Entering April marks the beginning of the rainy season. The sky over Yanjing rarely clears up, and most of the time a low, overcast pressure dominates. The gray sky always seems to show a faint glimmer of light, but it never breaks through the clouds to illuminate the earth.
After the rush hour, occasionally a few rays of light fall on the ground freshly washed by the rain, reflecting sparkling ripples, only to be trampled and shattered by hurried pedestrians. It's a bit of a pity, but also and understandably so.
Xia Xue stood by the floor-to-ceiling window holding a porcelain cup, the coffee in her hands still steaming and fogging the transparent, clean glass. Her fingers lightly glided, leaving behind her beloved name, only to be wiped away by her palm, covering the faint traces.
A passive mood can never spark any impulse during monotonous cycles. She suddenly realized she couldn't find herself — apart from the shared room, how much more did she know about him?
