“Congratulations, Linda.” He said gently, held out his right hand and was ready to shake hands with me. At that moment, I was turned to stone and did not know what to do. I just sized up the short and gaunt guy in front of me. I even forgot that he was waiting to shake hands with me.
“Linda, what is wrong with you?” Not until one of my classmates patted me on the shoulder did I come to myself. I held out my right hand and shook hands with him unnaturally and uneasily. Then I thanked him and collected my prize in a hurry.
On my way home, I thought of the short and gaunt guy repeatedly then I asked myself, “Why daren’t I hold out my hand?” I watched my hands carefully for a few minutes, but later, I found I could not force myself to do that any more. The scar on my hand was so clear that it brought me back to my childhood. Little by little, I recalled how hurriedly my mother took me to the hospital on her own and how difficultly she breathed all the way. Though I was successfully rescued in the end, the disgusting scar would be with me forever.
What's worse, in my opinion, the scar on my hand was an insult to me. I dare not look at myself in the mirror, let alone hold out my hand to shake hands with others. However, soon came the day when I changed my thoughts. That was a beautiful afternoon. When I was wandering around my campus, someone patted me on the shoulder. I turned back, only to run straight into his arms. I was not able to recognize him at first, but later, I remembered, it was the guy that I met last time when I went to collect my prize. He just smiled a gentle smile but said nothing. At that point, my knees began to shake and I had no alternative but to keep silence. I felt very embarrassed so I was ready to leave in a hurry without a word of apology or goodbye. But he blocked my way.
“I do not see why you are so touchy.” He just called a spade a spade. He gave me his opinion of a smart but withdrawn girl. I listened to him attentively, looking into his eyes. Then I was seized with a sense of trust. I could not but bare my heart to him. He said nothing at first. Then he told me, “There will be many opportunities that present themselves to you. You must accept the fact that the scar will be with you forever, why not take it as your mother’s love for you? When you see the scar, will your mother’s face appear before your eyes? You need to be optimistic. Just be yourself.”
At that moment, strangely, it began to rain heavily. I was moved deeply by his honesty and sincerity. I felt that he looked bigger than what I met last time. And at last I could not help crying I was about to say something when he sighed, “Will the rain ever stop?” Hearing this, I said nothing but just gave him a peck and ran away.
What is the so-called true love? I had no idea, but from that moment on, I began to change my ideas about my scar. It was love from my mother, and now I could shake hands with others naturally. What’s more, gradually, I found myself beginning to wear my heart on his sleeve. I am always imaging him proposing marriage to me.
It was him who touched me so much.