I was still doing my own thing in the car as if nothing had happened, but I cherished the people and things in the car now. I thought my car had become more beautiful and they would not leave. I was wrong. I instinctively held his hand and wanted to say something, but his stop arrived. At this time, I cried, but I let go because I knew that my retention could not change anything. I looked at the empty seat next to me, and then at him walking to the door. Fortunately, he looked back at me. There was the same reluctance in my eyes. When the car door opened, tears blurred my eyes. I thought it was time to leave. . . . . . . . . . . .