Ye Hao said softly and there was a pleading note in his voice.
He had waited for so many years, so he didn't want to wait any longer.
He Xiyan heard him but she didn't turn to look at him. Instead, she placed her hands on the windowsill.
A cold wind blew and it carried some moisture with it. The wind felt like a knife that sliced past her face.
Ye Hao walked over, shut the window, and stood behind her.
This was such a familiar scene. They had once stood in front of the full-length windows and admired the hill with an elevation of less than 300 meters.
He still remembered how she looked like as she sat in front of the window and drew the scenery. She would hold her paints and her paintbrushes as she painted the scenery, one stroke at a time.
She would occasionally include him in her paintings. He would usually appear as a tall silhouette in her paintings.
