In the second semester of her sophomore year in high school, Zhao Yinghui slept like a stray cat in an alley and was carried home by Shen Mo. She thought he was going to make herself into sweet and sour pork ribs, so she finished the whole plate of pork ribs first. He thought she would be quiet for the night, but she ended up rolling around on the sofa for two hours.
They are childhood sweethearts and enemies. She fried the kitchen, rummaged through schoolbags, and forcibly checked the posts; he drew mazes, boiled brown sugar water, folded her notes in quarters and stuffed them into his heart. She insisted that "beating means kissing and scolding means love." He silently pushed the scratched lunch box to her.
Until Xu Zhen moved in - a girl who piled toast into mountains, folded quilts into glutinous rice balls, and insisted on calling them "Daddy Mommy" - the three of them were crowded in 230B, jumping from chicken to dog, relying on each other.
On the day of 520, Xu Zhen called out "Daddy Mommy" and sent them into the pink hell of the couple's challenge. The Princess hugged the Polaroid who squatted deeply, looked at each other for thirty seconds, and intertwined their fingers. He cooperated without expression, but after stepping off the stage, he picked up the photo from the trash can and put it close to his body.
What Zhao Yinghui didn't know was that the walls of the Silent Attic were covered with mazes. From the crack that was torn open in the third grade to the two faceless villains in the sixth grade - the end of the maze has always been her.
She didn't even know that the "sleep with you" note she wrote casually was folded and put into his pocket, and he kept it close to his body for three years.
A tough-talking childhood sweetheart meets a silent sweetheart. What she said the most was "Stop it", and what he said the most was "no". But those folded notes, the recovered photos, the warmed milk—everything answered for him.
"No" is another admission. Objects are a philosophy more honest than language.
Concept: "Nothing" is another kind of admission. Objects are more honest confessions than words.