When he was seventeen years old, Su Wanxing met someone under the plane tree. He handed her an umbrella and she remembered it for seven years.
We met again at the age of twenty-four. He was a cold and distant architect, and she was a quiet and reserved illustrator. He looked at her like she was a stranger, but he sent her home late at night, bought her porridge, and wrote "This chair is for you" on the back of the photo.
She saved a drawer of evidence about him, but she still couldn't wait to say "I like you." He hid all his tenderness in "by the way" and swallowed all his true words in silence. There was a whole glowing river between them - visible but out of reach, and neither of them was willing to turn away first.
