Introduction:
When she was seventeen years old, Lin Zhiyun looked up in a classroom full of chalk dust and met Shen Huaixu for the first time, who came to hold a parent-teacher conference for her in place of her uncle.
Secret love is the collapse of silence.
She hid his name in the crease of the title page of "One Hundred Years of Solitude", filled the edges of his pen on the draft paper, and collected the cedar fragrance that floated every time she brushed shoulders as a scent specimen.
During the seven years of their acquaintance, she learned to judge the length of the meeting from the wrinkles in his suit, to guess whether he had insomnia last night from the number of coffee cups, and even to read the tiredness of him rubbing his temples through the glass curtain wall.
But all the turbulent speculations eventually turned into the deliberately imitated signature handwriting on the liberal arts and sciences subject list, into the palms of his hands that clapped until they were red when he was proud, and into the choked sobs that he could only call him "uncle" while clutching his blood-stained shirt outside the emergency room.
When she was 24 years old, she was sorting out her old belongings. Lin Zhiyun shook out a yellowed note from the book "One Hundred Years of Solitude". That is Shen Huaixu's handwriting - [April 6, 2020, Area C of the library, your eyelashes were trembling when you fell asleep, like a butterfly frightened by the rain].
It turns out that the thunder she thought was buried deep in her heart had already been deafening in the silence of his gaze...
