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The gentle hum1 of the background noise around her faded out as she contemplated2 his face. To the untrained3 eye, he seemed relatively4 calm, but she knew he was struggling with something, and she looked around to see if anything could explain his unease5. As her eyes ran across the familiar coffee shop, memories flooded her brain; how many times had they sat in the exact spot they were nestled6 in now? How many evenings had they spent together in this place? She couldn’t even begin to fathom an answer. She opened her mouth to ask him the questions she was mulling over, but he spoke before she had the chance to.

“How many times we’ve sat in here throughout the years?” he mumbled rhetorically7, fixedly8 studying her face. She didn’t answer. There was a strange stillness in his actions, an unnatural undertone9 in his voice that only she could pick up on, and she knew the question was a futile prelude10 to what he really wanted to tell her. He gently cupped her hands into his, drew a deep breath, and looked at her admiringly11 for a while. With a final glance at the coffee on the table before them, a subconscious12 final look into his own soul, he drew another deep breath and settled his gaze on her face once again. He was never one to beat around the bush, never one to use superfluous13 words or embellish14 a situation more than was needed. Her heart pounded.

“For this to work out in the long run, I need some time to myself now. I need you to understand that.”

It took her a few minutes to understand the implication of what he had said. She looked down at the spot he had looked at just a few seconds before, she too subconsciously hoping to find his soul somewhere in the cold dregs of coffee. She could not look up. Like a statue, frozen in time and space: completely voiceless and unmoving except for the constant stream of tears falling from her glazed eyes. She felt her throat tighten and her stomach rebel while. She didn’t say anything for a long time, and neither did he. Her head pounded with the insatiable15 beat of her slowly breaking heart. They always understood each other like that. Silent, she nodded. She understood. Tears relentlessly running down her face, she nodded, her fingers still entwined16 in his, her gaze still locked with his. Closing her eyes she raised her arms and kissed his hands. She slowly got up and put her coat on. It felt irregularly heavy, as if bricks had been sewn on to the edges in those excruciating17 minutes of silence between them.

The glacial winter air stung her face and she realized she didn’t have the courage to walk home, so she sat on the curb18 of the sidewalk and stared out into the white snowy abyss stretched out ahead of her. After what seemed like ages, she heard the door of the coffee shop behind her squeak open. She instinctively knew it was him: from day one, as if bound together by something invisible, she could recognize the vibrations19 of his step. He walked passed her, his footsteps breaking the eerie silence of the deserted snow-covered street. She wondered where he was going, but almost immediately she realized that it shouldn’t matter to her anymore. She couldn’t help the sob that escaped her.

It took all the strength he had to keep from looking back. He walked away from her, loving her more than ever, tears streaming down his own face, the promise of one day walking toward her being the only motive he had to keep walking away.（责编：张楚武）

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