I was nineteen years old and had terminal lung cancer.
Cheng Shinan was the only person who stayed with me until the end.
He remembers me peeking at him every morning at the breakfast bar, remembering the warmth of holding an umbrella together on rainy nights, and remembering me saying, "I want to see the stars" under the art festival bonfire.
After my death he became an astronomer.
Everyone said that he had spent his whole life alone guarding my memory.
It wasn't until nine years later that he found a line of pencil writing among my belongings:
"What if the sick person is actually Cheng Shinan?"
The memories that I had repeatedly touched began to fall apart:
I never coughed up blood in front of him.
The dates on the medical records don't match.
The last page of the diary is covered with another layer of paper.
It was Cheng Shinan who died of lung cancer at the age of nineteen.
And I, Huo Zhiru, am just a classmate who has had a crush on him for many years.
Nine years after his funeral, I am still trapped in that rainy season.
So I did one thing:
In our story, identities are exchanged.
I died of illness in his stead.
We grant him long life.
I let him "love" me for nine years.
——You thought you were reading her diary, but actually you were watching how she forged it.
——You think he misses her, but in fact you are helping her to fabricate this miss.
Memory is the greatest scriptwriter, and we have all been its devout actors.
[Note: There is no prototype for this article]
Purpose: Love Tombstone