I Don't Like This World, I Only Like You (我不喜歡這世界，我只喜歡你) by Qiao Yi (喬一)

F and I were high school classmates. Back then, he was just like he is now—sharp-tongued, but kind-hearted and always looking out for me. Later, something happened between us. We were both too immature, and we stopped speaking over some trivial argument.

He went to study in the UK, and for years we lost touch. At a class reunion, someone mentioned him. A friend said they had accidentally dialed his old number—and it still worked. That's when we found out F had kept the same number all those years.

"Wasn't it super inconvenient abroad?"

Everyone was puzzled. In the end, we all agreed: trying to understand a genius's behavior was a futile effort for us mere mortals.

Not long after, it was his birthday. I worked up the courage to send him a message. I clutched my phone all night, but he didn't reply. It wasn't until the next afternoon that he responded, and it was distant and polite—just two words:

"Thank you."

Later, when he returned to China, I gathered all my courage and went to Beijing to find him. We made up and decided to be together.

One day, I found his old Nokia N97 in the bookshelf. When I turned it on, all the call logs and text messages had been wiped clean—except for the drafts folder, which still had something inside. I clicked on it, and found dozens of unsent drafts.

"Saw a girl at Asda today who looked just like you."
"Paul released a new album. While listening, I felt like you were sitting next to me."
"The temperature in Changsha dropped. Remember to dress warmly."
"I've forgiven you. Will you give me a call?"

...

The last one said:
"I miss you so much."

The date was his birthday.