When Lin Wei was tidying up the storage room, she pulled out the blue plaid umbrella. The umbrella ribs were stained with rust, but there was still half a stain on the umbrella surface that had not faded away - the traces of Jiang Yi's milk tea spilled on it that summer.
They had shared this umbrella through countless rainy days, and Jiang Yi always tilted the umbrella toward her, even though half of his shoulders were wet, he smiled and said, "It's okay." But later, the rain didn't stop, but people dispersed. He said "We are not suitable", his tone was as light as raindrops, but it made her heart feel heavy.
Lin Wei opened the umbrella, and the sunlight leaked through the holes, casting tiny spots of light on the ground, like those ungraspable and fragmented tenderness. She stood holding the umbrella for a long time, and finally understood that some umbrellas, when opened, are memories, and when closed, they are regrets in life.
