Summers used to feel endless—lying in the air-conditioned room, watching the blazing sun outside, wishing the heat would fade sooner. But this vacation slipped by in a blink, already nearing its end.

Midsummer clouds piled thick as layered cotton quilts, giving off a simple, honest warmth.

Su Yu stared blankly at the sky, mind empty. Cicadas chirped shrilly around him, yet a quiet contentment lingered.

He and He Muqing hadn’t gone far—just wandering the tiny patch near home until afternoon. One blink later, they stood before the milk tea shop: *her* favorite.

"Su Yu, hurry up!"

He Muqing skipped ahead, light-footed as ever. Distance never tired her; she’d always been like that.

Her new dress was simple—a waist-cinching silhouette in blue fabric dotted with white. It hid her slender calves, revealing only fair ankles to the air. Her toenails gleamed sky blue, matching the dress. Under the shaded path, her skirt swayed like a dancing sprite.

The low-heeled crystal sandals were Su Yu’s sixteenth-birthday gift—not expensive, not flashy among classmates’ presents. Yet while others’ gifts vanished, she’d worn these for a year and a half. Even took them once to Uncle Zhang downstairs to fix the heel.

"Coming! You walk too fast," Su Yu called, catching up. Sweat trickled down his temples even in the tree shade.

"It’s open! Treat me to milk tea, quick!"

He Muqing shook her arms excitedly. The shop’s hours were unpredictable—Old Mo, the owner, closed whenever he pleased. They’d worried it’d be shut. Lucky today.

Summer ivy crawled wildly up the walls, swallowing the wooden sign whole. Only a lone "tea" character peeked through emerald vines.

But names didn’t matter. Between them, "the milk tea shop" meant only this one.

"Well, look who’s here—both of you!"

Behind the counter stood Old Mo, late forties, beard neatly trimmed, hair tied in a small braid. Tidy. Clean. Like his tea.

He blinked in surprise. It’d been ages since they came together—though Muqing had visited alone recently.

"I’m leaving soon. Just walking Muqing around."

"I see. Headed to Qingchuan? That’s far," Old Mo nodded, stroking his beard. "Sounds like the little girl’s reluctant to see you go?"

"Pah! Old Mo, nonsense again! Think I won’t yank that braid off?" He Muqing flushed crimson, voice sharp enough to fill the shop.

"Alright, alright!" Old Mo chuckled, wisely shifting topics. "What’ll it be? Almost closed—if you hadn’t come…"

"The usual."

"Got it. Grab a seat."

He tied on the pink apron and vanished behind the counter.

"Su Yu, over here!"

He Muqing claimed the window seat.

"Night market later?"

"Nah…"

She rested her chin on the table, cheeks flushed pink—adorably pinchable.

"Tired? I thought you never got tired shopping."

"Why are you so annoying?" She shot him a fierce glare.

"Your temper’s just short."

"Hmph."

She gazed out the window. The street had changed: a new fried chicken shop, a grocery store shuttered for months. Time moved. Everything changed. Even this summer.

She remembered middle school—hating to bump into Su Yu, fearing classmates’ whispers. Dodging him after class. Once, he’d snuck into her classroom; she scolded him fiercely before everyone. But that afternoon, he waited alone by the gate, shyly pressing milk tea and mango pudding into her hands with an apology.

They’d both been foolish then. Later, she stopped minding his visits—but he never came again.

Everyone changes. Becomes someone they once disliked.

"Mango pudding. Milk tea ingredients weren’t fresh—I brewed tea instead. On the house! My newest blend; you’re the first tasters." Old Mo set the tray down.

"No new paintings lately, Old Mo? Still the old ones," Su Yu murmured, glancing at the familiar wall art.

"Sigh… Maybe I’m tired of this view," Old Mo shook his head. "You two chat. I’ll tidy up."

"Such skill… wasted on a tiny shop," Su Yu sipped the tea. "Won’t taste this for half a year."

"I’ll go to Qingchuan. I *will*."

He Muqing lifted her head, eyes bright with resolve. "I’ll find you. And you *will* treat me to milk tea."

"Huh?"

Su Yu froze—then smiled. "If you get into Qingchuan University? I’ll treat you daily. Gladly."

"Deal! Let’s write it down—stick it on the board. Proof you won’t back out."

She pointed to the message wall, dotted with yellow notes. They’d posted before… then tore them down, calling it childish.

"Write it. Just worried you won’t make it."

"Hmph. Arrogant." She saw right through his provocation.

Evening deepened. The sun dipped into crimson-clouded horizons, casting a gilded veil. Golden light bathed them as they leaned close over the note, studying each other’s names—heads nearly touching, breaths mingling, guarding against secret edits.

*Click!*

Old Mo lowered the camera, smiling. He glanced at the blank canvas on his easel… and decided.

He’d close up a little later today.