As soon as the words left her mouth.
Both the speaker and the listener were stunned.
This line, this scene, felt so familiar.
Five years ago, when they had just gotten together, he went to Cannes, France, for a film festival. Standing on the balcony of his room, watching someone set off fireworks over the Mediterranean Sea at night, he had called her, and she had said the same thing.
Luo Xiaoqian didn't mean to utter that familiar line; it was just a joke that slipped out. When she realized it, it was already too late. The words had already been spoken.
Humans are like this; some things can be disguised, but other things are ingrained in one's bones and blood, impossible to disguise or conceal.
Even after five years, Luo Xiaoqian is still the talkative and cheerful Luo Xiaoqian, regardless of the fact that she's now a mother to a four-year-old and the owner of a company.
Such is the nature of character—it's hard to change.
"Zimo?!"
She called his name with a hint of worry.
