(Shuangjie, the cold, gentle and strong heroine vs. The gentle and sinister male lead who criticizes madly at heart) The male protagonist chases his wife in the crematorium, and the second male lead takes the upper hand.
The sycamore leaves rolled in the wind, like torn old letter paper.
He stood in the shadows across the street from the cafe, unconsciously twirling a faded movie ticket stub between his fingertips - the one she stuffed into his coat pocket on their last date.
The world inside the glass window is blindingly warm.
She cupped her cheeks and smiled, her eyelashes casting fine shadows in the orange light, while the familiar yet unfamiliar man was wiping off the cream on the corner of her lips with his thumb. This action was so familiar that it made his stomach twitch - it turned out that she still touched the corner of her mouth when eating dessert, but she no longer needed him to remind her.
The blood roared in his eardrums, and he found himself counting the frequency of their interactions: when the man raised his hand to help her pull up her hair for the third time, his nails dug into the palm of his hand; when she showed her that crooked smile at the corners of her eyes for the fifth time, his teeth shattered the cigarette holder; when the man naturally took away a piece of strawberry cake from her plate - it was the taboo she once hated others to touch - he knocked over the trash can behind her.
When the man got up to go to the bathroom, she suddenly looked out the window. The moment his eyes penetrated the glass, he instinctively took a half step forward, only to see her take out her powder to touch up her makeup - what was reflected in the mirror was the man's suit jacket hanging on the back of the chair. It turns out it was never him she was looking at. The phone vibrated, and a special attention prompt popped up: "Thank you for your help."
