In the darkness,
Zhao Rong didn't turn his head and fell silent for a moment.
His right hand struggled, but that small hand was still relentlessly winding around it.
Zhao Rong pursed his lips.
He lifted his left hand, which was exposed to the rain, and without explanation, brushed away the small hand that was attempting to cling to him.
Zhao Rong could feel the soft body beside him suddenly stiffen.
He thought for a moment, then shifted his body away from her, no longer touching her, yet his right hand holding the umbrella didn't move, giving up most of the space under the umbrella to her.
"Whoosh whoosh—"
At that moment,
Zhao Rong felt as if the entire world outside the umbrella was drowned out by the sound of the rain, but inside the umbrella it was strangely quiet as if it were a different world.
He felt the atmosphere become a bit awkward for a second.
But before Zhao Rong could think further,
That warm, soft hand covered his again.
