Though he was inwardly complaining, seeing the person in his arms with reddened eyes, their delicate eyeliner almost smudged by the tears hanging at the corners of their eyes, Wen Nan sighed softly. He raised his arm from the other's shoulder and gently stroked their soft hair.
As the hair was brushed, a faint fragrance of freesia quietly wafted into Wen Nan's nose.
The familiar, intoxicating shampoo scent, combined with the dim environment of the cinema, made Wen Nan's consciousness somewhat hazy.
He lowered his eyes, looking at the woman leaning against his chest, her delicate face, and said softly:
"Why are you so silly, it's just a movie after all, it's not real."
Upon hearing this, Guan Ailin slightly raised her head, looking up at Wen Nan, her curled lashes blinking.
