Song Xinglan
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The entryway lamp cast a warm glow, yet it failed to bridge the distance between them.
Song Jin gripped the handle of his suitcase, looking toward the figure on the couch.
Song Xinglan clutched a basketball, his knuckles whitening slightly as he lifted his gaze to look over.
Not a single word of greeting was spoken.
The boy's eyes were cold, as though looking at a stranger.
A ten-year void lay quietly between them.Please log in to continue the conversation.