I met you when the wind blew and the leaves fell.
In the autumn when the leaves of the Chinese phoenix tree began to fall, Luo Ye met Xu Chizhou.
He was the boy sitting in the front row of her - the second grader, cold and taciturn, like a tree standing alone in late autumn, silently rooted outside the noisy crowd. At first, she only thought he was good-looking, but she also thought he was a bit scary and alienated. She even secretly put various strange labels on him in her heart. But later she discovered that this boy who seemed to be out of tune with the world would calmly pick up the dropped pen for her when she couldn't reach it. He would neatly fill up several pages of draft paper with physics questions she couldn't do. He would look at the leaves falling in the wind in her camera, and then say lightly: The photos are beautiful.
And she was like a ray of reckless and warm sunshine, bringing with it fallen leaves all over the sky and warmth in his heart, shining into the world where he had built high walls without warning.
In the autumn when I was seventeen, the leaves of the sycamore tree rustled. They worked side by side on the days when they were in the same class, approached each other across a wall after being divided into classes, and shared the secret of the same fallen leaf under the sunset at the bus stop. The boy's heartbeat is restrained and obscure, like a secret signal that is hidden deeply but can't help but turn the tip of his ear red; the girl's love is bright and persistent, like the sycamore leaves falling quietly in her lens, but never really leaving.
The wind blows the leaves, and the wind will stop and the leaves will fall. Some stories have an inescapable sense of fate from the beginning. But in that autumn, every cautious approach, every hesitant temptation, every tenderness hidden under silence, all smudged a long layer of golden color over the years.
——"I didn't like autumn before."
——"What now?"
——"It's okay now."
A love song that begins in the fallen leaves in the autumn wind.
Some people are like fallen leaves. You think they have drifted away, but in fact they have been quietly falling on your heart.
Intention: "When raindrops touch the flower branches, who knows the meaning of spring?"