Thirty Days of Reading

On the last Friday Lin Hao sits in the library again, the same seat by the window. Thirty weekdays have passed since he packed his bag in the dark Monday morning. Some days were easy. The after-lunch bench, the park after rain. Some days were slow. The long sentence, the shaking voice, the water on the stairs.

最后一个星期五，林浩又坐在图书馆靠窗的同一个位子。 从那个天还黑的星期一收拾书包算起，三十个工作日过去了。 有的日子很顺：午饭后的长椅，雨后的公园。 有的日子有点慢：长句子，发抖的声音，楼梯上的水。

He writes a short letter, not to his cousin this time, but to himself. "Keep reading," he writes. "That is all right if you are slow." "Your English is growing, not because every word is new, but because your mouth is braver." He reads the letter out loud, once slow, once at a normal speed.

他写了一封短信，这次不是给表姐，而是给自己。 他写：“继续读。慢也没关系。” “英语在长，不是因为每个词都新，而是因为嘴更敢了。” 他把信念出声，一遍慢，一遍正常。

Chen Yu comes in to return a book and sees him. "Finished?" Chen Yu asks. "For now," Lin Hao says. "See you in the reading club, and in class, and on the playground." They bump fists, quietly, because it is a library.

陈宇来还书，看见了他。 他问：“写完了？” 林浩说：“先这样。朗读社见，课堂上见，操场上也见。” 他们轻轻碰了碰拳头，因为这里是图书馆。

Outside, parents wait by the gate, and the sky is already thinking about evening. Lin Hao puts the letter in his notebook and walks out. Thirty days is not a whole life. It is a door. He can open it again on Monday, as long as he still says: I'm ready.

外面，家长在校门口等着，天已经开始像傍晚。 林浩把信夹进本子，走出去。 三十天不是一辈子。它是一扇门。 只要他还说得出 I'm ready，星期一他还能再打开。