Slow to mature after marriage

She suddenly stood up and walked briskly upstairs, leaving behind only a very cheerful sentence.

"Grandma, sister-in-law, I have something to do, so I'll go upstairs first!"

The old lady watched Bo Ning's departing figure and shook her head with a smile: "This girl, she's so old, yet she's still so immature."

His tone was full of doting affection.

She turned around with a smile, took a thick photo album from the living room bookshelf, patted the spot next to her, and gestured for Mu Siwan to sit down.

"Come here, Wanwan, let me show you this."

The album cover was a dark red velvet, with worn edges, clearly indicating its age. The old lady put on her reading glasses, turned to the first page, and gently ran her fingers over the yellowed photographs.

It's full of thin inkstones.

"This is when Ayan was ten years old, right after she lost her front teeth. She looked really ugly." The old lady said with disdain, but her eyes were full of laughter.

Mu Siwan curiously leaned closer and looked at the photos one by one. Bo Yan was ten, eleven, twelve years old... There were one or two photos of him each year, standing in front of different backgrounds, slowly growing from a little radish into a teenager.

But there isn't a single photo of him before he was ten years old.

Mu Siwan did not ask for the reason.

Every family has some traumas that, even after the passage of time, they still cannot and dare not touch upon again.

The old lady took off her reading glasses, wiped the lenses, and softened her voice as she took the initiative to explain to Mu Siwan.

"These are photos from before he was ten. There are many family photos of the four of them. I'm too old for that. I can't bear the shock." She put her reading glasses back on, turned the page, and her tone returned to normal. "We had such happy days, we didn't think about those unhappy things anymore. Look at this one, Ayan was twelve. That rascal chased Old Chen's dog all over the yard, and when they came to complain, he wouldn't admit it..."

Mu Siwan followed her words and looked down, a slight smile curving her lips.

In the photo, Bo Yan stands in the courtyard, holding a tree branch, his smile arrogant and irritating. He is completely different from the man she remembers, always impeccably dressed and well-mannered.

When she turned to a certain page, Mu Siwan's finger paused.

The boy in the photo has silver hair, wears a white T-shirt, and black cargo pants that hang loosely around his waist. A silver chain choker hangs above his collarbone along the line of his neck, and a black earring on his earlobe shines in the sunlight.

He leaned against a motorcycle, one leg on the ground, a slight smile on his lips, his eyes full of the arrogant, unbridled spirit unique to young people.

Bo Yan, 18 years old.

The summer right after the college entrance exam.

Mu Siwan stared at the photo, a sudden thought striking her.

It's hard to imagine that this man, who is a shrewd strategist in the business world and treats her with utmost respect at home, once had such a vibrant, flamboyant, and fearless time.

Freedom, unrestrained, the exact opposite of her.

"Grandma," she said softly, "may I take this picture?"

The old lady leaned over and glanced at the photo.

"You like this white hair?" She clearly didn't quite understand the aesthetics of young people these days, her tone tinged with confusion. "This white hair makes you look like a little old man, what's so good about it?"

He said that, but his hand had already reached out, pulled the photo out of the album's card slot, and handed it to Mu Siwan.

"No need to take pictures, just take it."

Mu Siwan took the photo, gently pinching the corner with her fingertips and rubbing her fingertips against the surface of the photo.

"...Thank you, Grandma."

It was late at night. The old lady was elderly and had gone upstairs to bed early.

When Bo Yan came out of the study, Mu Siwan was still sitting on the sofa, head down, staring intently at the silver-haired photo.

Bo Yan walked over and his gaze fell on the photo in her hand.

Tsk.

It's a photo of him with silver hair.

Silver hair, choker, black earrings.

What seemed cool back then now looks rather unbearable to look at.

There's a sense of embarrassment, like when a girl you like during your teenage years sees right through you.

The man's heart skipped a beat: "What are you looking at?"

"Grandma gave it to me; it's a photo of you when you were eighteen." As if afraid he would take it away, Mu Siwan pulled the photo closer to herself.

Bo Yan raised an eyebrow: "You like this one?"

"It looks pretty good."

Bo Yan stood behind her, watching her focused gaze fall on his eighteen-year-old self, and a strange, indescribable emotion welled up inside him.

I still prefer eighteen-year-olds.

Whether it's eighteen-year-old Meng Qing or an eighteen-year-old silver-haired boy.

I just don't like him.

He clicked his tongue, sat down next to her, and reached out to pull the photo from between her fingers.

Mu Siwan looked up and met the man's complex and indescribable gaze.

Bo Yan asked in a low voice, "You like it that much? How about I dye it for you?"

If I dye my hair silver, will you like me too?

Mu Siwan stood there, stunned.

She looked at him, then raised her hand and placed her palm on his forehead.

"He doesn't have a fever," the woman murmured, then turned her hand over and pressed the back of her hand against the skin of his neck; his temperature was normal. Her brow furrowed slightly. "You drank with Grandpa?"

Why are you talking nonsense again?

Bo Yan stared at her serious expression as she diagnosed the problem, and the sour feeling in his chest was shattered by her inexplicable train of thought.

He laughed in exasperation.

I'm annoyed that she never gets to the point, but I laugh at how incredibly cute she is with her serious expression.

"I haven't been drinking." He took her hand off his forehead, cupped it in his palm, and intertwined her fingers one by one. "I've told you many times, Mu Siwan, I'm perfectly sober."

Soberly allowing myself to succumb.

I made a conscious decision to stop using those three principles to separate myself from her.

I am keenly aware that arrogance and self-righteousness should be completely discarded in this intimate relationship.

Mu Siwan held his hand and looked into his eyes. There was no feverish haze or alcohol-induced turbidity in those eyes, only sincerity and solemnity.

She suddenly realized that he was telling the truth. He was perfectly lucid.

But she was a little out of it.

My heart felt like it had been squeezed, and it beat half a beat faster.

Bo Yan continued, "Let's go on a date tomorrow night. I have something very important to tell you."

Mu Siwan met his serious, almost joking gaze, and her throat tightened; she felt inexplicably nervous.

"So... should I prepare anything?"

"need."

"What?"

The man leaned down and placed a kiss on her forehead.

"Get ready to accept my apologies and honesty, baby."