Emotional love story of girl: The Girl in the Cemetery
In the Yongfu Cemetery on Nanshan Mountain, every Sunday, you can see a girl. She always brings a lily, and after placing it in front of grave number 89, she takes out a few letters from her pocket. No one can hear what she reads, but everyone can see that she reads with such seriousness, such deep emotion. After finishing the letters, she quietly burns them in front of the grave and then sits there for a long, long time, hugging her knees.
The cemetery caretakers found the girl curious. Aside from holidays, very few people come to the cemetery every week, and even fewer write letters weekly. Though curious, no one disturbed the girl. Week after week, she kept coming as she always had, undeterred by wind or rain. The caretakers admired her persistence.
One Wednesday morning in June, the cemetery was as quiet as usual.
Except for an elderly couple who had visited earlier, no one else had come. The caretakers were busy cleaning their respective areas when someone suddenly exclaimed, “Huh?” The stillness of the cemetery was broken. They saw that the girl had come again, but it wasn’t Sunday, which made her presence even more unusual.
The girl was carrying a basket. As she approached the grave, people noticed that the gravestone was already adorned with several items; it was clear someone had already paid their respects. The caretakers then remembered the elderly couple from earlier—it must have been them. The girl took out a lily from the basket, along with some fruits, and lit incense. After completing these rituals, she pulled out a letter and began to read it aloud, as she usually did. But before she could finish, it suddenly began to rain heavily. The caretakers ran to the break room since it was the only shelter in the cemetery. The girl, unable to find cover, headed there as well.
Perhaps the girl was shy, or perhaps she didn’t want to trouble anyone, but she didn’t enter the break room. Instead, she stood under the eaves outside, waiting for the rain to stop so she could leave. However, the caretakers, unwilling to see her standing outside alone in the rain, insisted she come inside. Reluctantly, she agreed. An older woman poured her a cup of hot water. After a long silence, the oldest caretaker, known to everyone as Old Jia, couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer.
“Are you here to visit your boyfriend?” the old man asked. The girl shook her head.
“Then it must be to see a relative.” The girl shook her head again.
Old Jia couldn’t hold back any longer, “Then who is he to you?”
The girl bit her lip, seemingly trying hard to remember. She murmured, “Who is he to me?” Her eyes were distant. At that moment, everyone could no longer resist their curiosity. “Can you tell us your story?” “Please tell us!” The group was almost begging her. The girl took a deep breath, though it was clear she was struggling to calm her emotions. Then, she began to tell their story.
It was more than two years ago when the girl was diagnosed with leukemia. It wasn’t terminal, though—if she actively cooperated with the doctors, there was a good chance of recovery. Soon, she was admitted to the hospital, assigned to bed four in room five. Another patient occupied bed one, a young man about her age, thin and frail, but you could tell from his features that he had once been very handsome. Her mother told her that his name was Xu Bin, and that he had late-stage blood cancer. If he couldn’t find a suitable bone marrow donor soon, he might not live for another year.
At first, the girl was very cooperative with the doctors, and her treatment was going well. She never made a sound during chemotherapy, but when it came time to cut her long hair, she cried.
When they weren’t undergoing treatment, they would chat. The boy spoke very little, mostly listening to her talk about her boyfriend—how much he loved her, took care of her, and all the romantic things he had done for her. Seeing her happy and proud, the boy didn’t feel jealous; instead, he felt warmth in his heart, a feeling he had never experienced before. It was as if her happiness made him happy. Of course, he never told the girl how he felt.
Gradually, they became good friends. She learned that he used to be a young calligrapher, capable of mimicking anyone’s handwriting. She didn’t believe him, but when he placed her handwriting next to his imitation, she couldn’t tell which one was hers. She admired him, but he only smiled faintly. He had no girlfriend, which she found hard to believe. He insisted it was true—not because he didn’t want one, but because he had never met the right person. Fate, after all, was something one could only hope to encounter.
The girl’s boyfriend, Wang Ziqi, used to visit her every day when she was first hospitalized. He would peel oranges for her, cut apples, and take her for walks, holding her hand. Whenever the boy saw them holding hands, he felt a pang of pain in his heart. Sometimes, he wondered why it wasn’t him holding her hand. Other strange thoughts came to him—thoughts he had never had before. He didn’t understand why, or perhaps he did, but he wasn’t willing to admit that he had fallen in love with her.
Over time, the girl’s boyfriend visited less and less frequently. When she asked why, he always said he was busy with work.
One day, the girl suddenly stopped cooperating with her treatment and even resisted it. Her boyfriend hadn’t visited her in days, and she couldn’t reach him by phone. She became agitated, her mood unstable. The doctors warned that if this continued, the progress they had made would be lost, and her condition could worsen. Her parents were anxious but helpless.
One night, while the girl was asleep, Xu Bin called her parents out of the room. No one knows what they discussed, but the next morning, the girl received a letter from Nigeria.
The letter was folded into the shape of a butterfly, and it was beautifully crafted. It read: “Dear Xiaoxianghan,”—her name was Li Xianghan, and her boyfriend liked to call her that. “I am now in Nigeria. Don’t blame me for leaving you. I had to leave temporarily to earn more money for your treatment, even though I was reluctant to go. Recently, our company had an overseas project and needed to send a few senior engineers. You know I wasn’t qualified to go—I’m only a junior engineer. But after I told my boss about your situation, he made an exception for me. I think we’re so lucky.
“I’m still not used to being in this foreign country without you, but for your sake, I have to adapt. The doctors say you shouldn’t use your phone anymore because of the radiation. You must listen to the doctors. Although you can’t hear my voice, I will write often—I promise. Let’s express our love in the most traditional way—it’s romantic in its own way. I’ll be waiting here for news of your recovery, waiting for your signal to call me back. Take good care of yourself. Don’t reply. Love, Ziqi.”
The girl hadn’t finished reading the letter before she started crying. She realized how childish she had been, causing so much trouble. She suddenly felt she needed to get better quickly so he could return to her side as soon as possible. She wanted to write him back, and no matter what her parents said, she wouldn’t be dissuaded. They had no choice but to tell the doctor, knowing she would listen to him.
“…”
After hearing the whole story, the doctor came to the room and said to her, “You need to rest more. The most important thing for him is that you get better. You can write the letter when you’re well again.” She listened to the doctor and became even more committed to her treatment.
The boy still spoke very little, but late at night, when she was fast asleep, he would secretly take out some stationery and write something. He would write a little, stop, rest, and then continue. When he finished, he carefully folded the letter into a butterfly shape and put it in an envelope. If you looked closely, you would notice that the envelope wasn’t an ordinary one—it was a special envelope for letters sent from Nigeria to China. The next day, he would secretly give the letter to the girl’s parents.
Time passed quickly. Six months later, he still hadn’t found a suitable bone marrow donor and had become even more emaciated. Her condition, on the other hand, was improving, and the doctors said she could be discharged within a year. She was overjoyed, knowing it wouldn’t be long before he could return to her.
She had a new hobby: reading his letters. She had a thick stack of them now. She loved reading them aloud to him, hoping that her happiness would bring him joy. He would still just smile faintly, as always. When they were together, his eyes were full of tenderness, and his gaze was filled with love. Every nurse and doctor could see that he liked her, but she was too caught up in her little bubble of happiness to notice the deep affection in his eyes.
He passed away on a Wednesday morning. He left with a smile, though there was a trace of weariness in it. He left earlier than the doctors had expected, and no one knew why. Staring at the empty bed number one, the girl felt as though she had lost something. But what was it? She couldn’t say. It was the same feeling she had when she found out her boyfriend had left. She shook her head, “That’s impossible
“…”
She still received a letter from him every week, but there was no one to hear her read them anymore. That feeling of emptiness lingered, and when she was alone, she would often find herself sitting on bed one, remembering his gentle smile.
A year later, the girl was successfully discharged. On the day she was packing her things, she happily told her parents that she would write a letter to Ziqi in Nigeria, asking him to come back. But her mother’s words hit her like a bucket of cold water. “He will never receive your letter,” her mother said. The girl was anxious, asking why. Had something happened to Ziqi? “Because a few months after you were hospitalized, he completely disappeared!”
The girl was stunned—she couldn’t believe her mother’s words. “You’re lying!” She took the letters from her suitcase and laid them out in front of her mother. “These are the letters he wrote to me!” she almost screamed. “Those were written by Xu Bin,” her mother said. “To keep you motivated for treatment, he imitated Ziqi’s handwriting. You always talked to Xu Bin about your boyfriend, so he was able to capture his personality. Xu Bin even asked your father to buy the stamps and envelopes from the post office.” “You’re lying, you’re lying, that’s impossible, that’s impossible,” the girl sobbed.
Seeing their daughter in such pain, her parents also shed tears. Her mother handed her a letter, “Xu Bin asked us to give you this letter if you recovered and were discharged.” Then they left the room, knowing she needed time alone.
With trembling hands, the girl opened the envelope. Inside was a butterfly-shaped letter.
“Dear Xiaoxianghan, please allow me to call you that one last time, even though I have no right to do so. By the time you read this letter, you will have recovered, and I will no longer be in this world. I lied to you, but it wasn’t intentional. Please forgive me. Don’t blame your parents—they had no choice. Right now, you must be feeling very confused, maybe even unable to accept the truth. But I hope you can smile as you always did. I’ve never seen an angel smile, but I’m sure your smile is even more beautiful.
“I liked you, but I never had the courage to say it. I didn’t want to trouble you or for you to ignore me if I confessed. Maybe I didn’t have the right to love you since my days in this world were numbered.
“Some say that if you write 675 letters to the one you love, you’ll be together in the next life. I don’t know if you believe that, but I do. I knew I didn’t have much time left, so I wrote as many letters as I could, but I still fell short. Thank you for walking with me through this final chapter of my life. I’ve experienced the fragrance of love’s blossom, and it’s so sweet. I have no regrets in this life.
“You must live on bravely. I will become an angel and watch over you. If there is another life, I will find you, love you, and protect you. Love, Xu Bin.”
The girl was already sobbing uncontrollably.
The distance between life and death—the most distant separation in this world—contains countless stories and unspoken sorrows. The girl held the letter close to her heart for a long, long time. Outside the window, the sky had darkened, and the neon lights had come on, but she was completely unaware.
A few days after being discharged, the girl visited his grave for the first time. She bought lilies and told him she would finish those 675 letters. She promised to visit him every weekend.
When the girl finished telling her story, the rain outside was still falling. No one spoke. They turned away, their shoulders shaking as they sobbed, each person moved by the girl’s story.
Every weekend, you can see this girl. She always brings a lily and places it in front of grave number 89. She takes out a few letters from her pocket. No one can hear what she reads, but everyone can see that she reads with such seriousness, such deep emotion. After finishing the letters, she quietly burns them in front of the grave and then sits there for a long, long time, hugging her knees.
Thank you for reading! ” Sitestorys “
