The days after that were as peaceful as before I met him.
Maybe this is the life I should live, happiness does not belong to me, sadness does not belong to me.
Do people only regret not cherishing something after losing it?
I often wonder, if I hadn't been so kind to him, wouldn't he have died for me?
In this way, if I die against fate, there will be no suspense and no regrets.
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Text third person
A short story I wrote when I was in high school. I changed it on a whim and then published it.
The plot setting is relatively simple, it's probably a debut novel, feel free to post it
Intention: