In the winter when Lin Wan was eleven years old, there was a little girl selling candied haws at the door of County No. 1 Middle School.
A boy in school uniform stood in front of her, holding a crumpled paper in his hand.
"Any more?"
She pulled out a bunch of the largest and reddest ones and held them up to him.
Then he came every week.
At the age of seventeen, he was admitted to college and left without saying goodbye.
She lost her grandma on the same day, and the letter she never saw.
At the age of twenty-seven, she walked into the psychological consultation room.
The man opposite was wearing a white coat, with a familiar name engraved on his name tag.
He said: "Long time no see."
She lowered her head and wanted to say: The day you left, I thought I was never important.
And he wrote her name in the medical record, his fingers trembling slightly in a place where no one could see.
Concept: Love is an undelivered letter and a prescription twenty years late.