She watched him from a distance, feeling once again that sensation of peering through the chaos and dust to glimpse a painting; a masterpiece gathering dust is always a heartbreaking sight.
In reflection, it had been two or three days since he returned, and since she shut him out that day, she hadn't seen him.
And she, in her own world, seemingly didn't have much time to think of him either; only when she saw him did an indescribable pain erupt from the depths of her heart, awakening her to the realization, oh, this person...
She recalled reading "The Dream of the Red Chamber" in middle school: If there is no destined encounter, why has he appeared in this lifetime; if there is a destined encounter, why does everything turn to void...
Her eyes reddened, vision gradually blurred, and she didn't even know when he walked up to her. By the time she came back to her senses, he had already taken her hand, pulling her outside the newspaper office.
