Mo Shu's voice was calm and light, polite yet with a hint of detachment. Her continuous thanks displayed to him her most unkind facet.
Thank you.
She was saying to him, thank you.
Yu Siqiao felt as if he had been stabbed.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but in the end, he could not.
He pursed his lips and hugged her from behind.
Mo Shu's body stiffened, asking, "What are you doing?"
Even though there had been such touches before, Mo Shu somehow felt uncomfortable.
Yu Siqiao sensed Mo Shu's rigidness, and his heart felt as if it were bleeding profusely.
He held her tight and whispered in her ear, "I missed you so much, missed you every day, hoping you would wake up."
His voice was very low, slightly hoarse, and in this quiet space, it seemed to echo.
Mo Shu's body became even tenser, her hand slightly lifting to hold his hand.
He had lost weight.
Even his large palm now seemed much thinner.
Mo Shu held his hand, and her heart, slightly constricted.
