"Yara..."
He called out repeatedly, the echoes of his own voice resonating in the empty room.
He twisted his head searching, those deep narrow eyes gradually lost their focus, becoming hollow and pale.
He seed like a lost child, searching the world over.
Searching for what?
Searching for his heart.
His heart was lost.
He opened the door, ran outside, the man dressed in black silk pajamas, the chilly autumn wind made his pajamas flap noisily.
The night’s wind rises, and with it cos a sense of loss.
His steps were hurried and chaotic, no longer composed as before, he ran all the way, leaving a trail of blood like blooming poppies, deadly and hauntingly beautiful.
Yara!
He must find his Yara.
At this mont, a familiar sweet voice sounded by his ear, "Jude."
Jude Crawford halted, quickly turned around, a slender figure erged from the darkness, Isabelle Willow.
Feeling thirsty at night, Isabelle Willow had simply gotten up to pour so water, and soon she heard Jude Crawford’s voice.
She ca over, and indeed saw him, along with...his trail of blood.
"Jude, what happened to you?" Isabelle Willow swiftly approached him.
Jude Crawford reached out, pulling her into his arms, burying his handso face in her hair, "Yara, so you were here, I’ve been looking for you for so long."
He lowered his head, kissing her forehead, murmuring, "Yara, I missed you."
He said, Yara, I missed you.
Truly, truly missed you.
Twenty years have passed, and this belated "I missed you."
He held her tightly, tighter and tighter.
"Jude, what’s wrong with you, are you feeling unwell, your foot is hurt, let take a look..."
The next second, Isabelle Willow’s words ceased abruptly, for she felt her cheeks damp, tears falling onto her face.
He...
Isabelle Willow’s pupils contracted.
Jude Crawford, though holding her tightly, still felt empty inside, lacking any sense of security.
A layer of mist gathered in his eyes, the mist thickened, and finally, drop after drop of tears fell down.
He began to cry, his broad shoulders trembling, crying incessantly.
He held her, crying painfully.
The path of love in this life has been rocky, his face still young, but his heart has aged, a short few decades traversed like crossing vast seas.
Climbing mountains and crossing ridges, bearing traces of the years.
There’s no sweet scene in the mory, this love-hate entanglent makes recalling it painful.
Never obtained, always waiting.
Never loved, yet still losing.
The softest part of his persistent heart in this life was given to her.
She was like poison, making him gravely ill.
One drop, two drops, three drops of tears... falling on Isabelle Willow’s face, wetting her small face.
Jude Crawford hurriedly wiped them for her, in the end wetting his own hands, smudging her face.
Would his Yara be angry?
Jude Crawford forced a smile, one that was seemingly ingratiating.
He smiled ingratiatingly, cried in distress, at this mont, this business titan on life’s last train was crying and laughing like a fool.
Isabelle Willow felt a strong panic, a deep panic, she was scared, she had never seen Jude Crawford like this.
She never knew that Jude Crawford, this man, could cry.
A bad premonition swirled in her heart, causing it to plumt rapidly, "Jude, what’s wrong with you, I’m right here, I won’t leave again."
Jude Crawford gradually cald down, but his face was very pale, his eyes filled with deep sorrow and farewell, "Yara, I’m fine, don’t be afraid."
"Then let’s hurry back to the room, you’re hurt."
Isabelle Willow held his large hand, leading him back to the room.
...
In the room, Isabelle Willow took out a dical box to treat his wounds, those fragnts of glass deeply embedded in the flesh of his soles, she used sterilized tweezers to pull out the pieces one by one.
Her heart ached painfully, she didn’t know he was hurt so badly, stepping on so many shards of glass.
"Jude, I’ll call the doctor to co to help you handle it, so the wound doesn’t get infected and inflad." Isabelle Willow stood up.
Jude Crawford grasped her small hand, gently shaking his head, "Yara, I’m a bit tired, let’s call the doctor tomorrow, I want to hold you and sleep for a while."
Isabelle Willow turned back to look at him, at this mont he was quietly sitting on the bed, fatigue heavy in his eyebrows.
Soon, she saw his temples, there... seed to be strands of white hair.
Isabelle Willow stiffened, then slowly raised her hand to touch his hair.
One strand, two strands, three strands...
Those white hairs were too many to count, with the storm of the night, he suddenly aged.
Isabelle Willow felt her heart being gripped tightly by a large hand, the pain making it hard to breathe.
"What’s wrong?" he asked.
Isabelle Willow quickly shook her head, "Nothing, Jude, let’s sleep."
She didn’t want to tell him, plan to buy hair dye tomorrow and dye his white hair black.
At this mont, Isabelle Willow didn’t know, tomorrow after tomorrow, lost so many years between them, ti had been exhausted in twenty years of waiting, she and he would stop at tonight, with no more tomorrow.
The two lay on the bed, Jude Crawford stretched out his strong arm, holding her in his embrace, Isabelle Willow rested on his arm, listening to the strong beating of his heart, feeling sowhat comforted.
"Jude, what happened to you today?" she asked softly while lying in his arms.
Jude Crawford closed his eyes, "Nothing, just had a nightmare, dreaming you left again."
Isabelle Willow felt a sharp pain in her heart, she reached out and hugged his waist, her eyes red.
"Yara, I love you, do you know that?"
Isabelle Willow sniffed her reddened nose, nodding forcefully, "Yes, I know."
"But, I love you, and I’ve loved enough in this life, if there’s an afterlife, I don’t wish to et you again." His voice was deep like an ancient bell, telling her slowly.
He never believed in past lives, but if there truly is an afterlife, he hopes not to et her again.
Loved enough, hurt enough, waited enough, if there’s another lifeti, he wouldn’t want ti to start over, hoping to et soone to enjoy being loved, to fill the regret of unrequited love in this life, he wishes for that person to treat him gently.
Isabelle Willow clutched at his clothes, "Jude, I..."
Jude Crawford closed his eyes, interrupting her words, "Zane..."
Isabelle Willow’s heart skipped a beat; it was the first ti he ntioned Zane Crawford to her.
Jude Crawford didn’t open his eyes, just drew a gentle curve, "Although I have never admitted it over the years, because he was by my side, I felt the days weren’t so hard to endure, so, I truthfully raised Zane as a son, Yara, I... really like him."
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