The rainy season in the old town always seems to never end.
Lin Yu is a proofreader at a late-night newspaper, waiting for the last bus, waiting for a silence with no return date; Su Wan is a night watchman at an old bookstore, holding a collection of yellowed poems, hiding a past that he dare not touch.
They met under the foggy stop sign, walked silently in the rain, and quietly approached in the heat of hot cocoa.
There are no passionate confessions, no earth-shattering entanglements, only the window seat on the bus late at night, the bookmarks of the Republic of China that slipped among the old books, the sound of rain under the eaves, and the tenderness that you hesitate to say countless times.
When the city was demolished and the old place disappeared, they hid their heartbeats in the rain and fog and buried their regrets in time, separated by an unspoken distance. Later, the old building collapsed, the bookstore closed, and the last bus changed its route. He still remembered that rainy day, the curvature of her umbrella bones leaning towards him, and the wetness in her eyes that was still wet.
It turns out that for some encounters, you don't have to stay together, you just need to remember them. Just like this urban rain, it falls into my heart year after year.
