Ten years later, beneath the cherry tree at their alma mater, Lin Qian opens three rust-covered iron boxes. Shen Xingye's sheet music is forever frozen on an unfinished piece. Lu Huai's guitar is missing the string he loved most. And in her sketchbook, three faded lines have appeared beneath the drawing of a cherry blossom crushed underfoot: "I'm sorry," "I love you," "Forget me." As the cherry blossoms fall once more, she finally understands that some loves are destined to miss their season, no matter how far they transmigrate through time.
