Although the sketch was pressed beneath Yan Xinxin's profile, with just a slightly closer look, he could clearly see what she had drawn.
It was a pencil sketch.
And the person in the drawing was him.
Perhaps it was because the light of the setting sun was partially blocked, Yan Xinxin's soft brows furrowed slightly. Her small mouth shifted lightly, and she slowly opened her drowsy eyes.
The first sight greeting her was the man's features, as gentle as a spring breeze.
He was crouching in front of her, his tall and upright figure seemingly carrying the magnificent hues of the sunset on his back. The backlighting softened the sharp contours of his face.
Yan Xinxin's heart suddenly skipped a beat.
As she awoke fully, it was as though she had become a part of a bustling crowd, but her gaze landed only on him.
This heart, it seemed, beat solely because he existed.
"Tired?"
He parted his lips, his magnetic, deep voice breaking the silence in the air.
