That year, her first love at the age of sixteen was also the last boy she would ever love. He wasn't very tall or elegant, but he played football with grace and had a deep voice. His academic results were always good, often ranking first in the class. Even though back then love wasn't considered a big deal, and girls chasing boys wasn't unusual, she was an introverted girl who never expressed her feelings verbally. Instead, she admired him silently from afar—his Adidas F50 adizero and Adidas Bounce SL shoes made her admire him even more.
She often met him on the road, greeting him with a cheerful "Good day!" Sometimes she wouldn't go back to school but instead jogged around the athletic field just to watch him play. She also learned to fold lucky stars, writing a word each day on a small piece of paper that she wanted to say to him, folding it into a tiny star, and happily placing it in a large bottle. She frequently observed him, imagining herself as the kind of gentle and considerate girl he might like—one with long black hair and watery eyes who smiled softly often. Her hair was black but only reached her ears, and her big eyes often narrowed because of laughter. She would look in the mirror and think, if one day she became that kind of girl, he would love her.
Every month, she tried to grow her hair longer, sometimes going to the barber shop for a trim that kept it just past her ears. When she laughed, her squinting eyes revealed she was nineteen years old. She entered a university that wasn’t great but wasn’t bad either. He went off to another city’s university after exams and normal play. She took the train away from her small-town life, carrying in her mind his memories bit by bit into her university life. Military training began two days later. Before sleeping at night, other girls hid under their covers calling and sharing feelings of missing their boyfriends. She finished dialing familiar numbers multiple times but never pressed the call button.
At nineteen, she first understood what missing someone felt like. Originally, missing someone could be rather baffling and tear-inducing. Four years of college weren’t too long; lively and lovely her never lacked suitors, but she chose to stay single. Good people asked why, and she always smiled, saying she was really heavy-hearted. She studied hard, passed exams, and graduated from his university. Over four years, her hair grew longer, and she never cut it.
At an old classmate gathering, we saw her—a bright-eyed woman with long black straight hair, watery eyes enhanced perfectly by eye shadow, glowing white-pink skin, and a soft smile. But this was the former little clown. When he saw her, his mind couldn't help but wander, but at that moment, his hand was holding another girl's slender waist.
At twenty-two, she graduated top of her university. He didn't continue studying for graduate school but worked at a foreign company, soon earning six figures. She continued leading a monotonous student life and remained single. On vacation at home, her mother pulled her aside, sincerely advising her, "Daughter, reading is a good thing. But women are meant to marry sons; it's fate." She nodded, went into her room, and retrieved luggage from the box. Out came a full bottle of lucky stars, placed on the bookshelf. The shelf held a row of lucky star bottles, all full—just six bottles.
At twenty-five, she graduated with a Master’s degree from a prestigious university and soon found a good job, earning tens of thousands monthly. He owned his own company, doing bigger business. When the third branch opened, he married a deputy mayor's daughter, celebrating double happiness. She attended the grand wedding, hearing people talk about how young and handsome the groom was, with striking appearance, and the bride, beautiful like a flower, making them an ideal couple. Watching his proud smile caused her heart to feel a sense of happiness, imagining herself as the flowery woman beside him.
At twenty-six, she married one of her company colleagues. Their acquaintance to marriage lasted less than a year. They didn’t send invitations. At her urging, their wedding was very simple, inviting only a few close relatives and good friends. That evening, she drank a lot, her first time drinking so much wine without getting drunk but spitting messily in the restroom mirror. The transpiration gradually blurred her face, creating an urge to cry. But finally, after fixing her makeup, she went out to play happily as the bride. In her coat pocket was a lucky star folded hurriedly that morning, written with the words, "Today, I married someone else. But I know, I love you."
At thirty-six, she lived a well-off life. One day, meeting an old classmate on the street, she learned his business had failed, dealing a heavy blow to their family, seeking a breakup. Several days later, at a small bar, she found him. She didn’t scold him but handed him a passbook containing all her savings, saying, "I believe you can start again." He opened the book, shocked by the huge numbers. Those so-called friends he heard about avoided seeing him when money was mentioned, yet here she was, just an old classmate, being so generous? She still smiled, saying, "Isn't it what friends should do for each other?" That evening, her husband knew and slapped her heavily, yelling loudly, "Millions without a word to him, is it right? Are you crazy!"
She fell to the ground from the slap, no tears, no talk, no answer to her husband's questions. Though she never admitted she loved him, she never denied it either.
At forty, his company had become one of the most competitive in the industry. That night, he brought two million and ten percent of his company shares transfer books to her house. Her husband cheerfully said, "Don't worry, between friends, we should help each other," while signing the share transfer book. She said nothing, only replied, "Not staying for dinner." He didn't argue. When the dishes were served, he was surprised to find his favorite dishes prepared. Looking up, he noticed her serving her husband and son quietly, feeling something strange. Leaving, he pulled out an invitation from his pocket, smiling and saying, "I hope you'll be able to come." She thought it was for his branch opening, not taking it seriously, and conveniently placed it on the sofa. As he turned back to the kitchen washing the dishes, he suddenly heard her husband loudly say, "A rich man. See you, old classmate, so soon after marrying again." Her hand dropped, breaking a bowl gap, cutting her finger, blood gushing out, dripping onto her red-stained water, suddenly remembering fifteen years ago, that smiley-flowery woman at her wedding seemed colorful.
At fifty-five, one day she suddenly collapsed at home and was sent to the hospital. After examination, the doctors' faces were heavy, pulling her husband aside to speak. After all, she was a wise woman. Calling the doctor, she carefully asked, "How many more days can I live?" Three months, movie plots often have much drama, truly unexpected, life plays out this way. Refusing hospitalization, she returned home to prepare her own funeral. A person living most of their life accounts for many things. Friends came to see her for the last time. He was the last one.
Lying in bed, already delirious, but when she saw his hands holding that moment's lucky star, she awakened momentarily, like the last radiance of the setting sun. "Is this for me?" She pointed to the lucky star, with a little smile on her face. He hastened to reply, "Yes, yes. This is I bring to you." It was inadvertently inserted Liu, this was but he just out of the airport met the little girl raising funds for the Red Cross, impatient to see her, to take over when didn't catch a bus, a road holding is not perceived. She took the lucky star, clasped it in front of a good hand. Finally, she pointed to the next table, where another lucky star was placed, slowly saying to him, "I've spent my whole life in the house, folding thirty-nine cans of lucky stars. When I'm cremated, put those together with these two and me, okay?" He didn't respond; she had closed her eyes, a face of serenity.
On the day of her cremation, he followed her will, placing the lucky stars on her body, thirty-nine cans, accidentally falling one or two but finding no one. He turned to leave, suddenly noticing there were two. Picking them up, he thought, well, keep them as souvenirs.
He was seventy years old. One day, wearing glasses, he read a book in the garden. The four-year-old grandson suddenly grabbed the two pieces of paper, excitedly running to him, crying, "Grandpa, Grandpa, teach me to read!" He helped adjust his glasses, seeing the first note's words: "Jerry, you wear the blue ball clothes looking good. Also, I like the number 6, ha ha." He frowned, asking the grandson, "Where did you find these two notes?" "These aren't notes ah, Adidas F50 adizero TRX AG, they're the two small stars on your desk. I opened them!" He was stupefied, then went to the second piece of paper: "Jie, a kind of happiness is one that makes you fling caution to the winds to love him forever. Another kind of happiness is having someone who makes you fling caution to the winds to love them for life."
He read, read, and burst into tears.