midsummer restlessness

The corner of the street that turns around the school gate is a snack street.

It is a favorite place for students to visit during lunch time.

The store that Xia An insisted on going to is here.

There are two thick sycamore trees in front of the store, the branches and leaves are hidden, and the signboard cannot be seen clearly.

The two pushed the door open, and the wind chimes rang.

The room didn't look familiar, it was clean and bright, and a little strange.

I don’t know when the concrete floor was covered with solid wood floors, and the gray-brown walls were also pasted with pink and white floral wallpapers. Even the fresh-keeping cabinets where the ingredients were stored were replaced by display cabinets with small chandeliers. With all kinds of ice cream, soft and delicious under the light.

A clerk came forward with a notebook and asked them what they needed.

Xia An looked at her with a puzzled expression.

"Excuse me, is this place now a dessert shop?"

"Yes."

The clerk was a little puzzled, but nodded anyway.

"Then the previous boss didn't do it?"

"Are you talking about the boss who sold Malatang before? He stopped doing it a long time ago and rented this room to us."

The girl put away her notebook, answered seriously, and added a sentence after thinking about it.

"We've been here for years, too."

After walking out of the store, Xia An silently followed behind Wang Junkai.

The air in the early morning after the rain is humid and cold. Although there is already sunlight, it doesn't make people feel a little warm.

Xia An unconsciously wrapped the scarf tightly.

Wang Junkai has slender legs, and it takes her several steps to keep up with every step, but she will be left behind soon after standing beside him.

This situation repeated several times along the way, Xia An struggled to step on the high heels, so he simply stopped and looked at the man's back without saying a word.

The person in front of him seemed to continue walking without knowing it. The morning breeze rustled the sycamore trees, raising the corners of the boy's blue shirt. Suddenly a little trance.

In the distant memory, under this sycamore tree, she gently tiptoed and carefully placed her first kiss on his lips.

The sycamore leaves are fluttering one after another, turning time, withering the years, and blurring the fleeting years.

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