The wind on the platform had grown stronger, closing in from every direction.
One corner of Pu Yu's scarf fluttered up, its red tassels swaying in the gray daylight like a flame that refused to go out.
Yuan Su stood before her, the collar of his black padded work jacket slightly raised, its clean cut making him look all the more striking and austere. He watched her, his quiet eyes reflecting all the bustle of the platform, yet only her image remained clear.
Her suitcase was already on the train.
Nothing stood between them now. All that remained were these last ten minutes.
"Stay safe on the way. Send me a message when you get there," he said.
His voice was quiet, betraying no emotion.
But the knuckles of the hand holding his platform ticket had turned faintly white.
Pu Yu did not move.
She lowered her head, looking at the little patch of ground dusted with snow between their toes, at the half-step between his black ankle boots and her white snow boots that they had never managed to cross.
"During these two years apart," she suddenly said, her voice soft, "I sent you messages every day."
Yuan Su's Adam's apple bobbed.
"But you never replied. Not once."
She did not look up. Her lashes drooped like two rain-soaked feathers.
Yuan Su watched her, his heart feeling as though something were slowly, relentlessly squeezing it.
"Starting today," Pu Yu sniffed, her voice calm, "I'm not sending any more."
At last, she raised her head and looked at him.
Her eyes held hurt, obstinacy, and a little defiance.
Yuan Su froze for a moment, then understood what she meant. "All right. I'll send them."
Pu Yu blinked, then added, "You have to message me when you wake up, and before