The Grain of Sound Is Not as Long as the Summer

In the summer of seventeen years old, Chen Zhan and Lu Ye were at the same table. He brought her warm soy milk and stuffed orange candies into the hole in the table every day. They liked each other, but no one said it. The day before the college entrance examination, he pushed her away and stayed in that summer. Many years later, Chen Zhan found a "voice post office" that specialized in delivering "unfinished words." She sent the words "I like you too" to his consciousness scattered in the wind. He heard it. The price is that her memory begins to fade, and everything about him is forgotten bit by bit. But she still has those traces: the orange pendant he gave her, the bronze medal with smoothed characters, and the half-length red rope in the crack of the wall. She doesn't remember who they belong to, but her body still remembers - touching the pendant before going out every day, knowing the sound is right when the wind chimes ring. It doesn't matter if you forget, because the traces are still there. The wind chimes were still ringing, and she walked in the light without looking back, but her steps were a little slower than usual.