In the lighting section, they argued over which chandelier to choose. Lin Wanqing liked the simple spherical lamp, saying that it would look like the moon hanging on the ceiling at night; Ah Yu, however, had her eye on a retro kerosene lamp-style chandelier, saying that it would look like she was camping during a power outage.

"Why don't you buy them all?" The saleswoman, a cheerful older woman, pointed to the eclectic style showroom. "We'll put spherical lights in the living room and kerosene lamps in the dining room. Anyway, your ceiling is high enough."

Ah Yu suddenly pulled out his phone and started scrolling through photos: "Look at this." It was a photo he had taken, showing Lin Wanqing standing in a refugee camp in Kenya, with a light bulb hanging from a tree branch by wire above her head, casting a dim yellow light on her figure as she distributed textbooks. "Back then, you said that good lighting could give people a sense of security."

Looking at her blurry profile in the photo, Lin Wanqing suddenly remembered that night when the power went out. Ah Yu used his phone's flashlight to help her organize the supplies; the light spots swayed gently with his breathing, yet they were more reassuring than any dazzling light.

“Then I’ll do as you say.” She pushed the kerosene lamp sample in front of him. “But the bedroom needs to have the spherical lamp I chose. I’m afraid I’ll see the shadow of the kerosene lamp when I have nightmares.”

Ah Yu smiled and ruffled her hair, his fingertips brushing against her earlobes, which were red from the cold. "I'll do whatever you say." He took out his phone and snapped a picture of the two lights. "I'll ask the designer when we get back if we can mix and match."

As they left the building materials market, dusk had already fallen. The streetlights outside the car window lit up one after another, like a string of flowing pearls. Lin Wanqing leaned back in her seat, dozing off, her nose pressed against the cold glass. Ah Yu quietly turned up the heater and reached out to pull her scarf up a little.

“Oh, right,” she mumbled, “how about we go check out the location for that public space next week? I asked a friend about that old warehouse you mentioned, and the landlord is interested in renting it to us at a low price.”

Ah Yu paused as she turned the steering wheel: "You still remember?" He had thought it was just a casual thought, but he hadn't expected her to remember it.

“Of course I remember.” Lin Wanqing opened her eyes, her eyelashes glistening with moisture. “You said you wanted to transform it into a place that provides skills training for single mothers, and also have a small library.” She gazed at the street scene flashing past the window. “I’ve already contacted a few friends who do baking and knitting, and they’re willing to come and be volunteer teachers.”

Ah Yu suddenly pulled the car over to the side of the road. The light from the streetlamp shone through the car window onto his face, creating a play of light and shadow. “Wanqing,” he said, his voice a little tight, “after meeting you, I realized that planning is not about one person drawing up a blueprint, but about two people adding bricks and tiles together.”

Lin Wanqing reached out and grasped his hand resting on the steering wheel; the warmth of his palm dispelled all the chill. She remembered last year in Congo, when they set up temporary classrooms in 40-degree Celsius heat. Sweat soaked his shirt, but he smiled and said, "Once the children here can go to school, we'll go to Iceland." At the time, she thought it was just a joke, but she found detailed travel plans in his notebook.

As the car restarted, an old song came on the radio. Lin Wanqing hummed along softly to the melody, and Ah Yu suddenly said, "Once the charity space is finished, shall we paint a big tree on the wall? Everyone who comes here can put up their wish card."

"Like a Christmas tree?" She turned to look at him, the shadows of the streetlights dancing across his face. "And do we need to hang fairy lights?"

"Of course!" Ah Yu's smile shone brightly in the night. "It would be best to also put in an old piano. Didn't you say you studied it for a while in college?"

Lin Wanqing suddenly remembered that she had indeed said those words, on a sleepless night when they were lying in the tent looking at the stars. She had mentioned it casually. At that time, she was worried about project funding, and her tone was full of exhaustion. She never expected him to take it seriously.

As I drove into the residential area, I could see the lights on in my apartment window from afar. The electrician I hired last week had installed temporary lighting, and the warm yellow light seeped through the gaps in the curtains, like a piece of melted butter.

“Look,” Ah Yu said, parking the car and gazing at the halo of light, “our home is starting to glow.”

Lin Wanqing paused as she unbuckled her seatbelt, suddenly feeling her eyes welling up with tears. She realized that the so-called future was never a distant fantasy, but rather composed of these small moments: a lit light, a remembered wish, and two figures walking side-by-side towards the same goal.

A Promise in Time

The kitchen was filled with the aroma of sweet wine on New Year's Eve. Lin Wanqing placed the last cookie on the baking tray and bumped into Ah Yu as she turned around. He had just returned from outside, his coat covered in snowflakes, and the crisp air carried the scent of pine needles.

"Did you buy fireworks?" She reached out and brushed the snowflakes off his shoulder, the cool fragrance he had brought back lingering in her nostrils.

Ah Yu held up the paper bag in her hand and shook it, making a soft rustling sound: "It's a children's size, so it won't scare the neighbor's cat." He lowered his head and kissed her forehead. "Look what else I bought."

A glass jar rolled out of the paper bag, filled with colorful star-shaped candies. Lin Wanqing suddenly remembered New Year's Eve three years ago, when they were shivering in the cold on the streets of Paris, unable to afford mulled wine, and could only share a bag of star-shaped candies. At that time, he said, "When we have our own home, we will buy the biggest jar of star-shaped candies every year."

“You remember?” She placed the sugar jar on the cupboard, next to the potted ivy. The light shone through the glass, casting dappled patterns of light on the wall, like scattered stars.

Ah Yu gently wrapped his arms around her waist from behind, resting his chin on the top of her head. The warm light from the kitchen cast their shadows on the wall, like a gentle silhouette painting. "I still remember you saying that your New Year's wish was for world peace," he said with a smile. "Back then, I thought you were too idealistic, but now I feel that every little thing we do brings that wish a little closer."

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