In the hospital room, Violet Taylor seemed to be dreaming, as her brows remained furrowed.
Her fingers tightened unconsciously as if she were trying to grasp something but couldn't.
Maxwell Hughes sat by the hospital bed, watching her.
His thoughts unintentionally drifted back to their sophomore year in high school.
At that time, he truly did not understand what it meant to like someone, or to love.
He just felt that the girl next door was cute from a young age, she had exquisite features, like a doll; he paid attention to her just as he would to a younger sister, it became a habit to also take care of her.
Later on, as they grew up.
He became somewhat anxious.
He was different, immersed in his own world, always feeling that people around him were too immature.
But sometimes, when he looked at Violet Taylor, he feared that his own interests weren't broad enough, too dull, and that he'd lose the common topics with her.
Thus, he learned to play the piano and go.
