In the dimly lit room at night, Adrian sat on the sofa, his eyes lowered, staring at the lighter on the coffee table, motionless.
This was the lighter Serena had bought with her debate competition prize money, and also the first love gift she had ever given him.
That snowy night, she had lain on his broad back, her warm breath brushing past his ear: "When I make money in the future, I'll buy you a better one."
Now she was gone, and this thing was broken too.
Perhaps the night made people impulsive, or maybe the aftereffects of the whiskey were too strong. Adrian picked up his phone, habitually opened his chat with Serena, his fingertips tapping and deleting on the screen over and over, until in the end, he only sent one line:
"The lighter you picked doesn't work anymore."
The moment the message was sent, a bright red exclamation mark stabbed into his eyes like a needle.
She'd already blocked his number; how could she have kept him on WeChat?
