Meng Fuyao lost herself in that dream, that person's embrace, in the scent and body temperature that only belonged to him. That night, she dreamt of the most beautiful dream she ever had.
A dream like that.
As the daylight shone into that side of the bed, the warmth eventually cooled down, and the scent eventually dispersed.
Meng Fuyao did not get up but closed her eyes and lay on her stomach. It was as though as the warmth was still there, the scent still lingered; that scent was certainly odd. She always felt that it was a warm scent, yet today, as she smelled it on her blanket, there was a cold scent of snow. Or was it because the person that could bring her warmth had left?
The truth was that the previous night, she wasn't drunk at all.
Meng Fuyao knew that he was eventually going to leave and merely did not want to face it.
