Thursday is almost the end of this thirty-day reading time. Lin Hao does not think in days any more; he thinks in pages and voices. After the last class he walks out with Chen Yu and Zhao Min. The light is gold on the playground, and someone is still practising basketball.
"See you tomorrow," Lin Hao says at the gate. "See you! Have a good evening," Zhao Min answers. Chen Yu shouts from his bike, "Bye for now!" The words are ordinary, but they hold the promise of another page.
At home Lin Hao tells Mum he is not finished, only pausing. Tomorrow they will read again, maybe the same way, maybe a little faster. He packs his bag without being asked. First the bag, then ten minutes, then sleep.
Before bed he opens the first week's story about Monday morning. It feels easier now, like a road he has walked many times. That is what thirty days can do, if you open your mouth every weekday. See you tomorrow is not the end. It is a bridge.