The wind messed up both of our hair, but I didn't brush it away, and neither did he.

"Clara," he finally spoke. "My biggest regret is that I didn't go find you back then, and I didn't protect you well."

My eyelashes trembled.

"It’s not about not having children. It's not about the ruined marriage. It’s not about anything else," he said, word by word. "It’s that when you were on the operating table alone, I wasn't by your side."

My eyes grew red.

"You asked me if I would regret it in five or ten years."

He reached out and tucked my wind-blown hair behind my ear. "I can answer you now. No. Never. Because I have already regretted something once. That feeling, I don't want to experience it a second time."

I lowered my head, and my tears fell onto the ground, dried by the wind. I clutched his coat sleeve until my knuckles turned white.

"Liam, have you really thought this through?"

He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, folded it twice, and handed it to me.

"What is it?" I took it and opened it.

A sterilization surgery document from the hospital. His name. The date was yesterday.

My fingers froze.

"You—"

"I said, if there are no children, it will just be the two of us." His voice was calm. "If you’re willing, we can raise a cat, or a dog. Or raise nothing at all, just us."

I looked at the document, and tears dripped onto the paper, one by one.

"Liam, are you an idiot?"

"Maybe so."

I threw myself into his arms, crying, "I’m willing. I’m willing."

He held me tight. "I know."

"I said I’m willing to marry you. I’m willing."

"I know," his voice was hoarse.

Under the old city wall, the wind was strong, blowing our hair together.

In the distance, the clock tower rang a few times, the dull chime echoing over the city, one beat after another, as if testifying to something for this ancient city wall.

I didn't cry anymore. I took a crumpled tissue from my pocket, blew my nose, and then looked up at him.

"Then let's go register," I said. "Tomorrow."

"Okay," he said. "Tomorrow."

The streetlights stretched our shadows long and overlapped them.

I didn't ask "Will you regret it?" again, and he didn't say "I won't" again.

Some things only need to be said once.

In the distance, within the cracks of the old city wall, the wind had been blowing for years and years, yet it could not knock it down.

Some things, it turns out, are just the same.

Chapter 25

On the wedding day, the weather was wonderful.

We didn't choose a large hotel, and we didn't invite many guests.

We held it right in our bookstore. The bookstore is large, so we cleared a space in the middle and set up a few chairs.

Not many people came—Joanne and her husband, as the two of them had finally ended their long struggle and gotten married.

There were also a few of Liam's and my friends from college, as well as a few regular customers of the bookstore.

There was no officiant, no flower girl, and no complicated procedures.

I wore a white dress—not a wedding gown, with no train and no lace.

The hem fell just to my calves, and a thin satin ribbon was tied around my waist.

I wore my hair down and a pair of pearl studs.

Those were the ones Liam had given me back then, and I had kept them all this time.

He wore a dark gray suit, no tie, and the top button of his shirt was left undone.

He stood next to the bookshelf, holding the ring in his hand.

Sunlight poured in from the window, landing on his shoulders and on the neatly arranged book spines on the shelves.

I walked down the spiral staircase from the second floor.

When I reached him, we looked at each other; both our eyes were a bit red, but we were both smiling.

"Clara." He spoke first.

"Liam, I'm here." My voice was clear.

"You look beautiful today." Tears rimmed his eyes.

I curled the corners of my mouth: "You look handsome, too, so I have a love letter for you."

Someone nearby laughed. I didn't pay it any mind.

I took a piece of paper from my pocket, unfolded it, and it had a few lines written on it.

My hands were trembling, and the note trembled with them.

I cleared my throat and read aloud: "Liam, five years ago you waited for me at the entrance of the civil affairs bureau, but I didn't show up. Because at that time, I couldn't even save myself, so I chose to run away. Five years later, you are still waiting for me, and you have put me, broken as I was, back together piece by piece. Thank you for not giving up."

My voice was a bit shaky, but every word was clear.

My tears fell, landing on the note and soaking a small patch.

He reached out and wiped the tears from my face with his thumb.

"Clara, I'm sorry, I love you."

"Thank you for letting me find you again. Thank you for protecting my girl so bravely."

His voice was very low, low enough that it seemed meant only for my ears.

When we exchanged rings, both of our hands were shaking.

I pushed the ring onto his finger, and he lowered his head to look at it for a while.

He put the ring on my ring finger, side by side with the one from the proposal.

I looked down at the two rings—one that he had knelt in the bookstore to offer, and one that I wore today.

The two rested together, their silver luster shimmering slightly in the sunlight.

He reached out, gently cradled my face, and lowered his head to kiss me.

It wasn't the kind of dizzying kiss from a movie; it was a very light, very gentle kiss.

It was just like the first time he kissed me back in college—cautious, afraid of scaring me.

I closed my eyes. Tears slid from the corners of my eyes and flowed onto his fingers.

He didn't wipe them away, just continued the kiss.

After the kiss, I opened my eyes and looked at him. He looked at me.

"Liam," I said.

"Hmm."

"Is there anything you want to say to me?"

He thought for a moment and said, "Let's go home, our real home."

I was stunned. The bridal home from five years ago had not been stepped into by anyone since the incident.

Then I smiled. This time, it was a real smile.

It wasn't a forced, bitter, tear-suppressing smile; it was the kind of smile with curved eyes that grew from the heart.

When I was by his side five years ago, this was how I smiled.

"Okay," I said. "Let's go home."

We walked out hand in hand.

The setting sun dragged our shadows long and far, extending all the way into the brick seams of the city wall, extending into that door which had been closed for so many years and had finally been opened.

This time, I will not run away again.

And he will not let me run again.

(End)