The day she gave up, I threw ten years of medical records into the box, along with the bottle of expired heart medicine.
There was only one sentence on the note: "I have been treating your disease for ten years. Now, I am tired."
It was shipped by express and I flew to Africa.
On the day of his engagement, I was performing surgery in a war-torn area. Amid the sound of gunfire, I stitched up a child's wound.
Three months later, he received my letter: "I'm fine, don't read it."
Three years later, I returned to China.
He stood in the corner of the reception and looked at me with red eyes. I walked over with the wine glass in hand and smiled: "Mr. Gu, long time no see."
He chased me. Send flowers, books, and block the door of the hospital.
I accept everything I order, politely thank you, and never refuse an appointment.
"Can you give me a chance?" He asked.
"Can't."
Crisp and neat.
Later he found out the purpose of the bottle of medicine - premature heart beat caused by long-term mental stress. He got through my illness.
Late one night, he was waiting at the entrance of the hospital, with cigarette butts on the ground at his feet. When he saw me coming out, his first words were:
"Heart, does it still hurt?"
I was stunned. His eyes instantly turned red.
He held a press conference and told the camera: "Now, I am her medicine."
The whole network is refreshed.
But I still didn't agree.
Until that day, he took me to Lao Cai. Pointing to the closed pharmacy: "The first time you bought me stomach medicine, it was here."
Under the setting sun, he asked: "Su Nian, can I get back those ten years I missed?"
