"Jiayin, my Jiayin—" he gently called her name, his tone unintentionally revealing reluctance, one hand still holding her face, while the other hand picked up a strand of her hair that had fallen by her cheek.
The silky black strands, tinged with a hint of rouge red, were as dazzling as a flower. Lying in the palm of his hand, they tickled his heart.
He couldn't resist any longer, lowered his head, and gently pecked her cherry-red lips.
Their breaths, between the two of them, instantly turned rapid.
He held her gently, as if afraid she might melt, feeling overwhelmed by the sea of red, like a fire encompassing the two of them. In this purgatory, all the chaos and sounds vanished without a trace.
She chuckled with a soft "tch," her delicate hand having found the big red flower hanging on his chest.
