Chapter 8 chapter eight

That night, I lay next to my narrow bed, holding the book you read until dawn. At that moment, it was mine. The pages are a little yellowed, and I imagine you read this a long time ago, perhaps when I was my age. The protagonist of the book is named Gray, and he is a handsome man. I hurriedly grabbed the book from your bookshelf. Among the vast sea of ​​books, why did you let me get Wilde's "Portrait of Gray" instead of other books? It wasn't until twenty years later that I realized that this was a fate I couldn't escape. The difference between fate and chance is that fate has already laid the groundwork, but we often have to wait many years later, when we suddenly look back, to realize the profound stroke.