"It's time to go," the boy in white said calmly, looking at the white pear trees swaying in the wind. The young man in green clothes behind him did not answer. It's easy to start talking, but not easy to continue. Neither of them spoke again, the white pears were floating away, the rings were ringing, and the scarves were slightly raised.
It took seven years to remember that day of separation again. Today, seven years later, I don't quite understand why I thought of the two teenagers who lived that day without any warning. In the end, who should leave, maybe it's me, maybe it's him; whoever leaves in the end, it's me and him.