I Embrace You Beyond the Dunes

The thing she regretted most in her life was rolling her suitcase over a boy's white sneaker when she was nineteen.

He looked down and said, "The shoe started it."

Later, they became the most unlikely couple at university: she was talkative, he was quiet; she was lively and boisterous, while he silently shielded her from every trouble. She thought he would stay by her side for the rest of her life.

Then, in their final year, he wrote, "We're not right for each other," and left without a word.

Five years later, in the old city of Kashgar, she came with her camera to photograph "Xinjiang on my own" and encountered, in the blowing sand, a pair of eyes she thought she would never see again. To everyone else, he was the steady, dependable "Engineer Yu." Only in front of her could a teasing remark make his ears turn red.

An old misunderstanding that had never been cleared up, with five years between them: he thought letting go was an act of love, while she thought walking away was the end.

But love isn't about missing each other. It's about taking the long way around and still remembering how to find your way back.

"Last time, I was the first to let go. This time, wherever you go, I'll make my home there."

--A reunion after years apart, a love rekindled. This time, neither of them is allowed to let go.