I fell in love with her who knew nothing about love. "Sister, sister, your smile is so warm." "Sister, sister, how about we live together." "Sister, sister, is the food I cook delicious?" "Sister, sister, don't cry, he is not worth it." "Sister, sister, you will always be at the top of my heart..."
The tea talk mixed with my true feelings could never win over her steely girl's heart. Until that Chinese Valentine's Day, a mediocre man held a bouquet of dazzling red roses and handed it to her who was just in love. She smiled brightly and was as happy as a dancing child.
"Li Shang, I love you so much" was what I said to her while I was drunk and crying;
"I'm sorry, I can't bring you happiness." She shook her head gently, then took her packed luggage and a box of strawberry cakes I made, turned around and left our shared dormitory.
Our lives are once again like two parallel lines, completely unrelated.
Later, when I was cleaning up the shared house, I discovered that there was a large stack of hundred-dollar bills in her bookcase. If I had counted them at that time, it would not be difficult to find that there were exactly 520 bills.
I looked sideways at her, who was sleeping soundly with her arms around my waist, and the corners of her mouth were always raised unconsciously. I gently covered her with the thin quilt that had been kicked away, and kissed her forehead.
Purpose: To record warm and heart-warming stories with gentle brushstrokes, which should complement our lives.