017 Don't Forget Our Promise (2)

Ming Xichen jabbed at the end - call button, and the phone's music faded into silence. Shen Yunyi turned to her, curiosity lighting up his eyes. "I've never heard this song before. What's its name? I'll definitely give it a listen when I get back."

Ming Xichen shot him a sassy look. "Why bother? If you want to hear it later, just call me. You're dumber than a blockhead!" With that, she covered her mouth and let out a peal of giggles.

"I can't wait. I want to hear it right this second," Shen Yunyi declared, his fingers flying to press the redial button. The song filled the air once more.

"You can't keep doing this!" Ming Xichen huffed as she hung up. But Shen Yunyi just dialed again, and she hung up again. He dialed a third time. Their eyes locked, a silent storm brewing in the air, yet their hands never stopped their stubborn dance.

"This song has a story. I'm really into it," Ming Xichen murmured, resting her head against the car window. But her eyes were secretly fixed on him.

"Really?"

"There was a kind - hearted tree deeply in love with a little boy. Every day, the boy would frolic among the branches and take naps in the cool shade. As time went by, he grew into a young man. One day, he came to the tree, asking for money to buy the things he fancied. The tree had no money, only leaves and apples. So, it told the boy to pick the apples and sell them in the market. The boy did as he was told, and seeing his happy face, the tree felt a warm glow of joy.

Not long after, the boy returned. He said he was all grown up and needed a place of his own. Without hesitation, the tree offered its branches for him to build a house. Later, the boy came again, saying he was bored of his hometown and wanted to seek his fortune far away. The tree gave him its trunk so he could build a boat and set sail for his dreams. Watching the boy leave with a heart full of hope, the tree was overjoyed.

Years passed, and the boy came back, tired and worn out from his travels. The tree looked at its bare stump and said apologetically, 'All I have left is this old stump. I have nothing more to give you.' The boy managed a weak smile and replied, 'I don't need much now. Just a quiet place to rest.' The tree beamed, 'Well, this old stump is good for that. Come, sit and rest.' The boy sat down obediently, and the tree was still as happy as ever."

A spark flashed in Shen Yunyi's eyes as he stared intently at her.

"The singer is an American country artist, but he's also a poet, illustrator, playwright, and composer. I'm a big fan of one of his books."

"What's the title?"

"The Missing Piece," Ming Xichen said, her gaze somewhere between looking at him and into the distance. "I could see a long, winding road stretching before me, vanishing into the horizon. Walking on it felt like a solitary journey through the ages. When I found the missing piece again, that endless road seemed to span the globe and lead straight to the vast, mysterious universe." She paused, then suddenly leaned forward. "Fei and I once promised to open a bookstore someday. I'd sit in a cozy corner, with a steaming cup of latte on the table, lost in books or writing poems. And he'd sit beside me, playing the melodies I loved on the piano."

Her eyes glistened, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks. She seemed oblivious, still whispering softly to herself.

He reached out his hand under her face, and a tear landed in his palm. He held it gently, as if peering into past and present lives. Another tear fell and mingled with the first, until they were one.

"From now on, you write the poems, and I'll draw the illustrations. How does that sound?" Shen Yunyi's voice was thick with emotion, his eyes still wet.

Ming Xichen's eyes dulled. "Are you trying to take his place and fulfill our dream?"

"Can I replace him?" There was a strange glimmer in his eyes.

Ming Xichen said nothing, just stared at him as if trying to peer into his very soul. After what felt like an eternity, she let out a sigh. "No one can take his place."

He smiled, a smile as bright and clear as the sky after a storm, with fluffy clouds drifting by. "You write the poems, and I'll do the illustrations. This is our promise."

"Okay, this is our promise!" Their hands intertwined tightly.