Clear signs of the Spring
淸明 [4] / [9]
"That's how you're going to ask me? Alone, in my apartment? That's hardly romantic."
Alexander, grinning and standing up, chuckled.
"So what do you say?"
he asked, brushing himself off.
She kissed him hard on the mouth, and led him back into the bedroom.
In the office, they scrutinized endless documents again to no end. Alexander was actually getting sick of all this. The chief officer called them up to his own office almost everyday to demand of them a report on how much progress they've made.
Cynthia didn't care much about that, since she thought this kind of questioning from their boss was inevitable, but, to Alexander, this was too stressful an affront on almost every working day.
They gradually sketched out their wedding plans very slowly because of work. But once they made sure of each other’s true hearts, the slowness of the process became more bearable.
Alexander put the documents aside, and leaned back in his chair. They searching through, compiling, analyzing information. It was exhausting, and seemed to yield more questions than answers; still, Alexander wasn't the doubtful type.
He peeped at Cynthia. They'd tried not to be so close, even privately, while working. But Alexander broke the taboo.
"I want to run away from all this."
Cynthia frowned, lifting her head up to see him. He crossed his fingers together at the back to his head, leaning on his chair, obviously not wanting to work.
She asked,
"Then what do you want to do if you quit this job?"
"I haven't thought deeply about that,"
Alexander replied lightly.
He opened the drawers of his desk. A few books from various poets were visible. He pulled his leather notebook out of his pocket and handed it to Cynthia. She turned its pages quietly and stopped at a certain page.
<Trees>
When trees dance
the wind blows.
When trees are calm
the wind sleeps as well.
"I've never forgotten literature. Like faded faith, this is what I can live by and where I will go back to someday."
He spoke while Cynthia read the notebook, stroking his books affectionately.
