The first snowfall of the millennium, they live across from each other. 408 And 409.
She squatted on the ground wearing a red plaid scarf and called Cat. He had just returned from a run, and his spiked shoes clinked on his schoolbag. "What's your name?" "Zhou Huaian." "My name is Lin Wanqiu, the autumn of autumn."
Then the wave of layoffs came. The lamp in the corridor was broken and repaired, 408 there was a locked wooden box under the bed, 409 there was a postcard with a postmark in the drawer. They all put something away, and no one asked the other what it was.
At the age of 18, he didn't dare to look back at the train station, at the age of 22, she didn't dare to finish dialing at the phone booth, at the age of 33, they were staggered by two floors in the elevator.
23 Years later, the old building was marked "To be demolished." He rushed back from Changchun and she rushed back from Shenyang. The old lamp in the corridor is still on.
A pair of childhood sweethearts born in 1986 in a small northeastern town finally returned to the corridor facing each other after 23 years of clumsiness and tardiness.
