The sycamore leaves in Jianghu Middle School fell 99 times, and Meng Yang's draft book was filled with 99 pages.
He said "borrow notes", but he drew little suns all over her wrong questions; he said "buy breakfast", but always stuffed an extra tea egg with the shell already peeled; he said "I'm on my way to self-study in the evening", but walked around the playground three times just to let her get some more moonlight.
"Chen Danxia, your smile looks like the rose my mother grew." He lay on the desk and looked at her, his eyes as bright as stars.
She squeezed the hot milk he stuffed her with, and for the first time she felt that "being loved" was not a dream.
Until the phone call after the college entrance examination: "Your father is getting divorced, and you have no share in the property." She squatted in the corridor holding the Qingbei admission notice, and the screen of her mobile phone lit up - it was the location sent by Meng Yang: "I am downstairs at your house, with my household registration book."
During the four years of college, he accompanied her to see the snow in Weiming Lake, and read the Book of Songs to coax her when she couldn't write her thesis; for three years of studying abroad, he made ginger tea for her in the laboratory and said, "The moon in Pudu is rounder than the moon in Jiang Lake."
But when he said, "Let's get married," she smelled a strange scent of perfume on his shirt.
"Meng Yang, are you tired of it too?" Her hand holding the broken wine bottle was shaking.
But he suddenly laughed and put her hand on his heart: "Silly girl, I've been waiting for you to wake me up for nine whole years."
Concept: Being loved is not a talent, it is a lesson we learn every day!