She shook her head, "No, Jiayang, it's not about that." Her tears multiplied as she looked at me under the light, clutching my hand and pressing it against her face, "Thank you. Without you, I don't know what I would have done."
I could understand what Xiaohua was saying.
People like us, with fine clothes and high reputation, but with fragile hearts, crave warmth and comfort during painful times.
I helped her up, wiped her tears, and tenderly fed her porridge.
Like someone else once did for me.
Before the October holiday, Xiaohua's health had almost recovered, and she discussed with me her desire to take a vacation in Dalian.
When I heard her mention this while I was drinking water, I choked, swallowed hard, and held back a cough.
"With so much time, why go to Dalian? Isn't that too close?" I said.
"I remember when you were on my program, I asked you where you liked to travel most, and you said Dalian. Don't you remember?"
