Chapter Four: An Unexpected Turn of Events

As summer approached, Ah Yu was tidying up old things when she found a cardboard box full of Zhong Hua's design drafts from his university days. She squatted down and looked at them one by one, and suddenly discovered a sketchbook at the very bottom. Every page depicted the same scene: an old alley under the setting sun, a girl with a ponytail sitting on the stone steps reading a book, with an orange cat lying at her feet.

"This is...me?" Ah Yu rushed into "Shiguang" holding her sketchbook. Zhong Hua was coloring an illustration when he heard this, and his hand trembled, splashing paint onto the canvas.

"Why are you going through my things?" He tried to snatch them back, but his cheeks flushed red. He had secretly drawn those pictures from his freshman year to graduation. The girl in the pictures went from having a ponytail to long hair, and from wearing a school uniform to wearing a long skirt. The only thing that remained unchanged was the slight furrowing of her brows when she read.

Ah Yu didn't speak, turning the pages one by one. The last page depicted two hands clasped together, with a line of small print beside them: "Waiting for her to be brave enough, waiting for me to be at peace enough." The drawing was dated three years ago, the very day her parents forced her to give up design.

"Zhong Hua," Ah Yu's voice choked with sobs, "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Zhong Hua stood there with his hands hanging down, his shadow stretched long by the sunlight streaming through the window: "I'm afraid... afraid you'll think I'm just pitying you, afraid that if I tell you, we won't even be able to be friends anymore."

The glass door was pushed open, and Lin Wanqing stood in the doorway, holding two art exhibition tickets in her hand: "I'm going back to Paris tomorrow. These are tickets for Monet's special exhibition. I was thinking..." Her voice gradually lowered, and her gaze fell on Ah Yu's reddened eyes and Zhong Hua's tightly pursed lips. Suddenly, she smiled, "Looks like I won't need them."

She placed the tickets on the table and turned around with light steps: "Zhonghua, remember what we said in college? There are many kinds of happiness." As she reached the door, she glanced back and said, "The kind you chose is very good."

Chapter Five: The Answer of Time

On a late autumn weekend, Zhong Hua and A Yu were sunbathing in the courtyard of their studio. A Yu was sewing a pillowcase, the fabric printed with their design: two hands clasped together against a backdrop of the old alley's cobblestone path. Zhong Hua sat beside her, peeling an apple for her, his knife skills still as clumsy as they had been in college.

“Lin Wanqing sent a postcard.” Ah Yu waved the card in her hand. “She said she saw someone releasing a sky lantern on the Seine, and it said ‘Picking Up Light’.”

Zhong Hua cut the apple into small pieces and put them on a plate: "She's having a solo art exhibition in Paris next year and invited us to go."

Ah Yu took a bite of apple, sunlight falling on her eyelashes like a layer of gold dust: "Shall we go?"

“Go.” Zhong Hua grasped her hand. Her fingertips were rough from years of handicrafts, but they carried a reassuring warmth. “But not now. Let’s wait until we finish the design for the community library, until the old locust tree at the alley entrance sheds its leaves again, until we are ready, and then we can see her in the best possible light.”

A breeze swept through the courtyard, swirling up a few ginkgo leaves. Zhong Hua looked at the calendar on the wall; a year had passed since he gave up Paris. He had never regretted that decision—some flights don't need to cross mountains and seas, some destinations aren't far away; staying where you are, cherishing the people around you, is the gentlest answer time can give.

As dusk fell, Ah Yu carried the sewn cushion into the room, and Zhong Hua followed behind to turn off the lights. When the last light went out, he suddenly remembered what Lin Wanqing had said before she left: "Fate is not a one-way street; every choice holds a different view."

Yes, no matter how romantic the Eiffel Tower is, it can't compare to the warmth of a streetlamp at the corner of an alley; no matter how gentle the ripples of the Seine are, they can't match the warmth of the palm of someone beside you. He didn't make it to Paris, but he found the most precious moments in the place he stayed.