Most of our memories that manage to survive the passing of time stem from strong feelings from our past, such as a radical basketball final, a successful midterm exam, or even a terrible childhood nightmare. But what I am going to discuss is none of these, and despite having nothing significant to be quoted, it is still the first to be recalled every time when I think of my gone primary school days.

The summer of Shenzhen is filled with tropical typhoons, that is, almost two-thirds of the typhoons reported are sure to pass this city on the southeastern coast of China. Their frequent appearance brings abundant rainfall, which is sometimes tense enough for an emergency school break that lasts a few days. So it is no wonder why most Shenzhen students will consider the occurrence of a typhoon as a sign of fortune. But when this happens when you are still trapped in school, then it is just another story—and that just once happened to be my situation.

The thundering storm extinguished the last hope of going home, but it was still the moaning of peers that drove me out of the classroom. Seeking for a momentary peace, I went upstairs, got myself settled down by the bars of the balcony, where the roaring rain finally swallowed the annoying noises. Raindrops danced under the dim, grey sky, with some of them mischievously landing on my cheeks, leaving smooth, watery trails.

It wasn’t as chilling as what others said, though. The grey sky, unlike its usual version, gave one a unique sense of easiness—it seemed that a misty boundary separated you from the rest of the world, both its good and its bad.

“Geez, your parents will go berserk if they don’t find you staying well below there.” Tim’s voice broke the delicate solitude, but I would not mind to have my best friend share a part of this small world. Slowly sitting down next to me, one could tell that he was trying hard to maintain this valuable balance as well. The rain kept falling, as if nothing had changed. “Guess it will still be long before our parents come to pick us, then.” Sadly, this was 100% true, but I was not depressed.

“So, want a card game?” I must admit I was impressed when he conjured up a set of colorful cards right from nowhere, though the cards themselves, illustrated with planets and stars, were not the least likely to resemble any known card game. “You sure these are game cards?” “Well, they weren’t made for this.” Tim smirked, “but as long as rules exist, they are.”—and that is still the best definition for games that I have heard since then.

5 years of time changes one a lot. It is even hard to remember the details of Tim’s self-invented game, or the winner that afternoon. Nonetheless, the scene of two little children carefully playing with a stupid card set just carved itself into my memory, alongside the balcony and that stormy afternoon. Honestly, it is not really a good game, with rough rules and often disrupted by raindrop blasts. But does a valuable memory have to be thrilling or full of twists and turns? I am afraid not.