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I rushed home with the wedding invitation in hand, the gilded "Lin Xu & Qin Wan" still hot on my fingertips. He stood in the middle of the living room, turned around, and glanced at me with the eyes of a stranger. "Excuse me," he frowned slightly, his voice polite and distant, "who are you?" The invitations fell to the ground. Three days later, the doctor pronounced his verdict: His memory began to flow backwards, and he forgot yesterday every day. Our wedding is in ninety-two days, and by that day, he will have completely forgotten that he loved me. The wedding dress has not arrived yet, but the forgetfulness comes first. This is the first day.

At four o'clock in the morning, I was squatting in front of the convenience store eating a 3-yuan rice ball. An ultimatum popped up on my phone: If the price does not reach 1.06 Million, my hometown house will be mortgaged. The next second, an old Buick with an ending of 888 slid to a stop. A Nokia 8250 with green screen and blue letters protruded from the window, as if it had been dug out of a grave. The owner of the machine grinned at me: "Sell me an idea, 100,000, pay now." I pressed my fingerprint, and the payment prompt sounded "ding". From then on, the interest could not catch up with me, and I caught up with other people's lives.