The tram at dusk slides slowly along the street covered in fallen leaves like a lazy orange light strip, carrying returning passengers wrapped in woolen coats.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Emily leaned against the window, her earphones streaming piano music without lyrics. Outside the window are rapidly retreating brick walls and dim yellow streetlights, while inside the window is a blurry reflection of oneself on the glass. She was holding a paper cup with freshly baked hot cocoa and a small piece of butter inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That’s for Grandma Martha at the old bookstore on the street corner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Martha always sits in a rocking chair, guarding a room full of yellowed papers, waiting for an old friend who will never open the door again. Emily takes a detour every Wednesday after work, placing the warm Kesong on the walnut table beside her and quietly leaving. Martha never thanks, she just lightly flicked the copper bell on the door when she turned around.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Today, the bookstore hung a wooden sign that read ‘soon to be sold’.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Emily knew that after tomorrow, the rocking chair, the fragrance of old books all over the house, and the unspoken “goodbye” would all be gently folded up by time.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She stood on the platform, watching the tram enter the station, with warm yellow lights shining over her feet like water. Suddenly, a gust of wind blew from the end of the long street, carrying the fragrance of pine needles and roasted apples. She instinctively turned around\u2014\u2014<\/p>\n\n\n\n
On the empty edge of the platform, a shadow wearing a coarse woolen coat was slowly turning around and slightly taking off its hat to greet her.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
No face, only a strand of silver hair lifted by the wind, like moonlight falling on old letter paper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Emily didn’t catch up. She knows that some goodbyes don’t require a sound. Just like the first snow of winter falling in the palm of your hand, it doesn’t need to be held tightly, it will melt into a sentence of ‘I’m fine’ on its own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The car door closed, and she lowered her head and took a bite of Ke Song, with a crispy outer layer and a slightly sweet butter inside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The phone is shaking, it’s a message from a friend in London: “It’s getting cooler tonight, remember to make yourself a cup of hot tea<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She replied with a smile, “I’m drinking it now, and it even comes with dessert<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Outside the window, the city lights up one after another, like countless lamps left for the returning.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She folded the cowhide paper bag of the bag into a small paper boat and gently placed it on the bench on the platform. The night wind pushed it, slowly sliding towards the unseen distance.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Some words, hidden deep in the heart, are not regrets.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I’m afraid that saying it will startle those who quietly accompanied us through the journey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
We’ve arrived at the station.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Emily walked out of the station, the evening breeze brushing her face, carrying the scent of cinnamon wafting from the corner caf \u00e9.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She looked up and saw that the moon was very light, like an unspoken goodnight.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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