Seven years ago, she tore up her love letter and scattered the pieces into the sky, letting the rain wash everything away, while he watched in silence.
When they met again seven years later, she was a queen of haute couture, while he was a down-and-out racer whose right hand was ruined. When others called him a waiter, his younger brother shouted through tear-filled eyes, “My brother is a god on the racetrack!”
An umbrella engraved with “79,” and a track he raced using only his left hand.
For seven years, he had held on to his secret love, making it the only track that could lead him to her. He told her, “My heart has been set on you alone since seven years ago.”
As the July downpour counts down, this time, the finish line is the rest of their lives.
