Wait for the Wind to Turn to the Confession Page

The cool and persistent photography boy × the quiet and tenacious girl with ancient books The old books area on the first floor of No. 3 Middle School is filled with the smell of camphor wood and old paper. It hides the secrets of time and the unspoken thoughts of the two teenagers. An unsent letter that had been lying dormant for thirty years tightly bound two people who had nothing to do with each other. They pieced together the youth and regrets of the previous generation from the pile of old memories, and saw the same unwillingness and persistence in each other's eyes. The leaves of the sycamore tree fall and grow again, and the old books are turned over and closed again. Those glimmers of light shared in the darkroom, those days and nights spent working hard for dreams, and those confessions hidden in the bookmarks of "colleagues", eventually turned into the warmth of fingertips touching each other. It turns out that the best love is when we repair the cracks of time together and write down the spring and autumn on paper that belongs to us and will never fade.