The flowers in the forest withered in spring, too hastily.
When I was thirteen years old, I met her at a crossroads. She said: "If there is a chance, I will give it to you next time."
Later, fate really came. She recognized me in the water room, called me by name in the cafeteria, and handed me an umbrella on rainy days. I call her Sister Yao, and she calls me Little Brother. There were two flights of stairs, an entire floor, and an upcoming high school entrance exam between us.
She said: "If I get admitted to No. 1 Middle School, you come to No. 1 Middle School to find me."
She didn't come. Everyone said she couldn't come.
It was many years later that I realized that some people were not gone, but were just turned around by fate and went another way. And it would take me ten years to reach that corner and see the shadow she left behind.
This is a story about youth, regret and slow relief. It's not sensational, it's not bloody, it's just a piece of writing that touches your heart.
That year the wind blew and the flowers fell. Wherever you are, I am.
