Stop at Heart

The sycamore trees remain the same, but people have grown up. The sea is still the same sea, but those who look at it finally learn to express the sound of waves in their hearts. Si Xinran looked at the man in front of her who was still as clear as before, and remembered the unasked questions at the beach when she was eighteen, the warm osmanthus cake on the train platform, and the empty echo in her heart every time she heard news about him in the past ten years. She took a deep breath and looked directly into his eyes: "Luo Zhishu, it's been ten years. I've already missed your eighteenth year, and I don't want to miss your twenty-eighth again." As the words fell, the sound of firecrackers sounded faintly outside the teahouse, as if a salute was fired for this confession that was ten years late. But this time, at the age of twenty-eight, they finally grasped the hand that they were afraid to extend when they were eighteen. After ten years, the way home is you. The years are silent, but the journey remains the same.