The early autumn wind passes through the old residential building, carrying a faint scent of osmanthus, and gently hits the glass windows on the third floor.
Wen Shutong leaned on the wicker chair by the window, her fingertips gently brushing against the cool glass. The sunlight filtered through the clean window panes, falling in pieces on her pale fingertips and on her loose white hospital gown. It had been a long time since she had a full sunbathing session.
There is still a lingering stuffiness in the chest, like a valley covered in fog all the year round, and there is a shallow, subtle exhaustion when breathing. Chronic lung disease had plagued her for five years, from midsummer when she was seventeen to early autumn when she was twenty-two. Other people's youth is the evening breeze in the playground, noisy classrooms, and short trips that can be taken away at any time, but her youth is countless pill bottles, the corridor of repeated hospitalizations, the regular beeping sound of the monitor, and the small sky that always stops by the window.
The sycamore leaves outside the window slowly turned yellow and fell slowly one by one. Year after year, the leaves changed, and pedestrians came and went downstairs. She was always trapped in a small room.
There was a slight turning sound from the door lock, soft and skillful, it was Jiang Yu who was back.
Wen Shutong tilted his head slightly, a soft but faint smile appeared in his eyes, and there was a layer of heaviness under the smile that no one noticed.
The boy was carrying a simple backpack and a warm insulated bucket in his hand. He was also carrying the outdoor breeze and the fragrance of osmanthus. As soon as he finished his school classes, he rushed back without stopping, day after day, without stopping.
Ling Xunye changed her shoes and walked to the window, reaching out and gently picking up the scattered hair on her forehead. His fingertips were warm, with the warmth of the sun, and he was careful, for fear of disturbing the fragile little girl in front of him.
"How are you feeling today? Do you feel any chest tightness?" His voice was very soft.
Wen Shutong shook his head, and his voice was soft and soft, with the hoarseness unique to people who have been ill for a long time: "Fortunately, the sun is very good today."
"Well," Ling Xunye bent down and his eyes fell gently on hers, "The reexamination results tend to be stable. If you stick to it, you will get better slowly."
He said this for many years.
Five years ago, Wen Shutong suddenly suffered from severe lung disease and was on the verge of life and death several times. At that time, they were still at the front and back desks, and they should have been writing questions together, going to the college entrance examination, and planning the long road ahead. The sudden pain abruptly cut off all her outward steps.
She was forced to suspend school, bid farewell to the campus, bid farewell to the crowd, and was trapped in a small space.
Only Ling Xunye always stayed by her side. Organize notes, tell interesting stories outside of school, stay with her quietly at night when she is coughing and unable to sleep, and catch the tears she sheds when she breaks down again and again.
He described the distance with her countless times. Misty rain in the south of the Yangtze River, sunrise on the seaside, red leaves in the forest, and snow falling in the north. He told her over and over again that when she recovered, he would take her to the mountains, rivers and lakes to make up for the scenery she missed.
Wen Shutong was not unmoved. But having been with the illness for a long time, she had already quietly prepared for the worst.
She had spent countless late nights coughing and unable to sleep, quietly thinking about another ending. If the medicine is continued, the lesions will never go away, and if she cannot wait until the day she can travel freely.
There is no need to waste time on her, no need to keep an agreement with no time limit, no need to be trapped in this waiting with no end in sight.
She asked him once, her voice as light as the wind: "Ling Xunye, what if... I never get better."
Ling Xunye squeezed her cold hand and said firmly, "I will always be with you."
Wen Shutong didn't answer any more, just lowered his eyes, his long eyelashes covering the surging emotions in his eyes. The companionship was too heavy, and she didn't want to drag him along and consume his youth that should have been passionate and vast.
Opening the thermos bucket, there was warm white fungus and snow pear soup inside, stewed until it was soft, glutinous and sweet. He took out a small bowl, blew it carefully until it was warm, and then handed it to her palm.
"Drink slowly to moisten your throat."
Wen Shutong swallowed in small mouths, the warmth sinking down her throat, but the hidden worry in her heart never went away. She raised her eyes and looked at the sky at the end of the building. The clouds were slowly moving away, free and unrestrained.
"I used to want to go to far away places." She said softly. "I wanted to step on the beach and watch the sea, I wanted to walk on the mountain trails, I wanted to experience a life without chest tightness, and I didn't have to be constantly vigilant about physical accidents."
But she didn't know if she could wait until that day.
Ling Xunye sat next to the wicker chair, wrapping her cold hand in his palm, patiently describing what the future would look like. It was still the blueprint they had repeated countless times. Peach blossoms in the ancient town in spring, starlight on the coast in summer nights, red leaves on the mountains in autumn, and snow all over the city in winter.
"When you recover, we will set off. Take your time, don't rush."
Wen Shutong listened quietly, the tip of her nose felt sore, and tears filled her eyes silently.
She wanted this future so much. But she wasn't sure she was worthy.
If she is lucky enough to recover, she will go to the mountains and seas with him to take a good look at the world.
But if the illness never recovers, I won't be able to make it to the appointed day.
Then let him forget this promise and forget that she is trapped in the ward and can never escape the pain. He no longer has to be trapped in hopeless waiting. He should have a life without worries and without being shadowed by the shadow of illness.
She gently held his hand back, her voice was very soft, hiding an unspoken bottom line.
Good.
If we are lucky enough to recover, we can see the scenery of the world.
If the illness is not cured, then forget about it.
The wind passed over the window edge, rolling up the broken shadows of the sycamore trees, and the fragrance of cinnamon diffused lightly into the house.
The hope was light and the retreat was quiet. She kept both endings in her heart.
Intention: Self-aware of the warmth and warmth of human relationships