share time: 2026-01-02 06:04:56
Ten years ago, Lin Xiaoman broke up with Chen Mo over a misunderstanding, believing time would erase all memories. Now she returns to her hometown to sort out her grandma’s belongings, and when she pushes open the door of their old apartment, her eyes well up—there’s the succulent she raised back then, the note she wrote saying "Don’t forget breakfast" on the fridge, even the small nightlight she used for her fear of the dark is still on. The neighbor aunt sighs: "That young man in the gray coat comes every week to clean. He said, ‘If she ever comes back, I want her to feel like she never left.’" When she finally meets Chen Mo at the alley, he wears a wedding ring and smiles: "I got married last year." But as he turns away, Lin Xiaoman catches a glimpse of a diary page sticking out of his pocket: "Day 2830. Watered her succulent today—it’s got fatter leaves. I didn’t dare tell her—I’m still waiting." It turns out "long separation bears no sorrow" is a lie he’s hidden for ten years—To spare her guilt, he turned his longing into the warmth of the old apartment, and his grief into a gentle disguise of "I’m fine."
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