The man's long fingers flipped through each page, with every turn, a sharp pain stabbed at his heart.
Every dish name was once spoken by him, some that he genuinely enjoyed, and others he just casually mentioned to tease her.
This silly woman really remembered them all…
Mo Nanjue pressed the back of his hand against his forehead, a rare sense of panic surged in his heart; he clenched that notebook tightly in his palm, almost crumpling it into a ball, his tall body leaned back.
It felt like something was pressed behind him, the man lowered his head and saw a bag placed on the sofa.
He took the bag and opened it, inside was a ball of dark brown yarn, along with an unfinished piece and a few knitting needles lying across it, it looked like an unfinished scarf.
...
"Mo Nanjue, how about I knit you a scarf?"
"Can you knit, being so silly?"
"I'll learn."
"If you can learn, Nannan can talk."
"I will definitely learn!"
"Only a ghost would believe that."
...
