Zhong Hua's Adam's apple bobbed slightly. She reached out to put her hand on his shoulder, but stopped in mid-air. Instead, she picked up the camera on the table and said, "Back then, you said that lotus flowers look best when they are covered with raindrops."
Ah Yu suddenly laughed, reached out and snatched the camera, pointing the lens at Zhong Hua's face. The person on the screen tilted his head slightly, sunlight shining in from behind him, his eyes brighter than ever, like starlight holding the entire Qinghai Lake.
With a "click," the shutter sounded.
Zhong Hua blinked subconsciously, and Ah Yu waved her camera: "Now it's my turn to take your picture."
The photos in the folder silently tell the story of time. Ah Yu suddenly understood that some shots chase after scenery, while others always follow a person. Just like Zhong Hua's watch is always five minutes slow, not to be late, but to be a little earlier, a little earlier, to stand at the intersection he might pass by.
When Lin Wanqing came in carrying her art supplies, she saw Ah Yu saving the newly taken photos into that unnamed folder and renaming it "My Viewfinder". Zhong Hua stood behind him, smoothing his wind-blown collar. The light from the screen fell on their clasped hands, like a shower of warm stars.
"The coffee's getting cold." Lin Wanqing put down her art supplies, smiled, turned around and went out, gently closing the door behind her.
Outside the studio window, the autumn wind rustled the sycamore leaves, and sunlight streamed through the gaps in the blinds, casting flowing dappled patterns on the floor. Ah Yu leaned on Zhong Hua's shoulder, looking at the past three years on the screen, and suddenly realized that the best scenery is never captured in photographs, but hidden in those moments when you hold a camera, hidden in every "casual" thought.
In Zhong Hua's coffee cup, the blurry milk foam had somehow been drawn into two closely intertwined small circles by him with a spoon.
Continue read on readnovelmtl.com
