Actually, some people don't lack the will to speak; they simply haven't met the person they wish to open up to. — Son of Snow
...
...
Turning to walk forward, Gan Yuan lifted her right hand.
Between her fingers was a hotel's proprietary envelope, thin so one couldn't make out if there was anything inside, its cover so clean it lacked even a single superfluous word.
Could it be that guy really wrote her a letter?
Reaching the corridor's corner, Gan Yuan stopped, casually holding the object her assistant had given her above the trash can.
The fingers pinching the envelope began to loosen bit by bit, and just as the envelope was about to leave her grasp, she suddenly pulled it back, tearing it open and casually pulling out a card from inside.
On the card was a pen drawing, exquisitely done.
