On a dull Saturday afternoon, a corner bookstore seemed deserted.
He crouched in front of the bookshelf, folding himself into an unergonomic position. A light green windbreaker, overalls piled at the ankles, a dull hair that can never be straightened out, and a gray bird lying on his left shoulder.
I thought it was just a strange person I met by chance. A dropped note, that's all.
But then——
"Will you come... Next time?"
"Maybe."
From a safe distance of 1.5 Meters, to not hiding when your arms are touched. From "OvO" on WeChat to saying those four words face to face. From the kiss on his forehead while he was sleeping, to that afternoon when both of them were awake and willing.
This is a story that is so slow that you can clearly see every step.
He kept a notebook in the corner of the bookstore for three years. About books, about birds, about someone who walks through the door every Saturday. And it took me a long time to realize that that boring bookstore, that man who spoke in a dull voice and buried his face in books at every turn, had become my daily life.
"Will you always... Stay with me like this?"
"Yes. Always there."
A cup of milk tea at just the right temperature, a red bean-flavored popsicle, and a bookstore that smells like old books.
Two people slowly approaching.
It's not an earth-shattering story.
But every Saturday afternoon, when I opened the glass door, he was there.
—— Yuan · Qing Yuanzhi ——
Intention: love, slow passion