He raised his hand, tucked her wind-blown hair behind her ear, and secured it, his voice low and warm, "Have you eaten anything?"
"I had a piece of cake," Nan Wan shrugged out of the man's embrace, holding his arm as they walked toward the car, "It's so cold, will it rain tomorrow?"
This winter, there was no snow in Qing City.
Mu Jin Huan opened the car door, waited for her to get in, then walked around to the other side.
He enveloped her in his arms, "Even if it rains, I'll go to the sanatorium with you."
Every weekend, Nan Wan would visit her mother, sometimes bringing Jiu Jiu, sometimes going alone, but more often than not, Mu Jin Huan accompanied her.
Her cold hand was wrapped in the man's warm palm, dispelling the chill from outside; Nan Wan tilted her head, leaning on his shoulder.
Since the night she met him, it had all felt like a dream.
If this really is a dream, then she didn't want to wake up.
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