My dear Wanwan, I don't think I can hear my heartbeat anymore. They say the scenes that flash before your eyes are the bonds you haven't yet let go of, but I can't bring myself to let go.
In 2010, I met you and fell in love at first sight. As fate would have it, my secret crush came true.
In 2012, we graduated, and our romance became public. The photo frame made our graduation season eternal.
In 2015, we completed our studies and returned to Spring City, the starting point of the countless futures we'd dreamed of.
In 2016, we got engaged. Red silk and golden characters expressed our hope of growing old together.
In 2017, we got married. I felt heaven had been so kind to me, letting me spend a lifetime supporting and loving the person I cherished.
In 2019, we had a baby. You said you liked plain rice porridge, so I gave our baby the nickname Zhouzhou, meaning "little porridge."
In 2023, I wanted to divorce you. I was sick, and so many words were stuck in my throat, but I was afraid of becoming a burden to you.
In 2025, the rainy season came around again. You said the plum tree downstairs from the hospital looked just like the one in Nanjiang. I didn't dare answer, only smiled. I felt so guilty. Why was the bright-eyed girl who once stood under the plum tree now looking so sad, her eyes clouded with sorrow? I was the one to blame. Endless regret and guilt spilled from the corners of my eyes. Wanwan, my vow to grow old with you was ultimately lost in the dream of my eternal sleep.
I thought of Nanjiang again. There was a plum café there, with a plum tree in front. A girl in a white-and-blue plaid dress stood beneath it, smiling like a flower. I waited and waited, and finally, one afternoon, the door opened from outside. The refreshing scent of plums rushed in, along with someone I hadn't seen in so long. She was the girl I loved most in this life. Her name was Wen Zhiwan.
Theme: It is easy to fall deeply in love when young, but hard to grow old together.
