He met her when he was young. In the spring of that year, she was wearing a small floral skirt and leading the children in the courtyard to play a game of chase. The spring breeze was long, and the flowers were flying under the locust tree. The flowers were flying like rain. She turned back inadvertently and saw his dark face under the tree. With deep eyes, there was an electric current running through her heart. When she was young, she didn't know that this was the feeling of heartbeat. At that time, she shook her broken hair and still raised her proud little chin and hummed to the little follower next to her: Call him over. The little follower scratched his head and looked blankly in the direction of her sight, but only the white hem of his clothes carried by the wind was left. The little follower curled his lips, and as soon as he turned his head, he saw her eyes wide open, sullenly angry. After that, somehow my interest in playing dropped. After sunset, all her playmates were called back for dinner by their parents. She was the only one who dragged her steps home slowly as usual after everyone left. When she saw the window that blended in with the night, she twitched her lips in self-mockery. I'm used to it, yes, haven't I been used to it a long time ago? She opens the door, changes her shoes, washes her face, and goes to bed. She vaguely seemed to hear the voices of her parents arguing, but she just turned around and continued to sleep. In her sleep, she seemed to see the silent young man in the rain of flowers again. Of course, in her sleep, she would not see her crooked eyebrows and eyes changing from her usual pride and fierceness. That was the first time she met him, but many years later she only lamented that life could only be like the first meeting.