She tossed the photograph and letters back into the cabinet without much care and returned to her desk, resuming her translation work. In her distraction, she didn’t notice a few of the letters slipping to the floor.
The first letter read:
“Lately, I’ve found myself with so much time on my hands, yet I do nothing with it. I wander aimlessly, lost in thought.Do you know? Every day, when I walk past the mailbox by the school street, I feel a sudden urge. I want to write down all our memories, stuff them into envelopes, and send them to one shared address—‘love.’The mailbox says nothing, but it knows. It knows I love you. Even if you don’t love me anymore, even if you’ve left me, I want to cling to these memories, stubbornly holding onto the past.”
The second letter read:
“On the highway, clusters of clouds gather, drawn by the sunlight. The pale blue sky is graced by both the moon and the sun.It reminds me of the second time I saw your face. In that instant, my heart went blind, my eyes dazzled. From then on, nothing else mattered. As long as I could be with you, who cared if the world crumbled?I never asked you how you felt the first time you saw me. I never asked, and you never said. Now it’s too late. And I regret that.”
The third letter read:
“Time flies. The cherry blossoms have fallen, the roses are blooming, the gardenias have faded, and the first lotuses have bloomed.Our lives move forward—fast at times, slow at others, but always moving away.Even now, I don’t regret loving you. But we’re adults. We have to learn to accept the inevitabilities of life. Sometimes, even two people who love each other can’t stay together in the end.”
The next day at work, Shen Xi Fan felt weary. Staring out the window at the melting snow, she felt inexplicably dejected. If only the snow could keep falling, she thought, leaving the world frozen and pristine forever.
Ultimately, she knew she was a sentimental person, clinging to the past and uncertain how to take the next step.
That evening, Lin Yi Shen was on duty, and Shen Xi Fan, delayed by budget discussions with the housekeeping department, was among the last to leave. Only the PR department and the first-floor secretariat offices still had their lights on. Smiling, she decided to drop by to say goodbye.
The moonlight, reflected on the snowy ground, spilled into the hallway, creating an ethereal glow. Cool and serene, it carried an air of boundless desolation that sent chills to the bone. As she reached out to touch the light, her palm appeared pale and translucent.
Suddenly, her phone rang sharply, breaking the silence. Startled, she snatched her hand back and hurriedly answered. No one spoke on the other end. She hesitated. “Hello? Who are you looking for?”
A familiar voice murmured softly, “Xiao Fan… I miss you.”
His voice was calm, almost otherworldly, echoing down the long corridor with a surreal, distant quality.
Three years ago, he had said the same words to her.
It was the first time they had held hands. On a bitterly cold winter evening, they walked laps around the track. When the lights went out, he reluctantly walked her back. At the dormitory entrance, he had held her hand tightly, unwilling to let go until she pulled away.
She hadn’t even reached her room before his call came through. “Xiao Fan… I miss you.”
That night, she couldn’t sleep. His warmth lingered in her palm, and in the darkness, she replayed those words, savoring them like a secret treasure, giggling into her pillow.
Back then, every call from him began the same way.
Now, however, she felt nothing but calm. What’s meant to come cannot be avoided, she told herself. Turning toward the source of the voice, she closed her phone with a soft click and frowned slightly.
“What do you want?” she asked coolly.
He looked thinner, haggard, with traces of exhaustion all over him. His tie was crooked, and fine beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. Yet, his expression remained as confident as ever, as if he still had everything under control.
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