After the Rain Stops

Lin Qingwan opened a bookstore and cafe in Nancheng, and his days were as quiet as a glass of cool water. Her husband, Zhao Mingyuan, travels on business all year round, and all that remains of their marriage is the light in the living room that stays on. One rainy day, architect Shen Yuzhou took his seven-year-old daughter Niannian into the store to take shelter from the rain. He ordered an Americano and sat by the window to draw drawings. Niannian was lying next to the bookshelf reading picture books and asked Lin Qingwan: "Auntie, what is this book about?" He became a regular after that. No chatting, no greetings, everyone doing their own thing. She was cleaning glasses at the bar, while he was sketching in the corner. Occasionally Nian Nian would come over and ask for a biscuit. The closest distance between the two people was when he reached the high book for her without touching it with his fingers. Everyone saw it, except themselves. It's not that there are no heart-warming moments - messages written and deleted late at night, quietly leaving get off work eighteen minutes early on my birthday, a piece of dried sweet-scented osmanthus tucked into the title page of a book. But she hasn't divorced yet, and he has a child. Two adults know better than anyone: some doors cannot be closed when pushed open. This is not a story about waiting. The two people stood in the rain for a long time, and finally discovered that the rain stopped, not because who held the umbrella for the other, but because the sky would have been sunny.