Tian Xiaorong, when I think of this name, his appearance will slowly emerge in my mind. Unfortunately, it is just a back view.
He put his hands on the table, bent his elbows, covered one ear with his palm, held up the white back of his neck, and leaned back gracefully. He was wearing that light blue round-neck short-sleeved shirt, and at first glance, his skin color was almost a sickly white.
It seems that he will always be like this back to me, far away in the horizon and close in front of me. He was sitting at my front table. I stretched out my hand to reach him, but I couldn't reach him.
"Tian Xiaorong!" I shouted to him and ordered him: "Look at me!"
He didn't look back and stiffened his back. It was as if there was an ulterior secret on his face.