In the twenty-seven years of Han Luoli's life, clothing repair was a foreign concept that appeared for the first time. Although he had faced quite a few difficulties growing up, he had never experienced any shortage in his clothing or general living needs; in fact, it could even be considered luxurious.
A damaged garment would never have a second chance to be worn by him. And no one close to him had ever seriously offered to mend it for him, saying, "Let me sew it for you."
There seemed to be an emotion welling up in his chest, a feeling called "home."
Han Luoli had been leaning against the door, arms crossed over his chest, standing there in a daze.
When he came back to his senses, Gu Xiaoer had already taken out a needle and thread, sat cross-legged on the bed, and started sewing carefully under the light of a table lamp.
The needle went down, and came up again, occasionally brushing against her hair, her professional look was reminiscent of a mother's.
