In the fall of 1998, transfer student Lin Zhiyi slipped a handwritten letter into the "time capsule" on the hill behind the school, only for her deskmate, Shen Yanqiu, to catch her in the act. The boy caught sight of the words on the paper: "I want to sit next to you for the rest of my life." He raised an eyebrow and smiled. "A lifetime is too long. Let's make it to graduation first." In the spring of 2018, Shen Yanqiu, now an architect, dug a rusty tin box out of the ruins of their old school. On the back of the yellowed letter, someone had added a line in unfamiliar handwriting: "On graduation day, I waited for you in the third row of the auditorium." Thirty-year-old Lin Zhiyi stood in front of him and lifted the simple band on her ring finger. "So, should we change the length of that 'lifetime' now?" It turned out that all those missed chances had been there to make the sweetness of their reunion overflow.
Theme: May the people we missed no longer be parallel lines that never intersect, but simply people waiting to meet and reunite at the right time
