That night in the back alley of the bar, she held my face and asked, "Do you like it?"
On the morning of the opening ceremony, she stood on the podium and read: "The meaning of university is to learn to face yourself."
When we met face to face, she called me "Kyono-san". When my mother was present, she called me "Xiaoye".
But I know that the bar receipt buried deep in the back of her bookcase is dated our only night.
She's on the run and I'm chasing her.
She drew a safe distance, and I stepped on the safety lines one by one. She pressured me with ethics, so I retaliated by reciting the "Lolita" she had told. She said no, and I asked her -
"Then why don't you dare to look into my eyes?"
This is a story that moves forward step by step.
It is also a story of gentle fall.
