On a rainy night when I was seventeen years old, Nuan Nuan lost the letter that was soaked by the rain and couldn't see clearly, and the star path diagram with Qin Yang's drawing, and only took away the dead succulent and the 59-point physics paper.
On their reunion day at the age of twenty-seven, the coffee she spilled soiled the drawing of the starry sky dome he designed, but she revealed a ten-year secret - his watch was embedded with her lost star tracker.
The mints that haven't changed in ten years melted in the rainy night:
"The 100 seconds that I didn't count back then will be given to you for the rest of your life."
"The stars were drawn crookedly at the age of seventeen. Can they still correct their trajectory at the age of twenty-seven?"
In this heavy rain that arrived at the observatory ten years late.
There are stars that never fall, and spring that has already taken root.
Intention: The love of spring and scorching sun is refreshing.