Speed and Stardust: Song Yuqi X an F1 Driver

Grandma smiled, the wrinkles at the corners of her eyes blooming like chrysanthemums. She drew me into her arms, just as she had when I was little. Her embrace was still as warm as ever, carrying the faint scent of soapberry. The sound of the rain, Grandma’s heartbeat, the barking of a dog in the distance: everything was exactly as I remembered. Now, whenever it rains, I make myself a cup of hot tea and sit by the window with my eyes closed. Accompanied by the sound of the rain, I feel as if I’ve returned to that little town in Jiangnan, to the courtyard of Grandma’s home. I see the puddles on the bluestone slabs, the bright red fruit on the pomegranate tree, the little girl watching the rain beneath the eaves, and the ever-smiling grandmother beside her. Rainy days are love letters the sky writes to the earth. And the memories tied to those rainy days are the gentlest poems time has written for me. They are damp with the scent of earth, sweet with the fragrance of osmanthus, and warm with the touch of Grandma’s palm. I will treasure them forever in the softest place in my heart.