Seventeen-year-old Lu Yan tilted his umbrella to Shen Linyuan during a heavy rainstorm, and he was exposed to rain for the rest of his life.
During the three years of high school, he silently guarded an unspeakable love - putting orange-flavored erasers in Shen Linyuan's textbooks and watching him play basketball in the corner of the playground. On the summer night after graduation, he finally said it, but only got the sentence "We can't".
Twelve years later, Lu Yan disappeared. He went to Chengdu and became a surgeon, suppressing all his thoughts into silence. Every year on Shen Linyuan's birthday, there is a "Happy Birthday"; there are also twenty-three letters with "Linyuan" at the beginning and "No Return" at the end, which are locked in the deepest part of the drawer and have never been sent.
No one knew he had depression. No one knew that the neat marks on his arms were for the wounds in his heart.
The reunion was accidental. Shen Linyuan was divorced and came to Chengdu with his four-year-old daughter. The apartment he rented was right next door to Lu Yan. The sound of "Uncle Lu" shattered his twelve-year pretense, and also woke up Shen Linyuan's long-overdue awakening - it turned out that the person who was always standing behind him was not a friend, but a lover.
But fate doesn't give me the chance to make up lessons.
Late stage brain cancer.
Lu Yan chose to hide it and arranged everything quietly, hoping that Shen Linyuan would never find out that he was about to leave. But love cannot be hidden, and neither can illness. When the truth was revealed, they only grabbed the shortest happiness - cooking together, picking up their daughter from school together, and looking at the moon outside the window together. Like ordinary people, like people who can grow old.
On the day the operation failed, Shen Linyuan collapsed.
Twenty-three letters and the last one - only one sentence:
The thing I regret the least in this life is falling in love with you, and the thing I regret the most is also.
Intention: The deepest tragedy is not not to love but not to love, but to love but never speak, and when you finally speak, it is too late.