Back then, I only felt sweetness. Isaac and I always had endless topics to talk about, endless gossip.
Until, Alma appeared between us.
"Anna." The teacher patted my shoulder.
I turned around absentmindedly and saw the teacher pointing to a maple tree in the distance, asking me, "Since you're here, do you want to take pictures with them?"
I looked at my classmates standing together, smiled and nodded, taking pictures of autumn, witnessing autumn.
I hesitated for a moment, this time I really did not want to post on Instagram.
But then I saw that Alma had updated her Instagram a minute earlier. [I have a secret in my heart, that secret—]
The accompanying picture was a man's back view wearing matching pajamas.
It was none other than Isaac; I recognized him immediately.
Alma frequently updated her Instagram.
When Isaac cooked porridge for her, watched a boring movie with her, took her grass skiing, or made her brown coffee, she would post it with a sweet caption, [It seems that after half a lifetime, I finally know what I’ve been looking for.]
Alma's thoughts were laid bare.
Everyone understood, except for Isaac, who pretended not to know.