When I was sixteen years old, I received a letter: "When you grow up, I will marry you."
I hid the letter in an iron box for ten years.
When I was twenty-six years old, I joined a new company, and my boss was the person I had a crush on for ten years.
He doesn't remember me.
No, he remembered.
He remembers that I like to drink milk tea with 30% sugar, that I am afraid of the dark and dare not walk at night, and that I get stomachaches during my period.
But he never said he liked me.
Until that day, I found the iron box in his office.
It contained all the letters I had written to him over the past ten years—none of which had been sent.
The last letter was written on the day I joined the company: "Gu Chen, I can finally stand upright in front of you."
There is a line below, which is his handwriting:
"Me too."
