The lakeside benches had been replaced with new ones, the wood still carrying a faint smell of lacquer. As Ah Yu sat down, he noticed three crooked characters carved on the back of the chair—the words he had scratched with his key years ago: "Three's Company." Time had faded the writing, but it had left a warm, comforting indentation in the wood grain.

"You took your sunset photos right here back then?" Zhong Hua looked at the water, the autumn wind blowing up the corner of his clothes, revealing the faded shirt underneath—it was bought in college. Ah Yu remembered that it was the first "proper clothes" Zhong Hua bought with his scholarship money, but the cuffs were soaked and faded when she helped him retrieve his camera that had fallen into the lake.

“Hmm,” Ah Yu took out a small notebook from her bag, turned to a certain page and handed it to Zhong Hua, “We didn’t get a complete shot that day, so I drew a sketch later and marked the lighting angles.”

The pencil lines on the paper had faded, but next to them were several lines of pen writing in Zhong Hua's handwriting: "Spring Equinox, 6:17 PM, backlight angle 35 degrees, perfect for photographing the lake's reflection." Next to the writing was a small drawing of a camera, its lens pointed towards the setting sun.

"When did you write this?" Ah Yu's voice trembled slightly.

“You left your notebook in the library,” Zhong Hua said, closing the notebook and putting it back in his bag. “I was thinking you might need it next time you come to take pictures.”

As the sun slowly sank below the horizon, it bathed the water in a golden-red hue. Ah Yu snapped a few photos with his camera when he suddenly noticed a figure in the viewfinder—Zhong Hua stood by the lake, his back to the setting sun, his silhouette edged in gold. He quickly pressed the shutter, and heard Zhong Hua call out, "Come here."

As Ah Yu ran over, he almost tripped over a stone. Zhong Hua reached out and caught him, the warmth of his palm seeping through his sleeve. “Look,” Zhong Hua pointed to the water, “today’s sunset is more complete than it was back then.”

The shimmering water was so dazzling it was hard to open one's eyes. Ah Yu suddenly remembered the last sentence of the letter in the tin box—"You didn't get a picture of the sunset by the lake, I'll make it up to you tomorrow." It turns out some promises don't need to be spoken; time will remember them for you, and on a perfectly timed evening, the regrets of yesteryear will be transformed into a warm, sweet memory.

He raised his camera, pressed the shutter on the setting sun, and the picture showed the shimmering lake, two figures standing side by side, and Lin Wanqing walking towards him in the distance carrying milk tea. Her laughter drifted over with the wind, landing on the water and creating warm ripples.

“This one needs to be developed,” Ah Yu said, looking at the camera screen and gently stroking it with her fingertips. “We’ll put it in our photo album and call it ‘The Belated Sunset.’”

Zhong Hua didn't speak, but leaned closer to him, their shoulders touching like two stones that had been nestled together for a long time, their bodies worn into the most comfortable curve by the years. The setting sun fell on them, casting long shadows that overlapped on the grass by the lake, just like in that old photograph. Only this time, the wind carried no trace of the youthful awkwardness of those days, only the perfect warmth brewed by time.

A sweet aroma wafted from a distant milk tea shop. Lin Wanqing's figure drew closer, holding three cups of milk tea, each straw adorned with a cute little bear decoration—the kind Ah Yu liked. Ah Yu suddenly realized that some things had never changed. For example, Lin Wanqing always remembered everyone's preferences; Zhong Hua always reached out to him when he needed it; and the sunset by the lake, no matter how many years had passed, always bathed "our" shadows in a warm glow.

He looked down at the photos in his camera and suddenly burst out laughing. Zhong Hua leaned closer and asked, "What are you laughing at?"

“Look,” Ah Yu pointed to the screen, “your shadow in this picture is right at my feet.”

Just like the letter that was never sent, the apology that was never spoken, and the sunset that was never fully captured, they have all found their place in time—not in a moment of grandeur, but in such an ordinary evening, with the wind blowing gently, the sun slowly setting, and our shadows overlapping, just the right amount of warmth.

Lin Wanqing walked over with milk tea, handed one cup to Ayu, and shoved the other into Zhong Hua's hands: "It won't taste good when it gets cold." When Ayu took the milk tea, she noticed that the cup sleeve had the name of a bookstore printed on it, the one they often went to. There was also a line of small print on the inside of the cup sleeve: "Three people go together, one person gets a free drink."

"You did this on purpose, didn't you?" Ah Yu laughed and shook her cup.

Lin Wanqing raised an eyebrow: "Didn't you two deliberately take a detour just to stay a little longer?"

Zhong Hua's ears turned slightly red, but he didn't refute it. He simply picked out the pearls from his cup and put them into Ah Yu's cup—Ah Yu loved drinking pearls, and he always remembered that.

The sun had completely set, leaving a faint pinkish-purple hue on the horizon. Ah Yu put away his camera and noticed Zhong Hua looking at him, his eyes brighter than the sunset. He suddenly remembered the letter in the tin box. Actually, there was no need to send it. Some feelings, like the lakeside breeze and the warm sunset, had already quietly taken root in each other's lives, growing into their most lush forms.

On the way back, Ah Yu imported the sunset photos she had taken that day into her phone and set them as her screensaver. When Zhong Hua came over to look at them, he suddenly said, "Go to the storage room tomorrow and find that metal box."

"What?" Zhong Hua paused in his steps.

“Develop today’s photos and put them in,” Ah Yu said with a smile as he walked forward. The autumn wind blew his hair, revealing a small mole on his forehead. Zhong Hua remembered that in college, he always said that the mole looked like “a lens cap that wasn’t closed properly,” but in every group photo, he would quietly move it a little to this side so that the lens could clearly frame the mole. “Just like giving us a complete answer sheet from back then.”

Zhong Hua followed behind him, watching his back, and suddenly felt that this was what it meant to have a peaceful life: the letters that were never sent had found their home; the sunsets that were never fully photographed had a sequel; and we, just like back then, walked slowly and waited slowly, making every ordinary day feel like "we are together".

He glanced down at the milk tea in his hand, then looked up at Ah Yu's retreating figure. His steps quickened as he caught up with him, gently nudging his arm. Ah Yu turned around, his eyes filled with a smile, like a lake reflecting the setting sun.

The wind rustles through the treetops, carrying the sweet aroma of milk tea and the warmth of time, blowing far, far away.