In the summer when I was eighteen, there were always two orange candies on the window sill of the library. The tip of Orange's pen rustled on the drawing paper, and his eyes always quietly wrapped around the side face of the star; when the star's fingertips touched each other when dividing sugar, the sunshine in the whole library trembled.
They once wore a pair of headphones together to listen to leaked old songs, counted each other's eyelashes in the moonlight on the playground, and secretly made wishes on shooting stars - thinking that their days would be like orange candies, as sweet as the sky. But a joke was misinterpreted, and a letter full of stars lay yellow in the drawer. The proud hedgehog suddenly raised its spikes, and when he turned around, even his "goodbye" was shattered in the wind.
Twenty years later, the sunlight in the cafe fell slantingly on the table as it did then. In the illustrations of oranges, there is always a star hanging in the sky; in the star lesson plan book, half of an orange peel shines when pressed.
"Why did you suddenly give me back all our gifts that year?" Xingxing's voice was as light as candy wrappers.
Orange's fingertips rested on the mug, and the unfinished starlight in the sketch suddenly dimmed. The sweetness of orange candy has long been soaked in the folds of time. At this moment, it is slowly flowing along the light of reunion - those unsaid words should be said through this ray of sweetness... Can you say it?
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
