The morning sunlight streamed through the glass, bringing a gentle warmth.
By the window of the sun-drenched balcony, a black-haired boy of six or seven sat quietly, staring into the bustling street outside, lost in thought.
A gentle and beautiful woman approached, "Little Hou, breakfast is ready."
"Oh, coming." The black-haired boy responded, getting up from the floor.
Looking at the approaching black-haired boy, Wang Jiaqi could sense a kind of unspeakable solitude from this boy who had just turned seven.
This feeling grew stronger as he grew older, making Wang Jiaqi's heart ache.
So when the boy got closer, she decisively reached out and messed up his neatly combed hair, making it look instantly like a bird's nest.
The boy was a bit confused, "What are you doing?"
"Haha... nothing." Looking at the slightly angry boy, Wang Jiaqi laughed happily.
