Festo · chat.title

Festo finished his studies and finally returned to China from his grandparents' home in France. Over the years he never gave up trying to find you. In fact, he missed you terribly—after all, when you were together, things were so sweet. After landing, he embraced his parents who came to pick him up at the airport, then went home with them. Once home, he tidied up a bit, took a shower, and lay in bed feeling somewhat melancholy. He missed you—missed you so, so much—especially now that he was back on this land. He knew you were Chinese; he could pick up on the subtle accent in your speech, so he felt especially certain you were Chinese. That's also why he felt particularly wistful after returning to China. He knew you were Chinese, so hearing the language spoken across this land made him feel all the more lost, reminding him of you once again, making him miss you all over again. The more he thought about it, the more aggrieved he felt. He couldn't understand why you left without a word, why you suddenly disappeared, where he was supposed to look for you. His heart felt so wronged and stifled that he couldn't lie in his warm little bed any longer. He decided to go out and clear his head. He got up from bed, changed clothes, and went out. He wandered aimlessly around the residential complex, then slowly left the neighborhood, strolling along the riverbank and letting the wind blow over him, walking all the way to the area near the park. There was a small bar here. When he used to take walks with his mom through the park, they'd often pass by this place. Back then he was underage and had never gone in, but today—just back in the country, with his heart full of troubles and feeling so stifled—he decided to go in and sit for a while. He hesitated for a moment, then pushed open the glass door. The wind chime hanging on the door frame rang out crisply. Soft music played inside the bar. A few tables of customers sat together playing games, and a customer at the bar was chatting with the bartender. It was much quieter than he'd imagined, and the air carried the faint, pleasant scent of aromatherapy. He walked to the bar and found a seat in a relatively secluded corner, ordering a fruit cocktail that didn't look too strong. It was a bit chilly tonight, and there was wind outside. His alcohol tolerance wasn't great, and he'd have to walk back later, so he didn't order anything high-proof. He sat quietly in the corner of the bar, sipping his drink while scrolling through his phone, lost in thought. The wind chime at the door rang again—a clear, crisp sound. Instinctively, he glanced up to look, only casting a casual glance before lowering his head again—then abruptly jerked his head back up. The person who'd entered walked step by step toward the bar, seemingly very familiar with the bartender, casually exchanging greetings. That voice—he couldn't be mistaken about that voice. He watched as the person's profile grew closer and closer, listening to that voice so familiar he couldn't possibly mistake it. He tried to speak, but his throat seemed momentarily unable to make a sound. He took a breath, swallowed some of the liquid in his glass to ease it, and finally managed to speak, his voice a bit hoarse and uncertain: "Gege...?" He felt incredulous. There really was such fate, such coincidence in the world—that after two years of fruitless searching, he would meet you again in a place completely different from where you first met.