It was a bit annoying, but I couldn't bear to take it off.

"I want to go see other places," I said.

Liam didn't ask where, just followed me quietly.

We walked slowly along the route we had taken countless times.

The first spot was the school.

The street at the entrance was still there, the sycamore trees were much taller than five years ago, their branches stretching out to cover half the road.

I stood there, watching the students coming and going, carrying backpacks, clutching textbooks, walking out of the school gate in groups of two or three.

I remembered that I used to be like that, walking with Liam after class.

He would help me carry my bag, and I would hold a cup of coffee.

Back then, the biggest worry in my life was whether Liam loved me, and what we would have for dinner.

"Let's go," I said.

The second spot was the steamed bun shop.

It was closed, and "For Lease" was posted on the rolling shutter door. Like the bookstore, it was also for lease.

I stood there and looked at that piece of paper for a long time.

Liam stood by my side and said: "I remember this shop. I remember you could eat three in one meal, and I remember the tips of the buns were folded twice."

I smiled; he remembered everything.

It was just that he didn't know I had never found a second bun shop that could make that same taste.

I had looked for years, but I never found it.

The third spot was the bus stop.

The sign had been changed; it was newer than before, but the location hadn't changed.

I stood under the sign, the wind blowing my hair all over my face.

For all those years, he had waited for me here, time and time again.

The fourth spot was the civil affairs bureau. The door was open, and people were coming and going.

Five years ago, he had been here from eight in the morning until six in the evening.

I didn't know what he was thinking when he stood there—if he thought I would come, or if he already knew I wouldn't.

"How long did you wait?" I asked suddenly.

"Ten hours."

"I mean, how long did you wait after that."

He looked at me and said: "Four years. From the day you disappeared until the day I met Joanne. But I wasn't brave enough; I was too stupid. I just waited for you to return on your own, not daring to go find you."

Chapter 21

I was silent for a long time.

At the entrance of the civil affairs bureau, a young couple stood on the steps, holding their red marriage certificates and taking a selfie.

The girl smiled with her eyes curved into crescents, and the boy had his arm around her waist.

Both of them were so young—so young that they had no idea what kind of jokes fate might play on them.

I stood by the roadside, looking at that door.

When I arrived here five years ago, the door was locked.

I stood at the entrance, covered in wounds, with bloodstains still on my clothes.

The taxi driver asked if I needed to go to the hospital, and I said no, someone was waiting for me here.

I waited for a long time, but the door never opened.

Later, I learned that he had left.

"When I arrived here five years ago," I said, "the door was locked."

His Adam’s apple bobbed.

"It’s open now," I turned my head to look at him, my gaze very calm. "But we can’t go in anymore. And even if we did, it wouldn't be the same thing."

He nodded, his eyes dimming for a moment, but he didn't speak.

The fifth spot was the old city wall. We had come full circle.

I stood at the base of the wall, looking at the door that had been shut.

The wind was strong; my scarf was blown onto my shoulder, and I reached up to hold it in place.

"I want to buy it," he suddenly said.

I was stunned. "What?"

"This shop. I'll buy it and open a bookstore and cafe for you."

I looked at him, thinking he was joking.

But his expression was serious—so serious that it didn't seem like he was talking about something trivial.

He stood there, the wind whipping his coat, but he didn't blink.

"Are you crazy?" I asked.

"Not crazy," he said. "You once said you wanted to open a bookstore combined with a cafe; I’ve always remembered it."

I was stunned; that was something I had said back in college.

I had been curled up on the bed in his apartment, leafing through a novel with my favorite coffee beside me.

On a whim, I had said, "Liam, let's open a shop that's both a bookstore and a cafe in the future. You can design it and be the boss, and I'll manage it and be the landlady."

"The bookshelves should be floor-to-ceiling, the windows should be large, there should be plenty of sunlight, and the coffee should be the best."

"Should I go learn to be a barista? Forget it, I don't think I have the talent. I'll just hire someone."

"When the time comes, we’ll set up a time-capsule mailbox, and keep a few kittens and puppies..."

He said okay.

Later, I forgot I had said those words, but he hadn't.

"I was just saying that," I said.

"I was serious," he replied.

My eyes grew red, but the wind blew hard, drying the tears at the corners of my eyes.

"Liam, why are you so good to me?"

"Because I want to be good to you, because you are worth it."

He looked at me. I didn't hide.

I stood there like a ship that had finally reached the shore—swaying, but finally no longer drifting.

I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him.

It wasn't a light touch; it was earnest, and it was forceful.

My hands rested on his shoulders, and his arms wrapped around my waist.

The wind passed between us, blowing my hair across his face.

He didn't pull away. Neither did I.

After a long while, I let him go, lowered my head, and buried my face in his chest.

"This time, I won't run away again," I said, my voice muffled.

"I know," he said.

Under the old city wall, two shadows overlapped.

In the distance, the clock tower struck three times, the dull chime echoing over the city.

On the closed shop door, the "For Lease" paper flapped noisily in the wind. But this time, no one found the sound harsh.

The wind blew over, and finally, it was no longer cold.

Chapter 22

During the time the bookstore was being renovated, I went to the site every day.

Liam studied design in college; he didn't just buy that dilapidated storefront, but also purchased the surrounding properties.

He broke through the walls to create a massive space, then drafted a thick stack of blueprints.

I didn't understand design, but I could understand the heart behind those blueprints.

Every corner was fitted with soft cushions and desk lamps, and the shelves were at a height where I could just reach them.

A row of seats was left by the window where one could sit to read or have coffee, or simply watch the people passing by on the street.

Every corner of the bookstore was filled with green plants and the dolls I liked.

There was a time-capsule mailbox, too.

While the workers were renovating, I sat on the steps at the entrance.

He was inside communicating details with the workers, his voice drifting out from the door, low and deep.

As I listened, I suddenly remembered back in college, he was like this, discussing projects with his teammates, and I would sit nearby waiting for him.

Back then, I was innocent and naive, thinking that a whole lifetime would pass just like that.

But reality was too cruel, letting us miss each other again and again.

But after all, if heaven has feelings, now I am sitting here waiting for him again.

Even though there were five years between us, an entire Norway, unspeakable truths, and an endless stream of tears.

But he came back.

And I came back, too.

On the day of the opening, the weather was wonderful.

It was a rare sunny day in Linwood; the sunlight shone on the brick gaps of the old city wall and on the sign at the bookstore entrance—"Qingtang Bookstore."

Two characters, in my handwriting.

He had found the old notes I had written, scanned them, enlarged them, and made them into a sign.

I asked him when he had kept them, and he said that every note I ever wrote to him, he had saved.

I didn't know what to say.

I just stood at the door, looking at those two characters for a long time.