Love that never breaks
I am a girl who lives like the wind, wandering and drifting all over the world. In contrast, Letian is calm and gentle, just like his gold-rimmed glasses. He rarely raises his voice, even when he occasionally gets angry, it is as soft as my favorite cotton candy.
Letian and I have journeyed through seven or eight cities together, leaving our intertwined shadows under various rooftops.
Letian and I have been childhood sweethearts since we were five years old. We’ve never really been apart. In middle school, he was the class monitor, and I was the study commissioner. In high school, he was the group leader, and I was the deputy group leader. In college, we happened to live in the same dormitory building. So, our relationship naturally progressed into love, as if destined in a previous life. We came together without grand declarations or solemn promises. The inherent love brought us unimaginable happiness.
After finally graduating, I organized my thoughts and domineeringly told Letian, “Come with me to the south. I love the rainy season there.”
Letian, being an only child, was expected by his parents to stay close. However, after a brief moment of contemplation, he smiled and said, “Are you ready? If you are, I’ll go with you.”
Overjoyed, I playfully bit his face, making him blush. Nearby, some girls were sneakily glancing at us.
Our time in Guangzhou went smoothly. Letian worked as a copywriter in an advertising company, while I became a journalist at a small newspaper. Letian, being very dedicated, quickly excelled and was promoted to business manager, with a geometrically increasing salary.
I, on the other hand, struggled with the small newspaper’s demanding roles of reporting, editing, and ad sales with little commission. Disheartened, I decided to change jobs. I informed Letian of my decision one evening. He gently patted my face and smiled, “You think finding a job is child’s play? You can’t just pick any role you want.”
Pushing his hand away, I stubbornly said, “I don’t want to stay in such an environment.”
Understanding my intent, Letian replied, “Then find a job you like.”
“A friend recommended me for a web editor position in Beijing. I want to give it a try,” I said, with a hint of pleading I’d never used before.
Letian was taken aback, unprepared and reluctant to leave his coveted job. “But don’t you love the rainy season in the south?”
He had a point, but my mind was made up. My willfulness prevailed again. “I never asked you to stay with me forever. You can stay here if you want.”
Letian lost his temper for the first time, grabbing my hand, “How can you say that? What do you think I am?”
Letian’s love was more about loyalty, something not everyone can offer.
The next day, Letian decisively resigned and accompanied me to Beijing.
Letian continued in his field, while I thrived as a web editor. However, I soon couldn’t stand the strict regulations and complicated office politics, and within two years, I decided to leave again.
By then, Letian had grown accustomed to my impulsiveness. He only teased me slightly, “Xinyu, I see you as a child who never grows up, but I’m afraid of you growing up. Do you know why?”
Pretending to be innocent, I retorted, “Of course, you’re afraid I’ll fly away on my own.”
“Nonsense, I’m afraid you’ll stop wandering if you mature,” Letian’s eyes still loyal, though I doubted his sincerity, knowing my actions were unfair to him.
In the following years, we became transient residents in ancient Xi’an, foggy Chongqing, Guilin, and Guizhou, enjoying the beautiful scenery of our homeland despite having no permanent home. Letian formally bestowed me the title “traveler,” to which I playfully dubbed him “attendant.” Letian mildly protested, “Too simple. How about ‘love’s servant’?”
In the crisp autumn of 20xx, we finally settled in Shenzhen.
Letian spent all his savings on a two-bedroom apartment and meticulously decorated it, creating a romantic and warm 70-square-meter space.
On the night of the Mid-Autumn Festival, Letian held me and said, “Xinyu, let’s get married.”
We had been inseparable, but our continuous moving left no time for formalities, and the wedding kept being postponed until Letian could no longer wait.
Pressing my feverish face to his chest, I said, “Letian, forgive me for making you wait so long.”
Without speaking, Letian whispered in my ear, “No, I want you to give me a big family.”
I pushed him away in shock, “How can that be? I’m not ready.”
“But you’re already 26,” Letian murmured.
“I just don’t want kids now,” I stubbornly said.
“Alright,” Letian conceded, “but we need to get married soon.”
Still angry, I impulsively said, “No marriage then.”
Letian was stunned, then pointed at me, “You’re too arrogant. You can’t joke about this. If you don’t want to marry me, then leave.”
In his anger, Letian’s words hurt deeply. In a fit of rage, I grabbed our newly printed wedding photo and tore it to pieces, “Fine, I won’t see you again.”
I ran out, crying.
After walking a long way, I calmed down, wiped my face, and returned, realizing I couldn’t leave without my things. Opening the familiar door, I didn’t see Letian but saw our shredded wedding photo neatly pieced together in its frame, with Letian’s handwriting added: “Xinyu, hearts can be torn, but love is forever unbreakable. I love you. Letian.” Seeing his familiar handwriting, tears streamed down my face as I hugged the frame tightly. I finally understood, love is unbreakable, and it is the most beautiful and enchanting painting.
Letian had quietly come up behind me, gently lifting me. We said nothing, but I was already overwhelmed.
Because, I knew nothing could stop me now, I had to give Letian a healthy and beautiful child…
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