Some stories begin before the first glance.Long before the first word.Stories stitched together by a thread no one can see, yet it stretches across distances, across years, and never breaks.
Sometimes, this thread weaves through silences, beneath ordinary days, as if it were asleep.But it is there—always—waiting for the right moment to pull tight.
That night, the rain didn't fall—it beat against the world.The tin roof quivered under the weight of the drops, the sound echoing through the small room like a steady drum.The scent of wet earth slipped in through the half-closed window, mingling with the warm, sweet aroma of ginger tea forgotten on the side table.
The dim light of an old lamp flickered with every roll of thunder, casting shadows that danced across the peeling walls.At the center of it all, a narrow bed.There, a very young woman—far younger than the weight on her shoulders would suggest—held the baby with trembling hands.
Sweat rolled down her forehead, mingling with tears she could not tell were from pain, fear, or relief.She looked at the tiny, fragile face now breathing with effort and, in a voice almost lost to the noise of the rain, whispered:
— Su Yue… this will be your name.
And, after a pause, as if speaking to the entire universe:— I will fight for you…
At that exact moment, a bolt of thunder split the sky, and the light flickered as if sealing that vow.The little girl's hands twitched, as though answering her mother's touch.And the rain, once fierce, softened into a lullaby—a deep, silent murmur, saying that even in darkness, blessings could be hidden.
While the night guarded Su Yue's promise, somewhere else, the morning was being born with Zhou Yichen.
The sun streamed through the wide hospital windows, painting the corridors and the pale maternity walls in gold.The air was clean, fresh, with a faint scent of flowers from the vase beside the bed.
Inside the room, the strong cry of a newborn mingled with the distant sound of footsteps and muffled voices.The father, still wearing a wrinkled shirt and a work badge clipped to his pocket, cradled his son carefully, as if holding his very future.
— Zhou Yichen… — he said, his smile almost too wide for his face.— You will have the courage to face anything.
The mother, propped up on pillows, watched with tear-brimmed eyes.The father stepped toward a bag on the armchair, opened it, and carefully pulled out something neatly folded: a blue scarf.Its fabric was soft, its color like a summer sky after the rain.
He placed it gently beside the baby in the portable incubator.— To protect you. Always.
The morning light caught on the fabric, and for a moment it seemed as though that color held a piece of the day itself.The baby, his face still red from crying, calmed as if recognizing the gesture.
Two different worlds. Two distant beginnings.But the thread was already there, invisible… waiting for the moment to pull.