The day of Christmas Eve was Irish's birthday. The time froze at the moment when Irish walked out from the observation room, and then the pointer of the clock slowly and normally went away.
Irish felt that she was walking above the clouds, and her feeling of pain had broken into pieces by Joseph's words. He said he didn't love her at all. Her body that had lost the pain suddenly became the missing outer form without a soul, numbly passing through the crowd step by step and then walking into the window at the end of the corridor.
Through the glass, she seemed to be able to smell the dusty smell of the wind. The dust choked her breath and stuck in the trachea, which made her suffocate for a moment. Everything outside the window turned gray, suffusing her eyes.
People said that love was like a sweet spun sugar, but now it turned out that love was a candy which was wrapped in delicate sugar paper.
