Lining

In the autumn when he was thirteen years old, Cheng Yan picked up a silver hairpin on the steps behind the teaching building. The owner of the card issuer is called Song Yu, Class 1, third row next to the aisle. He had noticed her for a long time but never spoke. The card stayed in his pocket all day, and the words in the dialog box were typed, deleted, and typed. In the end, he could only hold back one sentence: "How can I facilitate you tomorrow?" She replied with two words: "Thank you." What he didn't know was that he had been saving these two words for four years. From borrowing and issuing cards to sharing playlists, from walking together and going back together, they slowly got closer and became the envy of the whole school. Cheng Yan wrote her into every arrangement, and Song Yu thought this person would always be there. Then she chose someone else. The novelty, the other boy, the deliberate alienation, the silent farewell. Cheng Yan sent her the last song, but she didn't reply. Later, he stopped waiting and wrote all the days of waiting for her into songs. He sent out each song one by one and was heard one by one. It took Song Yu a long time to understand that some people don't show up until you are ready. They wait until you miss it before they realize you shouldn't miss it. But when she looked back, his song was still there, but the person was gone. This is a story about miss and regret. A hairpin, two songs, four years, and an unspoken apology.