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On that gentle spring afternoon, you embarked on a journey to visit the West Lake, and I happened to stand on the west side of the lake. It seemed as if it was a clever arrangement of fate that made our two hearts inadvertently use the sparkling lake water as a mirror to reflect each other's distant figures.

West Lake always tells the story of a thousand years at such a leisurely pace. Willow branches gently touch the water surface, like delicate brushstrokes, outlining a series of flowing ink paintings on the lake surface. And you, strolling in this painting, every step is the echo of history, and every breath is inhaling the gentleness of Jiangnan.

I stood on the west side of the lake, my eyes traversing the layers of green, trying to catch your path. The sun shone through the gaps in the leaves, casting mottled shadows, as if time was whispering beside me, telling a poem about waiting and meeting. My heart, following the gently swaying waves, rose and fell slowly, looking forward to an inadvertent moment when our eyes could meet in the crowd, but also afraid that this sudden encounter would disturb the tranquility of West Lake and the delicate balance in my heart.

The wind, blowing from the lake, brings moisture and the fragrance of flowers. It seems to be an invisible messenger between us, gently bringing my thoughts to your side. I imagine you standing on the Broken Bridge, looking at the Baochu Pagoda in the distance, with your eyes flashing with infinite attachment to this beautiful scenery; or sitting on a bench on the Su Causeway in the spring dawn, with the melodious sound of the piano and the laughter of children in the distance, and your heart surging with love and yearning for life.