How many times in my dreams had I heard him call my name this way?
Just like when we were young, I would run while he gave chase angrily, shouting my name.
Or after school, he would loiter at the gate, welcoming me with open arms and calling my name gently.
Or when I failed my exams in high school and brought my paper home, clasping my palms and begging him to fake my parents' signatures. He would call out my name in disappointment.
Or the countless nights when he would sneak into my room and caress my face when I was sleeping. I'd open my eyes a crack to hear him whisper my name.
Xiachun…
Xiachun…
That voice was like a tempest, a raging storm in my mind.
There were also countless nights when the going got tough, and the recollection of his voice felt like a silver needle that pierced and hurt my eardrums.
