Let go
"What's wrong with Qiuqiu?" Song's mother asked.
Song Huan finally broke down in tears.
"Don't cry, Qiuqiu. Tell us what's wrong and we'll solve it together with your parents," Song's mother said gently.
"Mom, is Shen Guai dead?" Song Huan asked tentatively.
There was a pause on the other end of the phone, followed by silence. After a long while, Song's mother finally spoke:
"Um."
"Then why didn't you tell me?" Song Huan asked, her voice choked with emotion.
Song's mother said in a hoarse voice, "I was planning to tell you in a few days."
Song Huan opened her mouth, but said nothing.
"I'm going to visit her at the cemetery next week. You should come back too."
Song Huan finally agreed after a long silence.
Just as Song Huan was about to hang up the phone, she called out to her mother:
"mom."
“Yes,” Song’s mother replied.
Song Huan took a deep breath and told her mother the secret she had kept since she was 19:
"Mom, I fell in love with a boy when I was 19, and he got married today."
"Mom, her name is Lin Xing."
"It's that boy who bought you milk tea and said, 'Uncle and Aunt, you've worked so hard.'"
The boy got married and found someone more suitable for him.
She should be happy.
“It’s him.” Song’s mother paused. “He’s a good boy.”
"Qiuqiu, learning to let go is very important. We must be able to take things on and put them down."
“Our Qiuqiu will find someone more suitable for her.”
——
The day I went to visit Chen Guai, a light drizzle began to fall.
The road was damp, and the rain had cooled the summer heat.
Song Huan, dressed in white and holding chrysanthemums, arrived at Shen Guai's grave.
Suddenly, she saw someone familiar.
Jiang Siye.
He held a calla lily in his hands, the wind blowing through his disheveled hair, his eyes filled with sorrow.
"Jiang Siye," Song Huan called out to him.
Jiang Siye glanced at her and nodded.
Seeing that the calla lily in his hand looked out of place with the chrysanthemums in front of Shen Guai's grave, Song Huan asked, "Why did you bring a calla lily?"
"She likes it."
At this moment, Song Huan thought of the meaning of calla lilies.
Unwavering, pure, and flawless love.
With a wry smile, Song Huan placed the chrysanthemums in front of Shen Guai's grave.
Look, Shen Guai, Jiang Siye didn't get what he wanted from you, and she, Song Huan, didn't get what she wanted from Lin Xing either.
There are so many coincidences in this world.
......
Back home, Song Huan first took a refreshing shower.
When the warm water touched her skin, Song Huan finally relaxed.
It was still raining outside, and the room was dimly lit. Song Huan lay on the bed, lost in thought.
At that moment, Xu Han made a video call.
Song Huan answered the call, and Xu Han was sobbing uncontrollably.
"What's wrong with you?" Song Huan raised an eyebrow.
Xu Han tearfully confided in Song Huan, "I read a heart-wrenching novel that made me cry!!!"
Song Huan: ......6
“Xu Han,” Song Huan suddenly said.
"What's wrong?"
Song Huan took a deep breath: "I'm going to write a story about unrequited love, with a tragic ending."
Do you support me?
She wanted to record her story with Lin Xing.
This can be considered my last gift to him.
After a long pause, Xu Han finally said in a hoarse voice, "You really want to write? That's fantastic! I'll definitely be your first loyal fan."
Song Huan sensed something was off about Xu Han's tone, but still went along with her, saying, "Okay, okay, first one."
The two then hung up the phone.
Song Huan went to her desk, opened a document on her computer, and typed the first line:
That year, I was 19 years old and fell in love with a boy. The boy who amazed me most during my youth.
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