“Wait for me there, I’ll be right there.”
Soon, a BMW stopped at the steps. Ye Zhengchen got out, holding one of my sweaters, his spotless Gucci shoes stepping on the dry cement.
I looked down at my wet Adidas sports shoes, already a sorry sight.
The two pairs met, toe to toe, somewhat comical.
“In such heavy rain, why are you standing here like an idiot? Why aren’t you riding your bike home?” His voice, filled with laughter, surrounded me.
I glanced at my bike, washed clean by the rain, and stuck out my tongue at him. “Sorry, the waterproofing is slightly inadequate.”
“Slightly inadequate? You’re quite modest.” He laughed, his eyes full of mirth. “So, are you going to cry in the BMW or keep laughing while riding your bike?”
I analyzed the situation, weighing the pros and cons.
“Senior, can I sit in your BMW and laugh for a while?”
He ruffled my hair, his eyes full of affection.
“Laugh away, laugh as long as you want.” He draped his sweater over me, wrapping me in warmth. Hugging my shoulders, he opened the car door for me, then stuffed my rain-soaked bicycle into the trunk. I pulled the sweater tightly around me, laughing sweetly.
Often, the fewer material things a woman asks for, the more warmth she receives from a man.
Ye Zhengchen often said, “Kiddo, I’ve never given you anything.”
Actually, he had given me a lot. Every rainy day, the fallen raindrops were infused with warmth; every tear held memories of shattered sweetness.
If I could choose again, I would have Ye Zhengchen exchange these warmths for a Mercedes sports car to support my parents.
At the time, I was foolish, pursuing a love like an oak tree in Shu Ting’s writings, believing that loving him meant not clinging to his grandeur and not showing off through his brilliance.
I believed loving him meant being two trees, roots tightly intertwined, leaves touching in the clouds.
Since we got together, Ye Zhengchen became busier by the day.
