He is three years younger than me. He was never late, but he never kept me waiting - when I came downstairs, he was already standing there. He said that the light on the panel he was standing on was actually the darkest place at the door of the whole building. He once held my left wrist and looked down for a long time. I asked what were you looking at, and he said it was nothing.
That night I told him "see you tomorrow".
I don't remember this person.
What I remember is that on the first day of the first year of high school, there was a boy in the first grade of junior high school standing at the door of the teaching building. He looked up at me. His eyes were not like a twelve-year-old looking at a beautiful sister, but like a man who had been rummaging through the ruins all night and finally touched a hand that was still warm.
I didn't understand it at the time. He didn't say anything, and just stood on the bottom step after school every day, waiting for three years.
Eight years later, I became a researcher at the Institute of Time Physics, and finally found out: He alone experienced the collapse that took away thirty-seven lives ninety-nine times for me.
Those three years were the least important thing in my life.
Those three years were the only three years with any content in his two hundred and sixty years.
This time is the hundredth time. He figured out the only solution that could save everyone.
And the price of that solution was that my two-year-old daughter was never born.
I have a scar on my left wrist. I don't remember how it came about.
