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The bright light from the street lamp bathed her in a glow reminiscent of moonlight, tinting her pure white knitted dress with a faint hue of orange.

A gentle breeze came, and Jasmine Yale lightly brushed away her tousled hair.

Joe Heath watched from behind the floor-length window.

If she turned her head, she could see him there at the window.

But, even as she climbed into a taxi, she didn’t lookback.

Joe Heath drained his glass of red wine.

No sooner had Jasmine entered the car than Sylvan Cheney’s phone call came through again.

Reluctantly, she had to answer it.

“Mr. Cheney.”

“Why didn’t you answer my call just now?”

Sylvan suppressed his anger, but his voice carried a hint of frostiness.

“Busy.”

“What are you busy with so late?”

“Do I need to report my every move to you?”

“Little Chale can’t finish his homework, why didn’t you come back?”

Jasmine was taken aback.

Once Sylvan brought up Little Chale, she was at a loss.

No matter who Chale Cheney’s mother was, the little fellow was innocent.

“I see.” Jasmine responded indifferently.

During Sylvan’s absence from Landon, she had thought about what to do.

She was afraid that the little guy might grow attached to her, terrified that he would cry heart-wrenchingly when she left.

“Jasmine Yale, just stay put at Cheney Residence. Don’t harbor any other intentions, or else, don’t blame me for not being courteous.” Sylvan warned her coldly.

Jasmine paused. Was her little ruse that obvious?

She held her phone, unable to utter a word for a good while.

Not hearing Jasmine’s voice, Sylvan thought he had scared her, so he softened his tone.

“Wait for me.”

Jasmine glanced out of the window—

The wind was picking up outside, with a few raindrops hitting the window.

Droplets of water started to cling to the car window, slowly forming trails.

The car was extremely quiet, so quiet that she could hear the sound of raindrops hitting the window.

Drip, drip…

“Speak.” Sylvan’s voice, a little irritated, came from the other end of the phone.

Only then did Jasmine snap out of her reverie: “It’s raining.”

“What?”

“Nothing, Mr. Cheney. Is there anything else? If not, let’s hang up.”

“Feeling down?”

“Rain inevitably reminds you of depressing things.” Jasmine responded, her voice flat.

She gazed out of the window with a dreamy look.

Under the rain, the lights blurred into patches, colored halos blooming one after another.

Red and green, they were like blooming flowers in spring.

“Wait for me.”

He repeated the same words again.

All of a sudden, he remembered how it used to be at the Cheney Residence.

Every night, she would wait for him to come home, sometimes falling asleep on the couch when it got too late.

Each time, she would say, “I’m waiting for you.”

She had waited for him from the age of eight until she turned twenty.

Twelve years.

He also remembered the notes in that candy box, every single word, every single sentence.

Jasmine half-heartedly responded with a noncommittal “Mm”, and hung up.

The rain outside started to get heavier, and the wind began blowing.

The Cheney Residence was situated in a secluded area, and as the car drove further into the quiet, the surroundings became even more tranquil. The rustling sound of the leaves could be heard as the wind blew through the trees.

The rain was beating on the window with a pitapat sound, the air chilly.

It rarely thundered in late autumn. Jasmine wasn’t scared, but she felt a bit gloomy.

It was as if a weight of a thousand pounds was pressing on her heart, and her breath was slightly labored.

“Miss, you live in a villa area. How come there’s no driver to pick you up?” The taxi driver asked curiously.

Jasmine smiled: “I’m a home tutor here. I’m not really a local.”

“I see.”

The driver didn’t continue the conversation..