" "Yes. It's like a cool breeze blowing." "Really?" She seemed a little excited. "What's wrong?" This time it was my turn to be curious. "The teacher who taught me how to paint once said..." Her voice was a little excited, "For a great painter, when he paints, it will make people feel the coolness of being blown by the wind; When painting the rain, it will make people feel as if they have been drenched in the rain, and the whole body is wet; And when drawing lightning, it will make people feel numb all over the body instantly, as if being electrocuted. " ah?Why is it different from what my teacher said? Which one is better, the great painter my teacher said or the great painter her teacher said? Or, my teacher and her teacher, who is right? "I could hear the 'whoosh'." The boss suddenly appeared next to us and said something. She and I turned our heads at the same time and found that he was also looking at the picture. Just when she was about to ask him why he could hear the wind, she asked first, "Do you like it?" "Yeah." The boss nodded, "5 cups." "How about 7 cups?" she said. "Then 6 cups." The boss said. "OK." She also nodded. Then the boss picked up the picture and walked back to the bar. "This..." I was at a loss for words. Because I don't know what to ask him or her?Don't know what question to ask first? She looked at the picture of ten thousand arrows piercing the heart again, and I immediately felt very embarrassed. "This one was drawn casually, and it's shameful." I quickly put the picture in my briefcase. "No. Pictures are sometimes like relatives or lovers. No matter how inconspicuous they are, they always make someone feel special." "Ok?" "For example, if you look like this..." "Excuse me," I interrupted her, "what do you mean by 'looking like this'?" "This is just a metaphor." She smiled, "That is to say, in the eyes of others, you are very ordinary; But when your relatives or lovers see you, they will feel a lot more special than ordinary people. " "Oh." I took out the picture of Ten Thousand Arrows Piercing the Heart, "So you are a relative of this picture?" "Maybe." She smiled again, "For my paintings, you are also a relative." She kept laughing, caught a glimpse of the fallen leaf on the table, picked it up and said, "I was just wondering how to draw the leaf's life." "yes?" "Some leaves fall after they dry up; but some will be blown off by the wind, and let the wind help it draw the last trajectory in life." "Oh." I couldn't understand. "I'm curious, if the final destination of the leaf is the sole, how it will feel." "Probably feel that it is the arrangement of fate." "No." She smiled happily, "It's a trick of fate." I looked at her, then at the fallen leaf and the marks on it. "Do you come here often?" she asked me again. "Come once in two or three days. I've been here eight or nine times. I'll see you every time I come." "Really?" She picked up the pen and bit it lightly, as if she was trying to remember. "Sorry." She shook her head, "I don't remember seeing you." "It's okay. People who drive on the highway usually don't see ants on the side of the road." She smiled, took down the pen she was biting in her mouth, and said, "It's not like that. I just don't know people's faces very well." She held the pen in her right hand, facing my chest, and swayed a few strokes in the air. "What are u doing?" "Trying to remember you." She smiled. I looked down subconsciously, and didn't find anything unusual on my chest. "By the way, will you come here often in the future?" "It should be." "Why didn't the answer be straightforward? It doesn't have the domineering a person who studies science should have." "Okay. I will come here often." I asked her, "What about you? Will you come here often?" "It should be." "You didn't give a straightforward answer either." "I don't need to be domineering." She smiled, "I study art, please advise." She returned to her seat, gathered her book and brushes, and looked extremely relaxed. When she passed by me, she said, "I'll go first." "Ok." When she was about to open the store door and walk out, she turned her head and waved to me and said, "Bye-Bye, a science student." I nodded to her in response. When the clang of the bell on the doorknob was about to stop, a flash of inspiration suddenly appeared in my mind. She is an art student and I am a science student. Art?science? I finally thought of the right name. Pick up the pen, draw another arrow on my drawing of ten thousand arrows piercing the heart, and hit the bull's-eye directly.