Dumpling, you were the buzz across the room,
The reason our table lit up with gloom.
Each morning we’d watch, eyes locked on your place,
Just hoping you’d glance—just once—our way.
You weren’t just a crush, you were breaking news.
“Who’s Dumpling talking to?”—we’d mock and confuse.
That one guy you sat with? We hated his name,
Not ‘cause of him—just the jealousy game.
Your laugh cut through like a spark in the air,
We’d pause mid-sentence just to hear you somewhere.
From the way you spoke to the way you’d grin,
You ran our conversations—you always win.
But now, it’s over. Class split. New scene.
No more watching you walk in like a queen.
No more dumb debates about your tone or your name,
Without you around, our talk’s not the same.
Thanks for the chaos, the fire, the phase—
For being the highlight of our quiet days.
Dumpling, you mystery, you name in our talks—
You’ll echo in our group like unfinished thoughts.
You owed us nothing—not a glance, not a cue,
Still half our group chats were somehow about you.
