Zhan Cheng turned to his side, leaning against the cold wall. He did not watch Song Qinghuan leave but instead lit a cigarette and his mind recalled the first time he saw her.
Her skin was fair, and her features delicate. She wasn't particularly beautiful and was indeed hard to remember at first glance.
Yet, for some reason, after a few interactions, he found himself liking her, and then he fantasized about being with her for a long time, fantasizing about accompanying her into the sunset years from now.
Such beautiful wishes were like soap bubbles, bursting all too soon. They were mere passersby in each other's lives, a fleeting meeting.
Now she was someone's wife, someone's mother, and yet he still stood in the cold corner of the wall, chasing her silhouette through the haze of tobacco smoke.
From this moment on, however, he would seal all of this away, his sole obsession, his eternal fixation, forever hidden deep within his memory.
