Letters From the Moon

9

On a day many years ago, the story began.

The well-known Professor Sherwood was recruiting an assistant in his laboratory. There was a long line of students applying for the job.

Many people came because of his reputation, while I came because I was poor.

When the teacher in charge of the interview saw that I was wearing a hearing aid, she refused me without saying anything more.

She only said that I was not suitable, which was somehow tactful.

But I still saw a trace of unnoticeable disgust in her eyes.

In fact, I had experienced such a situation many times. I was not really aggrieved, but my eyes turned red for no reason.

Perhaps it was because the prejudice came from a teacher I respected.

When I turned to leave with my head lowered, I accidentally bumped into someone. I raised my head in a panic and looked into a pair of deep and calm eyes.

The office was spacious, and the sunset was overwhelming. A thin ring of orange light was behind his slightly thin figure, which seemed to have merged into the gentle sunset.

His hand supported me steadily. After our eyes met briefly, he frowned slightly.

The teacher behind me respectfully greeted him. "Professor Sherwood."

Laurant nodded politely at her, and his eyes fell on the resume in my hand. "Why do you want to work as an assistant in the laboratory?"

I was stunned for a while. When I came to my senses, I lowered my head and said in embarrassment, "Because I'm poor."

The work-study program had become an indispensable part of my college life. To be an assistant in Laurant's laboratory was the best choice.

Although there was nothing shameful about self-reliance, I felt extremely embarrassed to say it in front of so many people because of a girl's self-esteem.

The resume in my hand was taken away. I heard Laurant's deep voice as he talked to me with a smile.

"Well, I want to hire an assistant because I'm lazy."

The humor was just perfect. The surrounding people burst into laughter.

He looked at my resume and then looked at me again, saying politely and attentively, "Miss Frost, I'm sure we will get along well with each other."

When he addressed me as "Miss Frost", I felt there was a warm stream flowing into my heart.

Being treated so gently, I wanted to repay him with more gentleness.

My feelings for him became stronger and stronger like the wildfire in the summer wilderness.

Laurant was such a quiet person that he was almost eccentric. He didn't like the crowd or sunshine. Most of the time, he just stayed in the laboratory.

The man hiding in the dark was like a dazzling fire himself because he was so concentrated on his work.

I had seen that burning fire countless times in the dark.

He was not a talker and spent most of his time meditating in silence. We usually only said a few words to each other in a day.

Even so, after I stayed by his side for a long time, there was really an inexplicable tacit understanding between us.

When he raised his hand, I knew what he wanted.

When I looked at him, he knew what I was thinking.

He was right to say that I loved to cry.

During the four years that I had been with him, I cried many times.

Why did I cry?

When he was doing experiments, he accidentally burned his hand. I cried and my eyes turned red.

He worked day and night in the laboratory. I thought of the news about those sudden deaths that I had read. When he didn't listen to my persuasion, I would cry again.

He was sick. When I stayed by his bed, I kept wiping my tears.

Perhaps he knew that the girl was not a crybaby. She cried often later because she cared about him.

As a gentleman, Laurant had never crossed the line.

In those years, with the gentlest attitude, he comforted my lonely soul countless times.

But such a person always compromised in my tears.

As long as I cried, Laurant would definitely listen to me.

But many times, he would mumble to himself, "I have hired someone I have to worship."

This was one of the few moments when Laurant was being lovely. It was very vivid.

I could easily remember those moments later. Everything could not be compared to him when he was so lively.

Those years were our time.

We were closer than any other people.

But we were not lovers.

10

After I lost contact with Laurant, I took a few days' leave.

I didn't know how to relieve my mood, so one afternoon, I drove to the cemetery alone.

Unexpectedly, someone got there before me.

When the woman heard my footsteps, she turned her head slightly. Her eye rims were a little red.

I always had a good memory. In an instant, I recalled the time many years ago when Laurant asked me to go to his house. Before that, I confessed my love to him.

Right, she was the one who leaned on Laurant's shoulder and called him "Lauri" at that time.

Their intimacy was the first blow to me that night.

"Miranda." As the woman opened her mouth slightly, she called out my name.

I didn't intend to probe how she knew my name. I nodded gently and put the bunch of sunflowers in my arms under the black tombstone.

"You still remember that he liked sunflowers." The woman took a look at me. She looked surprised and gratified.

"He didn't like flowers."

There was nothing extra in Laurant's house and laboratory.

One day, on my way to his house, I passed by a flower stall. On a whim, I wanted to buy some flowers to decorate the environment in his house. He might be in a better mood.

At that time, I took a photo of the flowers and sent it to him, asking: [Professor Sherwood, what kind of flower do you like?]

He replied with a crisp answer: [None of them.]

I couldn't help but feel disappointed. Through the screen, he seemed to have perceived my mood.

He said as if he was coaxing me: [I'm looking at the photo carefully. I think the sunflowers are the most beautiful. Buy some.]

After that, sunflowers often appeared in his house.

Laurant often read a book quietly in front of the window. The yellow sunflowers on the small table swayed in the wind.

It was such a beautiful time that I couldn't forget it. It lingered in my mind.

"How can there be a man who doesn't like flowers?" said the woman with a smile.

After a pause, she continued, "My younger brother was quite annoying. He never told people what he liked."

"Younger brother?" I was stunned.

"Yes, he was my biological brother, but he was not close to me." She looked at me meaningfully. "Of course, he was not close to anyone, but you were an exception."

I wanted to argue with her, but I didn't know where to start.

It seemed that in those years, Laurant was indeed quite unsocial and communicated with few people.

She looked at the photo on the tombstone and sighed. "The lot by which people are brought together is really magical. A man like him could really care about someone.

"You didn't expect it, did you?" She turned her head and smiled at me. Then, she shrugged and said, "Neither did I."

She was in the mood of talking and told me in detail what happened in the past.

That night, I held back my tears and ran out of Laurant's house. At that time, she was watching the scene of bustle and heckle. "The girl is about to cry. Aren't you worried about her?"

Laurant was silent and drank a lot.

He had always restrained himself. But that day, he drank too much. In the end, he had a good talk with her, his elder sister.

Laurant said, "When Miranda's eyes turn red, everyone seeing it will feel sorry for her."

That was why he felt pity for me the first time we met.

When Laurant described our encounter, he said, "It was a lonely soul encountering a soul of the same kind. It was magical. I just felt she and I were the most compatible."

For him, he had company in those four years and it was a comfort and blessing.

She asked him, "Why don't you chase after her?"

Laurant was a bit tipsy. "If I indulge her in looking forward to a future that I can't promise her, I will be a great sinner."

At this point, she gently wiped the corners of her eyes and said, "I didn't know what was the meaning of his words until he couldn't hide his illness anymore."

It seemed that Laurant's death had been a heavy blow to her. The woman, who looked gorgeous at that time, now looked haggard with fine lines on her face.

She squatted down and tidied up the bouquet and said in a sobbing voice, "During the first year you were abroad, he was so sick that he couldn't even stand still."

The wind blew through the low green trees. The rustling sounds faded in my ears and my mind was blank.

Before she left, she persuaded me. "Try Sound of Miranda. It shows his feelings for you."