I placed my own hand on my knee and didn't move.

The train passed through another tunnel, and the window went completely black, reflecting our faces on the glass—two exhausted faces, leaning very close, yet separated by a great distance.

I didn't place my hand on top of his.

But I didn't pull my hand away either.

It stayed right there, on my knee, less than a fist's distance from his hand.

For the entire journey, we didn't speak, nor did we touch each other.

But that gap seemed a little narrower than before.

Chapter 24

After returning from my hometown, I changed a lot.

I started saying "thank you" to Caleb.

Thank you for the breakfast he made, thank you for the laundry he did for me, thank you for covering me with a blanket in the middle of the night.

Because I said it so often, he became unaccustomed to it.

Once, when I said thank you, he froze, then frowned and said, "You don't need to say thank you to me."

I started taking the initiative to pour him a glass of water and placing it where he usually sat.

I started leaving a light on for him when he worked late, so the living room wouldn't be pitch black.

But that was all.

I was still afraid.

Afraid that I wasn't good enough, afraid the illness would recur, afraid that one day I would have to leave him again.

These fears were like nails driven into my bones; they couldn't be pulled out, and I didn't dare touch them.

He didn't pressure me, either.

He went to work as usual, cooked as usual, and slept beside me as usual, separated by an arm's distance.

One night, I was flipping through old photos on my phone and came across one taken when we had just started dating.

At that time, there was an old locust tree in the back courtyard of his funeral home. I had stood on my tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek, and his colleague had captured the moment.

In the photo, he was wearing his dark blue work uniform, his expression dazed, his ears red as if they were bleeding.

I was standing on my tiptoes, lips pressed to his face, my eyes curved, smiling incredibly happily.

How good we were back then. We had nothing, but we dared to do anything.

We weren't afraid of being poor, not afraid of being tired, not afraid of what his mother would say, not afraid of what the future held.

Caleb walked out of the kitchen and saw me looking at my phone.

He took the phone to take a look, then put it back in my hand without a word.

"Caleb."

"Yes."

"I want to tell you something."

"I have no regrets."

He had anticipated my question and turned his head to look at me.

"I don't regret coming to Shanghai to find you, I don't regret accompanying you to the hospital, and I don't regret moving in."

His voice was calm, as if he were talking about the most ordinary thing. "I also don't regret liking you. From five years ago until now, it has never changed."

My eyes grew warm.

"However, I won't force you. You can do whatever you want. If you want me to leave, I'll move out tomorrow. If you want me to stay, I'll stay. If you don't want to say you like me, that's fine. If you don't want to reconcile, that's fine, too. I just want you to know that I am always here."

After he finished speaking, he stood up and went to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

I sat on the sofa alone, tears sliding silently down my cheeks.

The television was on, I didn't know what was playing, only colorful images flashing on and off.

I walked to the kitchen doorway and watched his back.

He was bowing his head, scrubbing a pot, his movements light and slow, as if he were thinking about something.

The water flowed over his fingers, over that faded red string.

"Caleb."

He turned his head.

I looked into his eyes and suddenly couldn't say a single word.

"Forget it, stay if you want to."

He froze for a moment, then the corners of his mouth curved slightly. "Okay."

That night, when we lay in bed, the distance between us was still just as wide.

The lights were off, and the room was very dark, with only a sliver of light coming through the gap in the curtains.

In the darkness, I reached out and gently touched his finger.

His finger curled slightly, but he didn't move away.

I touched it again.

Then, he turned his hand over and gripped mine, our fingers interlaced.

His hand was large, enveloping mine completely, his palm very hot, his fingertips covered in thin calluses.

He didn't use force, just held it, as if holding something very precious.

I didn't pull back.

We held hands like that and lay in the darkness for a long time.

Neither of us spoke, and neither of us let go.

Chapter 25

The next morning, I was woken up by the fragrance of porridge.

Opening my eyes, Caleb was no longer by my side.

I threw on a jacket and stepped out of the bedroom, seeing him busy in the kitchen.

Millet porridge was simmering in the pot, side dishes were laid out on the stove, and there was a bouquet of chamomile.

The small white and yellow flowers were arranged in a glass bottle, water droplets still clinging to the petals.

He brought the porridge out, placed it on the table, and then took a small box from his pocket.

My heart gave a sudden leap.

He opened the box, revealing a simple silver band inside.

Not a diamond ring, just a very simple band, lying quietly on the black velvet lining.

There seemed to be words engraved on the inner band, but I couldn't see them clearly.

He walked up to me and knelt on one knee.

"Mina, marry me."

My tears welled up instantly.

It was too fast; everything was happening too quickly.

Yet, I also felt it was too slow, so slow that I had waited a lifetime for this.

"I know you might think it's too fast. But I can't wait any longer."

He took a step forward without rising.

The morning light shone in through the window, falling on his dark blue loungewear and the faded red string on his wrist.

"The first person I see when I wake up every day is you, and the last person I see every night is also you. I don't want to just 'cohabit' anymore; I want to spend my life with you."

"I know you're afraid. Afraid of a recurrence, afraid of pushing me away, afraid that one day you'll disappear again. But what I'm more afraid of is having the chance to be with you and missing it just because I was too afraid to speak."

He took the ring out of the box and held it between his fingertips.

His fingers were trembling, but his gaze was steady. The silver band turned slightly in his fingers, revealing the engraving on the inside—it was "Mina."

I looked at the ring, looked into his eyes, and looked at the faded red string on his wrist.

I remembered him rushing to Shanghai from my hometown overnight to force me to get checked.

I remembered him running so far every day after work just to bring me food.

I remembered the night Grandmother passed away, how he kept me company in the yard all night, and every time he had said, "I am always here."

Everything I had suppressed in the depths of my heart surged up in this moment.

Affection, guilt, heartache, reluctance to part, and the yearning I had been lying to myself about for over three years.

My tears finally became uncontrollable.

I crouched down so that I was eye-level with him.

"Caleb, do you know that I was the one who initiated the breakup back then? I was the one who let go first."

"I know."

"Aren't you afraid I'll let go again in the future?"

He looked into my eyes, his voice very soft, yet every word was crystal clear: "I'm not. Because I will keep holding on, and I won't give you the chance to let go."

I looked at him, crying so hard I couldn't speak.

He reached out and used his thumb to wipe the tears from my face.

The calluses on his fingertips felt a bit rough against my skin, but I didn't want to pull away.

I took a deep breath and reached out my hand.

"Put it on for me."

He froze for a moment, then smiled.

He smiled with red-rimmed eyes, moisture clinging to his eyelashes.

He slid the ring onto my ring finger; the size was perfect.

The silver band shone with a soft light in the morning sun, and the two characters "Mina" on the inside pressed against my skin, feeling cool.

I looked down at the ring, staring at it for a long time.

"When did you engrave it?"

"Last month."

"Were you so sure I would say yes?"

He stood up and looked at me. "I wasn't. But I wanted to take a gamble."

That morning, we went to the civil affairs bureau to get our marriage certificate.

When we stepped out, the sun was brilliant.

It was autumn in Shanghai; the sky was high and blue, the leaves on the plane trees were beginning to yellow, rustling loudly whenever the wind blew.

He held my hand as we walked beneath the trees.

My palms were sweaty—I didn't know if it was his or mine.

He didn't take me for a fancy meal, nor did he book a hotel.

He took me to Grandmother's gravesite.

In front of her grave, he placed a bouquet of white chamomile.

The flowers were fresh, with dew still on the petals; I didn't know when he had bought them.

"Grandmother, I brought Mina to see you. We're married. Don't worry, I will take good care of her."

I stood beside him, tears falling again.

I crouched down and reached out to touch the photo of Grandmother on the tombstone.

In the photo, she was smiling, just as she had been when she was alive.

"Grandmother, I listened to you. I'm not stubborn anymore."

The wind blew across the gravesite, shaking a few petals from the bouquet of chamomile, causing them to land on the back of his hand.

The white petals stood out starkly against his dark blue windbreaker.

He reached out and took my hand, our fingers interlaced.

The silver band pressed against his ring, touching together and making a soft sound—very faint and crisp, as if something had finally settled into place.

Summer was coming soon.

And this time, we didn't let go again.

-End of Story-