Li Muen has spent twelve years confirming one thing: secret love is a person's chaos.
Later, they went to different cities, and every bus ticket she saved went to his university. She had seen him play ball, stayed up all night to review with him, and listened to him talk about the girls he liked - from A to Z, except for L.
On the day of his wedding, she sat in the corner and stuffed the red envelope thickly, as if she was settling accounts for her youth.
At the age of twenty-five, she finally deleted him. The wind was light and the clouds were calm, as if nothing had happened.
Until a mutual friend sent an old photo with Zhang Hengqi's handwriting on the back:
"In my senior year of high school, Li Muen handed me a note without saying a word. I didn't dare to open it, for fear that it would say 'goodbye' inside."
She was stunned for a long time, then dug out the textbook from that year - the note was still there.
It turns out that they were all afraid.
It turns out that their secret love expired together on the first day.
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It turns out that we are all afraid of speaking first, fearing that things will expire at the same time.
Intention: The deepest regret about secret love is not missing it, but that we could have gone in both directions, but due to our own cowardice, our hearts intersected in parallel on the same timeline. Those unspoken words were not rejected in the end, but expired by time - it turns out that the farthest distance is not that you don't know that I love you when you are on the opposite side, but that we both stood in front of each other, but chose silence together.