The lamps on the lawn lit up one by one, casting an amber glow that draped over the grass like a thin veil.
A night breeze drifted over from the lake, carrying with it a hint of moisture and the lingering scent of fireworks. It was cool and crisp, but not biting.
Jiang Sifan and Wen Wan walked side by side, their hands still linked.
It wasn't a tight, interlocking grip, but a loose hold—fingers resting on fingers, palm pressed to palm.
His palm was large enough to envelop hers completely. He could feel its warmth seeping through, gentle and steady, like cupping a mug of hot water in the winter.
Wen Wan kept her head down, watching the path at her feet as she walked with slow, deliberate steps.
Her heart was racing—THUMP-THUMP-THUMP—sounding exceptionally loud in the quiet of the night.
She was afraid he would hear it, yet she was also afraid he wouldn't.
