Sir, Would You Like to Try This On?

One spring, Lin Moran met a man with impeccable style.

He looked good in a navy-blue coat, and said the color reminded him of code running in the dead of night. She remembered those words, and she remembered him.

A month later, she sat down at a matchmaking table. He was sitting across from her.

“Since we’re both in a hurry to get married, why not give it a try?” he said. She hesitated for three days, then replied with one word: Yes.

On the thirty-third day after they met, there was no wedding, just a one-year contract.

After they married, she worked on design sketches while he wrote code. Beneath the same roof, they lived without getting in each other’s way. She thought the year would pass with perfect precision, like a garment tailored to fit. She thought feelings could be cut away with scissors, just like fabric.

But she forgot that clothes grow more comfortable the longer you wear them, and habits grow deeper with time.

She forgot the light he left on for her late at night, how he remembered all her little habits, and how she had begun to crave the sound of him typing so she could fall asleep.

When the contract expired, neither of them brought it up.

Later, she happened to find the agreement at the bottom of a box. At some point, he had added a line in his own handwriting:

“Lin Moran, I don’t want to let you go.”

And beside the place where she had signed the final page, there was also a line in tiny pencil, written secretly by her one night:

“Gu Yanshen, I’ve admired you for a long time. Would you like to keep this going?”

So one morning, he said to her himself:

“The contract is void. Let’s get to know each other again. My name is Gu Yanshen. I’m your husband in the eyes of the law, and I’m also someone who wants to pursue you.”

By their third year of marriage, she finally knew that a racing heart didn’t have to be like the sun, forever out of reach.

That spring, when she asked him to try on a coat, he had already stepped into her life.