The train from Italy to France hummed like a lullaby, gliding through the white fields of Switzerland before slipping quietly into Alsace.
Qing Yun dozed with her head against Ze Yan's shoulder, fingers still looped around his wrist.
Every few minutes the sunlight flashed through the window and caught the gold band on her hand.
When the train slowed, the sign outside read "Strasbourg."
Ze Yan nudged her gently. "Wake up, Mrs. Gu."
Her eyes opened halfway, voice husky. "Still not used to that."
"You'd better be," he said, brushing a loose strand of hair away from her cheek. "I'm planning to call you that for the next sixty years."
---
The Cathedral and the Crêpe Shop
Strasbourg in winter smelled of sugar and snow. Half-timbered houses leaned toward the narrow streets, their roofs powdered with frost.
They walked hand in hand past the cathedral, its spire cutting into a gray-blue sky.
Qing Yun stopped at a corner stall. "You're not supposed to eat breakfast and dessert at the same time, right?"
"Not supposed to," he said. "Allowed to."
She bought two crêpes, steam curling from the paper. The vendor smiled at them, switching to English, "Honeymoon?"
Ze Yan glanced at Qing Yun and answered simply, "Yes."
She bit back a laugh as they walked away. "You didn't even hesitate."
"I waited five years. Why hide now?"
They sat on a bench near the river, sharing the crêpes. Powdered sugar landed on his sleeve; she brushed it off with her thumb.
"Careful," he murmured, catching her hand. "Dangerous gesture in public."
"Strasbourg feels safe," she said.
He leaned closer. "No city is safe from you."
---
Afternoon in Colmar
They rented a small car and drove south through the wine route until the streets narrowed again into pastel fairy-tale houses reflected in the canals.
Colmar looked unreal—tiny bridges, lanterns, winter roses in window boxes.
Qing Yun took photo after photo, fascinated by how even the quiet corners looked like paintings.
"Do you know," she said, "people here repaint their shutters every spring, even if the color is the same?"
He smiled. "Maintenance instead of renovation. You like that philosophy."
"It's the same as restoration," she said, looking up. "Preserve what time gives you, not erase it."
He watched her eyes light up; the way she spoke reminded him of why he'd fallen for her in the first place.
"You talk about old houses," he said, "but you really mean hearts."
She blinked at him. "You've been reading too many romantic reports."
"I've been reading you," he said simply.
---
The Bookshop and the Rain
In the afternoon, drizzle began to fall. They ducked into a small bookshop café, warm with the smell of paper and coffee.
Qing Yun browsed through old art books while Ze Yan ordered hot chocolate.
When he found her again, she was crouched near a shelf labeled "Letters and Love."
He handed her the mug. "Found something dangerous?"
"Only people who felt too much," she said, showing him an old French letter collection. The pages were yellowed, ink faint.
"Read one," he said.
She translated softly: 'If you return, I will not ask why you left, only why it took you so long.'
The silence that followed was gentle. Ze Yan reached out, brushing her fingers.
"Five years," he said quietly. "Worth every second if it leads here."
She smiled faintly. "You sound like a confession."
"It is," he said.
---
Evening Dinner
They found a hidden bistro on a narrow cobblestone lane, where the tables were lit by small candles in glass jars.
A string quartet played in the corner; the air smelled of butter and thyme.
Qing Yun rested her chin on her hand, watching him. "You actually look relaxed. No phone, no board meeting."
He raised his glass. "I outsourced the stress."
"To who?"
"To Chen Rui. He'll survive."
She laughed softly, the sound melting into the quiet room. "You really trust him that much?"
"I trust you more," he said.
"Flattery in a wine bar?"
"Truth," he corrected.
They lingered over dinner, talking about everything except work — stray cats, childhood snacks, what color she should repaint the study wall when they returned.
When she told him she wanted a pale green like old book covers, he promised, "Then you'll have it before spring."
---
The Midnight Walk
The rain had stopped by the time they left the restaurant. Streets glistened under the lamps; water dripped from roofs in slow rhythm.
They walked without talking, the sound of their steps mingling with the faint church bells.
Qing Yun slipped her hand into his coat pocket again, like she always did in cold cities.
He looked down at her, eyes full of quiet fondness. "Habitual."
"It's efficient," she said. "Keeps me warm."
"And keeps me anchored."
They stopped on a small bridge overlooking the canal. Reflections of colored houses trembled on the water.
She whispered, "Ze Yan… do you ever think we're too lucky?"
He turned to her. "We earned this."
"I just worry," she said softly, "that I'll bring you bad luck. Everything I touch seems to fall apart."
He caught her chin, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Too late."
"What?"
"Too late to worry. I already decided to stay broken with you, if it ever happens."
She laughed through a small sigh. "That's not romantic."
"It's honest."
He brushed a kiss against her forehead. "We'll build again, as many times as it takes."
---
The Postcard Home
The next morning, Qing Yun mailed another card to Liangcheng.
The houses here look like candy. The air smells like rain and baked apples.
He keeps calling me Mrs. Gu — I think I'm finally starting to answer.
Ze Yan watched her from the car, leaning against the door. "Ready for the next stop?"
She nodded, slipping into the seat. "Where to now?"
He smiled. "Somewhere colder, maybe quieter."
"Another secret?"
"Another promise," he said.
As the car rolled out of Colmar, she leaned her head on his shoulder, eyes half-closed. The morning sun spilled over the hills like honey.
For once, neither of them said anything. The silence itself felt complete — the kind of peace you only find when you've come home, no matter how far away you are.