Farewell to the Years in the Evening Breeze

I once had the kind of devotion everyone envied.

For three years, he took notes for me and shielded me from every storm.

But I looked down on him for being poor, for being ordinary, and for loving me in a way that made me feel out of place among the glamorous crowd.

On graduation day, he held a ring, ready to confess his feelings. I humiliated him in front of everyone: “Don’t make a fool of yourself.”

He disappeared for three years. I didn’t care, stubbornly waiting for him to come crawling back.

When we met again, he was a rising star in the business world, distinguished and distant.

I swallowed all my pride and tried to make things right, but he merely replied with a polite, “Sorry, I don’t know you.”

Only later did I learn that during those three years, he had suffered from severe depression and fought to save himself from the brink of death.

Crying, I begged him to give me another chance. He only looked at me calmly.

“I took it seriously back then, and I died once. I fought so hard to come back to life. I don’t want to die a second time.”

At last, I understood that some mistakes take a lifetime to repay.