Four years ago, Jiang Yan's seat was empty.
There was no farewell, no explanation, only a sketchbook left in the drawer - the last page showed her silhouette with her head lowered while solving a problem, and a line of small words written in the lower right corner: "I'm sorry, I need to leave for a while."
Four years later, she stopped by an exhibition of his paintings.
In front of the group of oil paintings titled "17 Years Old Under the Camphor Tree", Lin Shuran saw the familiar library, the umbrella in the rain, the figure on the basketball court... There was a looming girl in each painting.
"These paintings," a voice came from behind after four years of absence, "are the answers I owe you for four years."
She turned around and saw that the once silent and distant boy had grown into a young man with firm eyes.
"It took me four years to finally reach a position where I can stand shoulder to shoulder with you."
"Now, I want to rekindle the light I owed you when I was seventeen."
