Spring Pond Ying Huan

The afternoon sun, with a lazy dusty feel, slanted into the cafe. He pushed open the glass door, and the air was instantly filled with the alienating coolness of the city. She sat in the innermost booth, stroking an empty silver candy box with her fingertips. He caught her at a glance. Not because of the light and shadow, but because of the quiet and dangerous stability in her body, which, like a lake, can reflect everyone's uneasiness. He didn't walk over directly. I just stopped three meters away and ordered a double espresso. "Long time no see." She didn't raise her head, her voice was low and calm, like feathers falling into velvet. She knew he was coming, just as she knew the line had never really been broken. "Yeah. Nancheng is really small." He walked closer and sat down on the chair opposite her. On the table, the empty candy box was like a silent coin, reflecting all the fire and ice of the past. There was less than a meter of tabletop between them, but it seemed like they were separated from the noise and silence of the entire youth. She finally raised her eyes, her eyes clear, with a restrained and distant smile. He instantly understood that all stories were not over, they were just changed, waiting to be continued. "You have changed," she said softly. "You didn't," he responded, his voice filled with irrepressible reunion peace. In the air, the tugging feeling was like a thread. They don't need words, because the most attractive ones are always the secrets that have been sealed by time but never cooled down.