In the third year after the divorce, Jiang Wanyi met her ex-husband in a flower shop.
Snowflakes were fluttering outside the window, the cold wind was blowing, and the wind chimes under the eaves made a tinkling sound.
Huo Xuzhou was wearing a straight black coat and casually threw the flowers he picked at the cashier. A pair of indifferent eyes swept over her lightly.
Jiang Wanyi paused, touched the mask on his face, and then slowly packed the flowers: "A total of one hundred and thirty-four yuan, sir."
The man opposite raised his eyebrows and said, "Help me pick some more gypsophila. My wife likes it."
After Jiang Wanyi did as he was told, he handed over the flowers without raising his head.
The man quickly took it, but the shadow above her head did not disappear for a long time.
When Jiang Wanyi couldn't help but look up, Huo Xuzhou suddenly said: "Gypsophila was your favorite flower before."
Her breathing was suffocated, but her voice was unexpectedly calm: "Sir, I don't know what you are talking about."
"Do you think I can't recognize you because you're wearing a mask?" Huo Xuzhou raised the corners of his mouth, mockingly, "It's been five years and you don't seem to be doing well."
