There was just pure, unfiltered remorse and longing etched across Yang Lingyun's face.
His hand hovering near her fair cheek as if seeking permission, desperate to bridge the chasm he had created between them. "I was a fool," he whispered. "And if I could take it all back, I would. But… please believe me, Lili. You've always been the only one."
The dam broke. Xia Lihua's chest heaved as tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision. Her lips parted, but no sound came out. The pain of his confession mingled with the memories she had buried—of stolen glances, of secret hopes, of nights spent recording her heart into melodies meant only for him.
It was difficult for her to breathe.
She didn't know what to feel—anger, sorrow, longing, or all three at once.
