Loneliness is a theme to which I’ve always felt a deep resonance. During high school, I frequently found myself stranded on campus over the holidays. The empty school grounds, the ignored corridors, the silence elongated by time—gradually, I came to understand what it meant to have feelings that could only be digested internally. It was an inexpressible weight, a youthful condition of “swallowing every word.” This short film is born from that memory and attempts to expand upon it. I place the story within a closed, expansive, and hastily vacated campus—a metaphor for the institution and a prison of emotion. Two boys, neglected by both family and system, drift through this space. They draw close, only to be violently torn apart by the taboo surrounding their intimacy. I aimed to channel these unutterable emotions through one concrete gesture—the act of cutting hair. In that quiet haircut, Xiaoyu briefly touches the person he can never have. It is not a confession, nor is it a goodbye; rather, it is a tiny, barely detectable intimacy, forced into existence by reality’s constraints. I believe genuine emotion is often not expressed in words, but in actions, in hesitations, in the tension of being near yet unable to grow closer. I set out to create a film about frustrated love, and about a youth defined by systemic isolation. I chose to articulate this through space and physicality: the deserted school building, the endless hallway, the persistently ringing bell, the boy’s lowered head during the haircut—these are the emotional imprints I strive to leave. This is not a search for answers, but an imprint of a boy’s transient body warmth in a single moment—and the emptiness he must endure, alone.