When Lin Xi turned thirty, he dreamed of the seventeen-year-old gardenia fragrance again—Xu Yan in the dream was standing at the subway entrance, the cuffs of his white shirt stained with charcoal dust from the architectural drawings, and his eyes were as bright as when he was handed a gardenia note during the evening self-study ten years ago.
They were once the front and back desk of Jinjiang No. 1 Middle School. He silently held an umbrella to see her through the rainy season, and she secretly stuffed notes for solving geometry problems into his pencil case. However, at the age when they should be close together, they were pushed further and further apart by an inexplicable misunderstanding. In the end, they didn't even stand in the same area for their graduation photos.
When I woke up from the dream, the sunlight leaking through the cracks in the curtains fell on the wedding photo on the bedside, with my gentle and calm husband next to me. Lin Xi touched the folds of the pillow and suddenly understood: some heartbeats are like the gardenia petals pressed in the notebook during adolescence. They have long since dried into specimens, but always in a late night dream, the fragrance of seventeen years old wafts back.
Intention: Some misses are not flaws, but to cherish the stable happiness in front of you more in the days to come.