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On the eve of our divorce, my lawsuit against Marcus Bennett for infidelity was making headlines.

Neither of us would give an inch.

On the way to the courthouse, Marcus suddenly had a car accident.

His memory reset to when he was eighteen—the year he loved me most.

He raised the knife decisively, then looked up at me with a gentle smile: "Lily, things we can't control don't need to be kept."

With New Year's approaching, I went home alone this year.

As soon as my parents saw me, they asked enthusiastically: "Where's Marcus? Why didn't that boy come back with you?"

I smiled in response: "He's busy."

Actually, we'd reached the divorce stage. The lawsuit was making headlines, known to everyone.

They all said the young sweethearts had reached the point of mutual disgust.

After New Year's Eve dinner, fireworks erupted outside, everyone celebrating the new year's arrival.

I stood at the window looking up, watching waves of fireworks, dazzlingly beautiful.

As the clock struck midnight,

Marcus suddenly appeared downstairs, waving at me excitedly, his face full of smiles as if the rift between us had never happened.

"Lily, Happy New Year. I still love you this year."

The man's voice was loud, mixed with the dazzling fireworks.

Yet more brilliant than the fireworks.

I went downstairs. Marcus pulled me into his arms, burying his head in my neck and complaining: "Lily, when can I marry you?"

"I don't want to keep meeting in secret like this."

I froze, remembering the news about renowned entrepreneur Marcus Bennett's car accident.

I pushed him away, seeing the joy twinkling in his eyes, which were filled entirely with me.

Still, I said: "Marcus, we're divorced."

Marcus first froze, then reached out to rub my earlobe, lowering his gaze with smiling eyes, his voice impossibly gentle: "Baby, we'd have to get married first before divorcing."

I couldn't remember—couldn't recall how old this Marcus was.

Couldn't recall Marcus looking this gentle.

Snow suddenly began falling from the sky. Fireworks kept booming.

Marcus reached out to hold me in his arms, warm kisses falling on my neck as he murmured: "Baby, I'm still by your side for this year's first snow."

First snow.

No.

That year in eleventh grade, I chose humanities, he chose sciences.

On the day of the first snow, the school lost power.

Students all took the chance to run downstairs and play in the snow.

Marcus pulled me into a corner during the chaos, his eyes red as he looked at me, as if tears would fall any second: "Lily Grant, you said yes to him?"

I was confused by his question, staring straight at him.

A warm kiss suddenly fell on my lips. Dazed, I heard the man's soft murmur in my ear: "Why don't you like me?"

The gentle kiss slowly became a deep, lingering one. My legs went weak. He reached out to hold me in his arms.

When the kiss ended, I opened my eyes, looking at him somewhat intoxicated.

Marcus's ears were bright red. He fiercely wiped my lips with his hand, then looked at me pitifully: "Lily Grant, I like you."

"You went to the humanities class and pretended not to know me when you saw me. You smiled so beautifully at that effeminate guy."

Hearing his accusation, I couldn't help but laugh.

Marcus's cheeks turned even redder. He looked away from me.

I reached out to poke his face: "Oh, our genius is jealous?"

He admitted it readily, one hand pinching my waist, claiming ownership with a light peck on my lips: "Lily, like me back, okay?"

On that night of heavy snow and power outage, we got together.

Hearts pounding in the darkness.

Confessions echoing in the snow.

Back then he said: "Lily, people who watch the first snow together will be together forever."