Rong Boye's painting speed was not slow, but probably because the subject he was painting was unfamiliar, he repeatedly revised and revised it, and it took a long time to finish.
Song Xiang observed that although his face was calm, his posture was not as relaxed as usual, and his pen holding posture was a bit unnatural.
She moved her position intentionally, maintaining the same leaning back posture as Rong Boye.
Rong Boye caught a glimpse of her movements with his peripheral vision, the corners of his lips curved slightly, he raised his hand to move his wrist, and took a deep breath without leaving any trace.
By noon, the painting was finally finished.
Rongzhe showed up at the right time and said lunch was ready.
Song Xiang's legs were also relaxed, and she walked down holding on to the railing. Rong Boye was just a step behind her, not too far or too close.
Lunch was the same as the previous two days, no difference at all.
Except for Song Xiang himself, the window paper in his heart was pierced, and no one else seemed to know.
This is a secret.
After eating, Rong Boye gave her a key.
"There are many books on the third floor. If you are bored, you can go and read them."
Song Xiang knew whose place was on the third floor and held the key, feeling like he had found a treasure.
Except for the studio and the cloakroom, she had never been to the other places closest to that person's life.
Mom, she had called this word for many years, suddenly lost it, and then suddenly had it.
The emotions were so complicated that she didn't dare to go upstairs while holding the keys.
It wasn't until the sunset appeared, following the soft and dim light, that she climbed up to the third floor again.
The largest room is a suite. When you push the door open, you face a floor-to-ceiling window. Outside the window is a small man-made garden.
There are also flowers in bloom in the garden, which looks particularly sentimental under the sunset.
There is a small round table in the restaurant, and there is a paper drawer on the table. The paper in it is all drawn out, as if someone has just used it.
Pass carefully through the corridor, and further inside is the bedroom.
Song Xiang inserted the key into the keyhole and turned it slowly.
With a click, the door opened.
It has a light clothing scent and no deliberate fragrance.
The quilt on the bed is spread neatly, the pillowcases and quilt cover are still bright red, and there is a double happiness sticker on the bedside. The lamp on the bedside table and the dressing table are all newlywed furnishings, and they are not luxurious. Instead, they look like ordinary homes.
But be more refined.
Song Xiang became careful with his breathing movements, for fear of blowing away the remaining breath of life in the air. He walked forward slowly, only hearing the sound of slippers hitting the floor.
She walked to the dressing table and sat down on the stool.
Looking at my own face in the mirror, my vision gradually blurred, and I looked at another face appearing in the mirror.
The other party was gentle and beautiful, wearing a goose-yellow dress. He smiled gently at her, and a slight pear dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Song Xiang smiled and then his eyes flickered, only to find that it was still himself in the mirror.
I couldn't help but frown and lowered my head to collect my emotions.
The skin care products on the dressing table are all still there. Although it is quite empty, there are no traces of use. They may have evaporated over time.
Song Xiang sniffed, opened the drawer, and carefully opened the drawer.
There are many gadgets inside, and there is a small parchment book at the bottom.
Song Xiang's heart moved, maybe it was a diary.
He took it out carefully and hesitated for a moment before turning the page and taking a look.
It's not a diary, it looks more like a notebook.
There are photos posted on each page, recording the time and mood from the beginning of their love. They also have a few small things attached, some are dried flowers, some are chocolate candy wrappers, and some are a corner of the newspaper of the day. There are no taboos.