Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows of the departure hall, the swaying shadows of the plane trees make people feel trance-like.
Twenty-six-year-old Chu Qing was suddenly struck by memories: In the afternoon when she was sixteen, when she was staring at the tall sycamore trees through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the boy in the white shirt snickered, revealing the dimple on his left cheek that made her heart beat; when the snow fell at the beginning of that year, she was afraid that the sycamore tree would be lonely, so she deliberately left deep footprints next to the sycamore tree. When she turned around, she saw the boy who was always behind her carefully stepping on the traces she left in the snow.
Later, in countless reincarnations of the four seasons, whenever the leaves of the sycamore tree fell, she would think of the scent of pine that passed by the collar of the boy's shirt every time she looked back. She would also think of the starlight flowing in his eyes when he inadvertently raised his eyes, spreading silently into her heart.
Ten years later, it turns out that some people are like the light and shadow under the sycamore tree, clearly within reach, but always separated by the entire distance of youth. How ridiculous, at the age of twenty-six, I am still paying in installments for the heart-throb that I had when I was sixteen.
Concept: First love is the purest. I am willing to use any beautiful words to describe it, because it stays in my memory and has not changed.
