Parallel Ending: The Warmth of an Embrace

The evening breeze along the Seine carried the chill of early autumn, swirling sycamore leaves as it swept across the bridge. Ah Yu was helping Lin Wanqing adjust her scarf. The streetlights cast two overlapping shadows on the cobblestones, like elongated vines quietly twining in the night.

“I still remember the first time I came here, you said you wanted to open an art gallery on the Left Bank.” Lin Wanqing’s fingertips traced the engravings on the railing, the copper-colored rust rubbing against her fingertips like the marks left by time. When she turned her face to the side, her eyelashes were covered with tiny glimmers of light. “Back then, you always said that you wanted to let more people see the forgotten beauty.”

Ah Yu lowered his head and smiled. He had indeed said those words three years ago, when he had just given up his design work in China and followed Lin Wanqing to Paris. His suitcase was half-full of art supplies, and there was also a sketch folded into a square, depicting the glass door of a convenience store—in the rainy night, Zhong Hua stood outside the door holding an umbrella, his shoulders mostly wet, but when he saw Ah Yu, his eyes curved into crescent moons with a smile.

"Are you still thinking about the gallery?" Lin Wanqing's voice pulled him back to reality. She had just finished a charity project in Africa and was a bit tanned, but the fine lines around her eyes shone brightly.

Ah Yu pulled a folded contract out of his pocket, its edges worn smooth from being rubbed: "I looked at a shop last week, in the Marais district, with an old pear tree outside the window." He paused, looking at the surprise that exploded in Lin Wanqing's eyes, and added, "The design has been revised to the third version, and a wall has been reserved for your charity photography exhibition."

Lin Wanqing suddenly tiptoed and hugged him. The evening breeze, carrying the scent of the river, swept over her, and her hair brushed against Ah Yu's chin, carrying the familiar citrus fragrance. This scent hadn't changed in ten years—that year, when she came to inspect as a representative of a non-profit organization, Ah Yu handed her the only first-aid kit on the mountain road washed away by a torrential rain, and carried the injured person for three kilometers himself.

“Actually, I secretly contacted Zhong Hua.” Lin Wanqing’s voice was muffled in his chest. “She said she wanted to send some old items from China, saying that the gallery should have a more down-to-earth feel.”

Ah Yu's fingers paused. Last month, Zhong Hua sent photos of her daughter's first birthday party. During the first birthday celebration, the little one held onto a paintbrush tightly. Zhong Hua wrote on her WeChat Moments, "She takes after her mother; there's always a light in her eyes." In the photos, Zhong Hua was holding her child, sitting on the lawn. Sunlight fell on her hair, like a sprinkle of gold dust.

“She also said,” Lin Wanqing looked up, her eyes so bright they were almost blinding, “that when the child is a little older, she will bring her to Paris to see the pear blossoms.”

On the day the gallery opened, Zhong Hua indeed sent a wooden box. When it was opened, a card floated out, Zhong Hua's handwriting was still crooked: "The painting tools are the ones you left at the convenience store back then, the shadow in the photo frame, I've kept them for you." Ah Yu held the faded sketch and suddenly realized that the light in the convenience store in the painting was somewhat similar to the warm light in the gallery at this moment.

Lin Wanqing handed her a cup of hot cocoa, the steam blurring her profile: "What are you thinking about?"

“I was thinking,” Ah Yu said, looking at the pear petals falling outside the window, and suddenly smiled, “that happiness really does come in many forms.”

As soon as she finished speaking, the sound of a bell rang from the bakery across the street. An elderly man in a trench coat came out, carrying freshly baked croissants in his arms. The aroma wafted across the cobblestone street, mingling with the scent of ink from the gallery. Lin Wanqing's fingers gently hooked into his palm, and their shadows, stretched long by the setting sun, slowly overlapped into a complete circle amidst the fallen petals.

As Zhong Hua put the last kite into the storage room, the sycamore leaves outside the window were swirling down. His daughter, Nian'an, was lying on the carpet drawing with crayons, muttering, "Daddy's kite is blue, Mommy's is red, and mine is rainbow-colored."

On the drawing paper, three crooked little figures held hands, with a giant heart floating above their heads. Zhong Hua squatted down to help her sharpen the crayon tip, and suddenly noticed a blurry shadow on the edge of the drawing paper—like a windmill, or a revolving door on a street in Paris.

“Mom,” Nian’an poked her knee with a crayon, “Dad said that the windmills on the grassland can turn, and when they turn, they can send your thoughts to people far away. Is that true?”

Zhong Hua's heart trembled slightly. Three years ago on the grassland, Ah Yu chased after a kite with his camera in hand, the wind making his voice broken: "When Nian An grows up, bring her here to see the windmills, and we'll carve the names of the three of us on them." At that time, Lin Wanqing was squatting in the distance, handing out candy to the herders' children, the sunlight falling on her upturned face, like a warm painting.

My phone vibrated in my pocket; it was a video from Lin Wanqing. In the video, she was standing on the banks of the Seine, with a wooden sign hanging at the entrance of a gallery behind her that read "Nian An's Little Studio." Ah Yu was tiptoeing to arrange paintings in the window, her profile gilded by the setting sun, gradually merging with the image of the young man who helped her fix the coffee machine at the convenience store in my memory.

“Zhonghua, look!” Lin Wanqing turned the camera to the wall. “Ayu insists on hanging the shadow frame you gave her in the center, saying it’s where the three of us started.”

Zhong Hua's fingertips traced the familiar photo frame on the screen. When it was opened on the wedding day, her, Ah Yu's, and Lin Wanqing's shadows formed a heart shape in the sunset. On the back of the photo were Ah Yu's small words: "Some friendships last longer than love."

"Where's Nian'an?" Ah Yu leaned over in the video, her eyes sparkling with laughter. "Let me see how tall our little painter has grown."

Zhong Hua pointed his phone at the little figures on the carpet. Nian An immediately held up her drawing paper and came over, calling out in her childish voice, "Aunt Wanqing! Uncle Yu! I drew windmills on the grassland, when are you coming back?"

There was a sudden silence on the other end of the video call. After a while, Lin Wanqing's voice trembled slightly as she said, "We'll go back after the pear blossoms have faded, and I'll take you to fly kites on the Seine."

After hanging up the phone, Zhong Hua carried Nian'an to the window. The ground below was covered with fallen ginkgo leaves, like a golden carpet. Nian'an pointed to the distant sky and suddenly clapped her hands, laughing, "Mommy, look! A kite!"

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