The gray-white flowers of the sycamore flower have a rich flavor that cannot be frozen by snow. Breathing in the cold air, she couldn't help but shiver. The sky was a blinding, hollow white. She tried to think of something, but came up with nothing.
In her senior year of high school, she, who was usually unknown, actually entered the top class in the placement test. Her jaw dropped. The books were over everyone's head, and the desk of the person who took leave yesterday was already flooded with test papers, which also overwhelmed her feeling at a loss.
No feeling. There is no sense of the so-called top class, no sense of the so-called great teachers, no sense of the so-called countdown to the college entrance examination... English can barely be called the title of the top student, but what about mathematics, physics and chemistry? God knows why she chose science. Every math class is floating. The mountain of question marks accumulated since the first year of high school are still floating no matter how hard I listen.
Concept: What does love bring to people? Is marriage the grave of love?