Imperial College London, lecture hall.
When Russell arrived, Mary was already seated in her usual spot. Today her hairstyle was different. Her smooth silver hair was not tied back but flowed freely over her shoulders. The ends curled slightly inward, catching the morning light with a warm, gentle sheen.
When the girl tilted her head, a few strands fell around her cheeks and swayed softly.
Russell momentarily lost his voice.
At that moment, Mary happened to look up. Their eyes met, and the corners of her eyes crinkled as she gave him a gentle smile.
It felt as though he had glimpsed a moment of pure beauty.
"Morning."
"Morning."
Russell sat beside her and asked casually, "Why is your hair down today?"
Mary did not answer immediately. She tilted her head and gazed at him with her blue eyes, as if seriously considering the question.
"Because… today is a special day?"
She spoke in a lightly sarcastic tone.
Russell raised one eyebrow slightly.
"Special?"
"Mm." Mary nodded and casually tucked the strands that had fallen behind her ear, revealing half of her delicate earlobe.
"On special days, special outfits are appropriate, don't you think?"
Especially for special people.
Those were words the girl had been too shy to say aloud.
She had spoken so matter-of-factly that Russell unconsciously had to recall what day it was.
It was neither a holiday nor an exam day, nor anything worth marking on the calendar.
Just an ordinary Thursday.
Oh, right. Today is Thursday.
Russell suddenly understood and looked at her with an amused yet slightly exasperated expression.
"That's the only reason?"
"Is that not enough?"
Mary blinked and countered.
"Or… did someone forget?"
"Of course I didn't forget."
Russell answered without hesitation and reached into his backpack, pulling out an oil-paper bag.
"But now I'm suddenly worried that what I made might not live up to such high expectations."
Mary looked down at the oil-stained paper bag but did not immediately reach for it. She leaned forward like a curious cat, bringing her nose close enough that it almost touched the wrapping.
A few strands of hair slipped from her shoulder and fell onto the edge of the desk, shimmering with a soft silver light in the morning sun.
"Mmm, it smells wonderful."
She spoke quietly, then lifted her eyes to Russell.
"You made it yourself?"
"Of course." Russell pushed the bag toward her. "We had an agreement, didn't we?"
The girl smiled, the corners of her eyes crinkling, and reached out to accept the bag. A faint warmth still lingered inside the paper, and through the thin wrapping she could feel the shape and heat of the food within.
With delicate fingers she carefully untied the loosely knotted twine, then slowly unfolded the oil paper.
A sandwich lay quietly on top.
The bread was perfectly toasted to an even golden brown, edges slightly crisp. Inside were a pale-yellow fried egg, caramel-colored bacon, and several bright green lettuce leaves. Oil had seeped into the surface of the bread, giving it an appetizing sheen in the morning light.
Mary stared at the carefully prepared toast as though checking its temperature.
"Then I won't stand on ceremony."
She spoke quietly, as if announcing an important ritual.
Mary picked up the sandwich and took a small bite. Her chewing was slow and careful.
Russell watched her, feeling oddly nervous.
"How is it?"
Mary did not answer right away. She chewed twice more, then raised her hand and gently covered her lips with her fingertips—an elegant gesture to hide the act of chewing.
"Well…"
She nodded. "It's delicious."
Those two words were light yet warm, easing the anxiety in Russell's chest.
"That's good."
He smiled. "I was worried the egg might be overcooked."
Russell had not prepared a large amount, so Mary finished the small sandwich in no time. Though she felt slightly unsatisfied, she had no desire to ask for more. Some things become more unforgettable precisely because they leave a trace of regret.
Like the arms of Venus, or this sandwich. At most, it was only a light meal.
"No." Mary shook her head, a fresh smile blooming like morning dew. "Everything was perfect."
She took another small bite and savored it slowly. The savory aroma of bacon, the softness of the fried egg, the crispness of the lettuce, and the wheaty flavor of the toast blended perfectly in her mouth, creating layer upon layer of flavor.
It was nothing fancy—just an ordinary breakfast. Yet to Mary, it tasted far better than the expensive, exquisite desserts at the Phaidon Tearoom.
She suddenly understood why flashy but impractical restaurants had so many fans. For some people, the atmosphere created while eating was extremely important.
…
The morning classes passed in a flash.
Mary listened attentively, taking many notes, occasionally turning her head to whisper to Russell about words she had missed. Her hair brushed against his shoulder from time to time, carrying a faint fragrance.
Russell found it difficult to concentrate fully.
Although that was usually not easy.
But today was different.
Not because she interrupted, but because she looked different… How should he describe it? Fresh and full of vitality.
It was not the usual perfectly timed, appropriate smile.
Instead, when he told a clichéd joke, she suddenly burst out laughing and hurriedly covered her mouth with her hand.
When he yawned, she glanced at him, then casually looked away.
When the professor pointed to someone to answer a question, he lightly touched the back of that person's hand with his little finger to indicate the page with the answer.
Such tiny, almost negligible moments were like dust particles illuminated by sunlight, quietly floating in the air.
They carried something indescribable that warmed the heart.
By the time afternoon classes ended, the sky had already turned a reddish-orange with the sunset glow.
The two packed their things as usual and walked out through the school gate.
"The interview is the day after tomorrow, right?"
Mary stopped and turned toward Russell.
"Are you nervous?"
"I'm fine."
Russell said, "I already know what I should say, and I've already spoken with the people at Fleet Street."
"That's good."
The girl nodded and pulled her off-white cashmere coat more snugly around her shoulders. The evening breeze was cold and stirred a few strands of her hair.
"Then I'll look forward to the newspaper the day after tomorrow."
The girl spoke quietly.
"Rather than looking forward to that, I'll look forward to the expression on your father's face when he reads the newspaper."
Russell said.
Hearing this, Mary couldn't help but laugh. In the twilight, her smile looked especially gentle.
The girl turned and walked toward the carriage. After two steps she looked back.
"Russell."
"Mm?"
"I'm very happy today."
She spoke in a very small voice—so small it seemed it might be blown away by the wind.
Then she quickly turned around, lifted her skirt, and hurried toward the carriage.
The curtain fell, hiding her slender figure.
Russell stood there, watching the carriage rumble away and disappear around the street corner.
A gentle evening breeze carried the crisp air unique to early winter nights.
…
…
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