In the spring when I was sixteen, I met a boy named Song.
He would fill my water glass during evening study, would wait for me at the end of the sports meeting, would say something important under the dim corridor light - and then kiss my cheek.
He also asked: "Will we get married?"
I didn't answer.
It's not that I don't love it. At that time, I didn't know where I was going.
Later we separated. I wore the scarf he sent me for three winters, and he received seven letters from me without any reply.
Later, I stood on the podium.
The lights are bright and there are many people.
But I still found him in the darkest corner of the audience.
He smiled at me.
I smiled too.
——This is our story.
There is no reunion, no life.
There is only one spring, one meeting, and a river where two people go ashore separately.
Intention: Not all love must end with "being together". Some love is used to become oneself.