A rainbow-colored kite suddenly appeared in the square, its spool held by an elderly man in a trench coat. The kite soared higher and higher, tracing beautiful arcs against the blue sky, like a bridge spanning time and space.
Zhong Hua lowered his head and kissed the top of his daughter's head, whispering, "Look, the wind really can carry longing very far."
***The rain started again. The warm light from the convenience store's lamps shone through the glass door, casting a rectangular patch of light on the wet sidewalk. Zhong Hua put the last bottle of hot milk into the warmer, and as he turned around, he knocked over the shelf behind him, sending instant noodle containers rolling all over the floor.
"Still so reckless." A familiar voice sounded from behind. Zhong Hua turned around abruptly and saw Ah Yu squatting down to pick up the cans. Raindrops clung to her black trench coat, and her profile was as soft as a traditional Chinese ink painting under the lamplight.
"Why are you here?" Her voice was a little strained. The last time they saw each other was at the airport. Ah Yu was standing at the security checkpoint with a backpack, and Lin Wanqing was helping him straighten his wind-blown collar. Zhong Hua clutched the wedding invitation in her hand, but ultimately didn't hand it over—that day she had just discovered she was pregnant, and Ah Yu's plane ticket was a one-way ticket to Paris.
"I've come to collect a sample." Ah Yu pulled a photo frame from her pocket, its edges wrapped in kraft paper. "Lin Wanqing said this should be kept for you."
When Zhong Hua opened the package, he caught his breath. The photo showed a windmill on the grassland, with "Zhong Hua," "Ah Yu," and "Wan Qing" engraved on the three blades. The trajectory of the windmill as it turned in the wind formed a complete heart. On the back was a newly written line in Lin Wan Qing's handwriting: "Happiness is never a multiple-choice question."
The convenience store bell suddenly rang. Lin Wanqing walked in, her umbrella folded, water dripping from her hair. She smiled when she saw Zhong Hua: "Where's Nian'an? I brought some macarons from Paris."
“At the kindergarten.” Zhong Hua’s eyes were a little hot. “I’ll go make you some coffee.”
As the coffee machine hummed, Zhong Hua gazed out the window. In the rain, Ah Yu was wiping mud off Lin Wanqing's shoes, her movements as natural as if she'd done it a thousand times before. And in her hand, she still clutched the invitation she hadn't sent—it turned out that some missed opportunities were never truly regrettable.
As the aroma of coffee wafted through the air, Ah Yu suddenly pointed to the calendar on the wall: "Next Saturday, the gallery is opening a branch in China. Are you coming?"
Zhong Hua looked at the circled date on the calendar; it was Nian An's birthday. She suddenly smiled, the tears in her eyes gradually dissipating: "Of course I'll go. I'll take Nian An to see her little art studio."
When the rain stopped, the setting sun peeked out from behind the clouds. The three of them walked out of the convenience store, their shadows stretched long and slowly drew closer together on the wet pavement. In the distance, in the square, someone was flying a kite; its colorful wings swept across the sky like an unfinished poem.
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