On the day our classes at Minglun Hall ended in the summer of 2016, someone shouted something. None of us took it seriously.
In the autumn of 2026, she sent me a faded group photo and asked, “Do you remember what someone shouted that day?”
Ten years.
I went from a county town to the Yangtze River Delta, traded short hair for button-down shirts, and watched the people around me change again and again.
Only that navy-blue folding umbrella still lay at the bottom of my suitcase.
Some promises made in youth sound like jokes when you say them. By the time you realize it, you've been taking them seriously for ten years.
Theme: Some promises sound like jokes when you say them. By the time you realize it, you've been taking them seriously for ten years.
