The corners of the iron box have been worn white.
Inside was a photo of her giving a speech at an industry summit. The corners of the photo were white, as if it had been looked at and touched many times. A post-it note, the handwriting on it was hers - a phone number she had written down casually during a meeting, but she had forgotten it. A black hair rope, the most ordinary kind, she had thrown away countless ones.
The note at the bottom was not her handwriting, it was his.
She used the moonlight to read clearly what was written on it——
"Lin Zhixia, you may never know that I have been waiting for this day since the first time I met you."
This novel and its characters are purely fictitious. Any similarity is purely coincidental and should not be imitated.
