Xu Zhaoran and Cheng Jingxing lived across the street from kindergarten.
The two doors are separated by a corridor of three meters, and they are separated by more than 20 years. She was number one in her grade, and so was he. The two names on the red list are always next to each other, and the parents of the two families know each other as if they are one family. Everyone thought they would get married - even the head teacher said he would come to have a wedding drink.
On the day after the college entrance examination, under the sycamore tree, he asked her nervously: "It doesn't count as puppy love, does it?" She said: "It doesn't count."
Later, we went to college together, graduated together, and moved into a rental house together. Life passes like a pendulum, regular and stable, with no third parties, no misunderstandings, and no one sorry to anyone. She started looking at weddings, making forms, choosing a venue, and asking him what colors he liked. He said: "Everything is fine."
She has known him for so many years, long enough to understand the unsaid words behind every word "good".
The day we broke up was an ordinary Sunday. The autumn sunshine was very good, she watered the pothos, and he left the key in the same place.
After they separated, I realized that the longest distance between them from beginning to end was not the one-hour subway ride from the east to the west of the city, but the fact that he had been standing opposite the door waiting for her for more than 20 years, and she had never knocked on that door.
It's just that some people are destined to only accompany you to the intersection where you want stability and he is still looking at the stars.
The door is unlocked. The key is in the same place.
