From School Uniforms to Wedding Dresses, Never Leave

"Zhongyu, what if we get separated one day?" "No." "Why?" "Because from the day you first wrinkled the hem of my shirt, I had no intention of letting you practice running on your own." Do you remember that temperature? It's not boiling, it's constant temperature, like cotton wool that's been exposed to the sun. At the age of eighteen, Zhongyu's white shirt always wrinkled when you were nervous, in the library in a sleepy afternoon, in front of the crowded club recruitment booth. His answer is always direct, just like the cone he hands over, the first bite is always yours. The wedding day was simple, no grand vows. When exchanging rings, his fingertips trembled slightly. Then he lowered his head and spoke in your ear with a voice that only you can hear, like confirming an ancient secret or opening a new agreement: "Look, we ended up beating time." The light fell on his eyes, and he was still the same young man who never looked away. You know, the days ahead will still be normal, with bills, disagreements, and quiet nights. But you also know that your hand will always fall into the same familiar palm whenever you need it. All the scenery will recede, and only the person next to me is the constant and unchanging coordinate. You will continue to run towards the morning and dusk further away, with your fingers clasped tightly, from the beginning of this life to the end. And he will always hold your hand tightly and whisper the answer to the eighteen-year-old question: "Don't be afraid." "I'm here." "Never left."