Just one more, she thinks, pale fingers reaching out to pluck one more statice.

It's 5:00 AM on a cold and rainy late-autumn morning. No one to yell at her for plucking flowers. Just an empty street as far as her eyes can see.

Ai walks on, pulling her thick muffler around the lower half of her face. She wonders if she'd be annoyed on any other day at the fact that one of her hands is icy-cold right now—holding her bouquet of statice together—and the other's even worse, holding up her umbrella.

Probably yes.

She quickly crosses over to a street with a few more people and some 24-hour cafés. One of her favorites is located at the end of this street and she can't wait to be inside its warm interiors.

Ai hugs herself—or makes a move closest to that in her current situation—and moves on. She momentarily raises her face out of the warm layer of her muffler, just to exhale and watch her breath puff up in front of her face.

Her steps come to a sudden stop at the turn, her neck craning just a little to read the small, almost ignorable, board of her favorite café: Miel.

Its lights flicker every now and then, and Ai just stands and observes it for a while—white light flickering against a dark early morning sky.

"Who would know you hold so many memories?"

But soon, the cold gets the best of her and she climbs the few steps and makes her way in.

She places her dripping umbrella near the door and looks around.

The café is almost empty—just an old couple sitting on the more comfortable armchairs around a small coffee table, and sharing a pot of coffee and what looks like a slice of cake.

Ai smiles sadly at them, before making her way to her usual seat by the window. She likes to be able to see the world even when she's indoors.

He liked it, too.

A young boy makes his way over to her to take down her order. Ai orders the usual: a medium-sized cup of hot chocolate with a large chocolate chip cookie.

All these years and her tastes haven't changed.

She smiles at the thought.

From her seat, Ai can see the street where she first met him in the distance. It looks the same as it did six years ago: its walls and pavements soaked in water, its road close to being flooded.

If she makes her way through that street, it'll take her an extra twenty minutes. But Ai has all the time in the world. She decides to walk down that street again.

As if given a mild shock, she jumps up in her seat when she remembers she still has to tie her bouquet.

She sets the flowers on the table, takes off her muffler and coat, and places them on the chair across her. Then she reaches for her bag, pulling out a long purple ribbon.

She remembers him telling her about the reasons why purple is the best color, and her sad smile reappears.

The same boy brings her order and carefully places it around the flowers on her table. Ai smiles at him both apologetically and gratefully.

She decides to let her drink cool down while she gathers the flowers and ties them together with the ribbon. Then, taking a small card out her bag, she writes her name on it.

"Ai?" His soft voice whispered in her ear.

She'd groaned. It was too early in the morning for the oncoming joke.

"Yixing~" she drawled, "not now. Let me sleep."

But he ignored it. "Ai?" he sang this time, his hand resting on her waist. "Ai?"

She groaned again. 

"Ai? Ai, look at me. Please."

One last groan and she forced her eyes open, turning over to look at him smiling cheekily. "Hmm?"

"Ai, wo ai ni~." His smile widened, turning into a grin and then a small chuckle. 

"XingXing," Ai had said, not finding anything better for a comeback.

Yixing chuckled again and held her even closer. 

Ai reaches forward and takes a small bite of her cookie.

There was no hesitation, no apprehension . . .

She puts the bouquet aside and focuses on her excuse for a breakfast, her gaze fixed on her favorite street now.

She was just an ordinary girl, making her way out of