Hello, Miss Han.

Do you still remember the convenience store where we first met? You kept saying that my approach was just a scripted routine. It wasn't, actually. That day, you were wearing red headphones and fuzzy slippers, your legs draped casually. But I couldn't find the box cake in my favorite flavor. My eyes were filled with your hair, cut to the length of your neck, and your floral dress. I finally found the vanilla one, paid, and walked out. I almost bumped into the glass; I saw you smile, even though you weren't looking toward the door.

I swear that was the day vanilla cake held the least appeal for me; I didn't quicken my pace to get home and open the package. A hundred meters later, I walked back because I forgot to grab a cola. But when I saw the cola, I took two bottles. That, right there, is when your memory begins.

After I opened the cola and inserted a straw, I pushed one bottle toward you. "Summer and ice-cold cola are a perfect match, right?"

You finally withdrew your interest from the window and looked at me, puzzled. "Hello, I'm xxx. I thought, if I didn't come over to say a word to you, I would surely regret it so much that even eating a Cornetto wouldn't taste like anything. I thought, no one would say no to a cola in the summer, so I came over." You smiled. I am certain I didn't misread it before I left, because I know I don't have that kind of perfect imagination. Then you bit the straw, and a drop of water gathered on the glass bottle, along with your name.

You called me Mr. Cola, but if I had to choose a name for myself from the things I love in summer, cola would only be my fourth choice. Who wouldn't find Mr. Mist, carrying a breeze of water vapor, romantic? To prove it to you, I even bought a fan that sprays mist, but you said it only makes the places it blows cold, while cola can make you feel refreshed from the inside out. So you preferred cola.

"Is cola me?" "You are Mr. Cola; Cola is your last name."

I admit I became a hostage. Voluntarily. No encirclement, no negotiations; just let me escape with you. Anywhere is fine.

I asked you what kind of love you liked. You said, a first kiss. Just as I was feeling awkward, you bit the straw and poked me with it. "That's a movie, silly. Should I add more ice for you?"

So, wearing my tank top and slippers, I searched every video bar in the city, finally stopping at a small shop with dim yellow lights that creaked when you pushed the door, and found the resource. When the room lights dimmed and the projector lit up, cola dropped another spot in my heart; second place was now Sophie Marceau.

I recognized the look in your eyes when Reality started playing. It was exactly the same look you had when you were staring out the window the first time we met. Like a time tunnel, your eyes were shining, yet they were looking at things from a long time ago. So I kissed you. These two things don't seem connected, but I used "so" anyway, because I don't know if I like the look in your eyes. Still disconnected, so I said, "Let's be together."

You said I was boarding the train first and buying the ticket later.

Happy romances are mostly similar, but the process of meeting is uniquely beautiful for everyone.

Wait, Miss Han. Reading this, do you feel like you've had amnesia? There's no hat blown into the lake by the wind on a boat in your memory, no ginkgo leaf that happened to land on your head in October, no sky turning red and blue at four in the morning. And Pingjiang Road, empty of people, with red lanterns lit just for the two of us. Oh, right, remember the day we went to the video bar? You told me that when you walked the streets alone and saw couples walking hand-in-hand, you didn't know where to put your hands, and in that moment, you felt that being single really wasn't great. Then, when we came out, I could take your hand in my palm to keep it from not knowing where to stay, and lead you around.

You don't remember.

You don't even remember the very first cola.

I am a hostage who deceives himself. I want to be held at knifepoint by you, and for you to say, "Let us go, or I'll kill him." I mumble to you, "Take me away, or kill me."

But you didn't. You didn't take me away. Because you could just walk away on your own. So, after I sewed my mouth shut, I tied my own hands. I told myself, "You took me away, and then you will kill me."

But, Miss Han. I was rescued. That person wasn't a sharpshooter who could hit a target from a hundred paces, nor was she a negotiation expert. She just carefully made her way through the debris and ruins after the explosion. Bit by bit, she moved the stones pressing down on me, untied my hands, and tore off the tape on my mouth. Then she said to me, "If I didn't come to say hello to you, I would definitely regret it, right?"

She pushed a bottle of cola to me and pulled me back from a place far beyond the window.