After washing up, Chu Shuangyou also climbed into bed. The two sisters squeezed onto the same bed, laughing and chatting. Finally finding a moment to herself, Chu Duxiu pulled out the gift she had prepared.
“Here, your birthday present,” Chu Duxiu said, finally taking out the item she’d been carrying around all day and presenting it like a treasure.
“A scarf? Why did you suddenly decide to get one?” Chu Shuangyou asked in surprise as she took the cashmere scarf. “I didn’t expect you to know this brand.”
The light coffee-coloured cashmere scarf felt soft and smooth to the touch—almost like clouds woven into silk. A narrow, minimalist tag slipped out, completely at odds with the understated design; the brand’s price tag was anything but modest.
This wasn’t the kind of high-end brand Chu Duxiu would normally know. She was the type to carry a loud canvas tote printed with cartoon characters, totally clueless about luxury goods—she couldn’t even tell when someone else was showing off their wealth.
“I thought it was something you could actually use,” Chu Duxiu said in a low voice. “I even dragged my roommate to the store to check it out with me.”
It had truly been a nerve-wracking experience. With little knowledge of such things, she hadn’t expected it to be out of stock. After failing to find the right color at the first store, she went to a second one and asked the staff to transfer stock—only then did she manage to get the light coffee color. Honestly, the level of wealth people had was beyond her imagination. Scarves costing thousands of yuan were sold out like vegetables at the market.
Chu Duxiu herself would never wear a scarf like this, but Chu Shuangyou often attended high-end events—her standards for clothing were surely different.
As Chu Shuangyou stroked the smooth fabric and saw the bright, eager look in Chu Duxiu’s eyes, she found herself at a loss for words to describe how she felt in that moment.
The scarf wasn’t easy to buy—the color had gone viral online and was probably already sold out at most boutiques. The money could be covered by a red envelope, but her sister had gathered the courage to ask someone to help transfer stock—perhaps even spoke to several shop assistants. Who knows how troublesome the whole process had been?
She had always known her sister was someone who valued relationships deeply—always clumsy, yet sincere in the way she cared about others.
Chu Shuangyou’s throat felt dry, and she suddenly couldn’t speak. At last, moved, she said softly, “The color really does go with everything.”
Hearing her approval, Chu Duxiu lit up. “Right? It totally matches your usual outfits, doesn’t it? Doesn’t it!”
“Mm. The weather’s getting colder—it’ll come in handy soon,” Chu Shuangyou replied gently. “Good choice.”
The two of them unwrapped the scarf, laughing as they held it up and posed on the bed, even pulling clothes from Chu Shuangyou’s suitcase to try out different pairings.
That night, they didn’t talk about school or work at all. They curled up under the covers, chattering away, sharing memories from their childhood. Wrapped in the warmth of their duvet, it felt almost like being in their mother’s womb again—completely safe, with no secrets between them.
They both slept soundly, and the sun rose on a new day.
Outside the hotel, the two sisters finished breakfast and decided to go out for a stroll.
Just then, a sedan pulled up in front of them. Seeing the familiar logo with four interlocked rings, Chu Duxiu’s jaw dropped. “Where did this car come from?”
“If you need something, just ask—they’ll make arrangements,” Chu Shuangyou said, rolling down the window. “We’ve borrowed it for the day.”
Chu Duxiu carefully opened the front passenger door and climbed in, still in awe as she glanced at her sister in the driver’s seat. “This feels so strange.”
As she set the GPS, Chu Shuangyou turned her head slightly. “What do you mean?”
Chu Duxiu fastened her seatbelt. “You can drive.”
“Didn’t we learn together after the college entrance exam?”
“No, that was just learning,” Chu Duxiu shook her head, her expression a little wistful. “But now that you’re actually holding the steering wheel—it just feels… different.”
“How is it different?”
“You seem like an adult now.”
At that moment, Chu Duxiu felt a kind of shock—one that was different from the academic gap between them at school. Her sister seemed to have stepped into adulthood ahead of her, becoming the kind of capable, composed grown-up they used to dream about as children. She was like the ideal version of herself that Chu Duxiu had once imagined. When their parents did these sorts of things, it never felt surprising—but seeing her own sister, born of the same mother, was something else entirely.
Time was a strange thing—it had gifted her sister a calm, grounded charm, while casting a spell on her, freezing her in place.
Her sister had grown up behind her back.
“We’ve been adults for a while now,” Chu Shuangyou said with a small laugh. “Eighteen came and went years ago.”
Chu Duxiu said nothing.
Chu Shuangyou started the car and slowly pulled away from the hotel. “The other day I was talking to Mom—thinking maybe you could consider a job back home. Doesn’t have to be civil service; maybe a public institution in Wencheng, like the TV station or something.”
Chu Duxiu was taken aback. “Why?”
“Dad still has a few connections—he could help ask around,” Chu Shuangyou replied. “I know you find them naggy, but Wencheng has a new apartment complex with fully-finished units. I’ve been saving over the past couple of years and put down a deposit. It’s about to be handed over. If you take the exam and come back, you could live there. That way you won’t be bothered by Mom and Dad.”
As soon as those words landed, it felt like a thunderclap hitting the ground—knocking Chu Duxiu completely off balance.
“Does Mom know about this?” she asked in shock.
She had suspected her sister was earning well in recent years, but she hadn’t expected her to be at house-buying level!
“She knows—I told her,” Chu Shuangyou said calmly. “I’m definitely going to stay in Nancheng long-term. Even if the company relocates, it’d be to Yancheng or Haicheng. Going back to Wencheng would basically mean unemployment. But someone has to live in the flat. You wouldn’t need to pay rent, and if you just head home once in a while, life there should be decent.”
“Decent?” Chu Duxiu scoffed, then said with admiration, “That’s more than decent—it’s amazing!”
She secretly admired her sister’s insight—how she’d understood her reluctance to take a job back home. The real issue was the old saying, familiarity breeds contempt. Living under the same roof with their parents would be suffocating, with all the nagging.
As expected, her sister’s solution was far more thoughtful than anyone else’s—tackling the root of the problem by eliminating the stress of living with family.
The only drawback was… there wasn’t a single stand-up comedy club in Wencheng. If she moved back, she’d have no place to perform open mics—basically saying goodbye to stand-up altogether. Not even as a hobby.
Chu Duxiu lowered her gaze, hesitating over whether to bring up her stand-up comedy plans. Although she had a timeline in mind, she knew that from her sister’s perspective, now wouldn’t seem like the right time to fool around—she ought to be throwing herself completely into exam prep.
If she could manage to balance both the civil service exam and her comedy projects, then come clean after the test, the pressure would be much easier to handle. But if she revealed it too early, it’d be like yanking up a seedling before it had soaked in any sunlight—forcing it to weather storm after storm before it had even sprouted.
A short while later, Chu Shuangyou parked the car underground and led Chu Duxiu into a bustling shopping mall. It was clear she had a plan in mind, heading straight for a luxury boutique and leaving her sister flustered and alarmed as she hurried to keep up.
The massive black-and-white sign, the unmistakable double-C logo, and the pristine white camellia only made Chu Duxiu’s face turn as pale as if she were at a funeral.
“You’re about to start working—it’s good to have a proper handbag,” Chu Shuangyou said, studying the bags behind the glass. “These things weigh on your mind when you don’t have them, but once you do, they lose their charm. Still, everyone goes through that phase of curiosity and novelty. Miss it, and it’s gone forever.”
“No—absolutely not—” Chu Duxiu desperately tugged her sister back, flailing her arms in protest. “I’m not curious anymore! Not the least bit curious!”
She looked like a tantrum-throwing child—but instead of begging to buy something, she was begging not to buy anything.
Chu Shuangyou couldn’t help but laugh, and had no choice but to leave the store with her.
“I thought the cashmere scarf you gave me meant you were starting to take an interest in these things,” she said.
Most young women go through a phase where they’re infatuated with luxury brands—after a while, the obsession fades.
Chu Duxiu shook her head like a rattle drum, adamant and unyielding. “I’m not interested! I’m a Party member! I have ideals!”
Beware all bourgeois “sugar-coated bullets”!
“…?”
Thankfully, Chu Duxiu managed to talk her sister down, and the two simply wandered around the mall, had a delicious meal, and were soon greeted by news of an unexpected overtime shift.
Back in the car, Chu Shuangyou finished a conversation with a colleague through her Bluetooth headset. She took one earpiece off and said, “I’ve got a sudden video call tonight. I’ll drop you off at campus first—I might disturb your rest if I take it in the hotel room.”
Chu Duxiu blinked in surprise. “A meeting this late at night?”
“There’s a time difference with our overseas teams,” Chu Shuangyou explained. “Technically, they don’t work weekends, so something urgent must’ve come up.”
“That’s so rough,” Chu Duxiu said, suddenly struck by how hard it was to earn a living. Even someone as capable as her sister couldn’t escape overtime.
Chu Shuangyou glanced at her phone. “We still have some time. Want to walk around a bit more?”
“No, let’s head back,” Chu Duxiu replied. “You should go back to the hotel and get some rest. Who even has video meetings in the middle of the night?”
“Fair enough.”
Chu Shuangyou started the car and set off to drop her sister off at school.
Sitting in the car, Chu Duxiu made casual conversation with her sister while sneakily checking the time—realizing she could just about make it to an open mic. She felt like such a terrible person. She had just stepped out of a five-star hotel and a luxury mall, and yet her mind was already drifting to her next event, helpless against the temptation of time management.
But hey—she had to study tomorrow anyway. Wouldn’t it be fine to blow off some steam tonight? Just one little open mic couldn’t hurt… right?
The alley was too narrow for the car to drive through, so they had to park at the corner of the street.
Chu Duxiu opened the car door and waved goodbye sweetly before grabbing her things and getting out.
Chu Shuangyou said, “If the video call doesn’t add too much to my workload, I’ll come find you again tomorrow. My return flight’s the day after.”
“Okay! Drive safe!” Chu Duxiu replied cheerfully.
With a thunk, the car door closed, and Chu Duxiu’s figure gradually disappeared into the hazy night.
There was still some time before her meeting, so Chu Shuangyou lowered her head to recheck the navigation. A glance at the map’s location, then another toward the direction her sister had taken—and suddenly, she seemed lost in thought.
The street was bright with lights. Chu Duxiu had sent a message to Nie Feng—though she didn’t know if he’d seen it yet—and now she was jogging toward the bar.
What should she talk about tonight? Should she try a new bit?
The wind howled past her ears, and her heart began to race with excitement. She took off running with childlike glee, turning the familiar corner like she’d done a hundred times.
The colorful sign reading Typoon Transit lit up outside the venue, with a few performers still waiting for their turn at the entrance. Chu Duxiu arrived, slightly out of breath, greeted a few people, and quietly slipped through the door—just in time to spot Nie Feng and Xie Shenci by the bar.
Nie Feng was holding his phone. Seeing her walk in, he said, “Got your WeChat. You’re up last, yeah?”
Open mic spots were usually scheduled in advance, but when someone dropped in last minute, they were typically added to the end of the lineup.
Chu Duxiu nodded. She glanced toward the stage and saw Scallion performing—the crowd seemed to be in a good mood.
Xie Shenci looked at her curiously. “Didn’t you have plans tonight?”
“My sister was kidnapped by capitalists,” Chu Duxiu replied. “So I came to do a set and expose their crimes.”
Unlike the chilly street outside, the bar felt warm the moment she stepped in. The energy in the room gathered from all sides, and a deep sense of comfort settled in her chest.
This was what small venues had—an intimate kind of “presence.” The space didn’t need to be big; what mattered was that the seats were full. The smaller and more tightly packed the venue, the more immersive and unrestrained the performances became. The atmosphere was simply electric.
There was none of the cavernous distance of a big theatre. Here, the audience and performers felt like friends. Slip-ups didn’t matter—it was the perfect place to test out new material.
Chu Duxiu instinctively stretched and warmed up her body, preparing herself mentally before going on stage.
She must have run over in a hurry—her hair at the temples was messy, and under the dim, flickering lights, a faint flush showed on her cheeks, as if brushed by a chilly breeze. Her eyes sparkled, focused intently on the stage, full of eager anticipation.
Xie Shenci suddenly said, “You look pretty happy, actually.”
Chu Duxiu froze at his words. Seeing his calm expression, she panicked, “…No, not really.”
For a moment, she inexplicably felt guilty, as if someone had caught her by the tail!
Xie Shenci noticed her wide, startled eyes—like she was angry but couldn’t say so—and a hint of grievance flickered across her face. He asked, “What’s wrong?”
Chu Duxiu forced down her nervousness. “Why do you talk like that?”
“?”
“You sound like my high school homeroom teacher,” she complained. “Whenever she caught you in the hallway and said, ‘You look pretty happy,’ nine times out of ten what followed was something that’d make you not happy at all.”
“…”
Xie Shenci genuinely admired her imagination—she could transport him straight back to their school days with just one sentence. So he stood at attention, gave a slight bow, and said seriously, “Sorry, sorry, sumimasen, mi a ne yo.”
On [month] [day], the Typoon Transit stand-up club held an open mic night in Yancheng. Xie Shenci from Shanle Culture visited the bar for inspection and guidance. Due to some inappropriate remarks he made that stirred up traumatic high school memories for a college student, he issued an apology in four languages.
Late at night, distant skyscrapers were shrouded in mist, while the low pedestrian streets gleamed brightly with lights. The waterside environment made the air moist, and nearby there were no tall buildings—only narrow alleys weaving through the cityscape.
The map’s navigation showed that the place ahead was called Typoon Transit.
Chu Shuangyou frowned as she looked at the neon sign, surprised that their destination was a bar. She felt her sister had taken the wrong turn, so she decided to follow and see for herself. The street was brightly decorated, and there was quite a crowd.
Under the streetlights, three or four people stood at the entrance—some stretching their arms back and forth, others muttering quietly. It wasn’t clear what they were doing.
The bar’s interior was dimly lit except for one strong spotlight. Peering through the window, Chu Shuangyou struggled to make out the scene inside and saw a large, dense audience.
This didn’t seem like a place for drinking.
She went ahead and asked someone nearby, “Excuse me, what’s going on inside?”
The person, who appeared to be a performer warming up, turned and looked at her. “Are you here for the open mic?”
Chu Shuangyou looked puzzled. “Open mic?”
The bar door clicked crisply open, and a chill breeze slipped inside through the gap.
Chu Duxiu stood near the door and, thinking someone had just entered, hurriedly made some space. She didn’t turn around—until she felt a hand suddenly rest on her shoulder. She quickly spun around in confusion—and then was utterly shaken to the core.
There stood Chu Shuangyou by the door, wearing the light coffee-coloured scarf, her face expressionless, as if unsure how she had ended up here. Her face showed no smile, making it impossible to tell if she was angry or pleased. Her gaze carried a quietly intimidating power.
Chu Duxiu was stunned for a moment. “Shuangyou…”
What a coincidence, what fate!
They really were a perfect pair—still managing to run into each other here!
Hearing the noise, Xie Shenci turned his head and spotted the person next to Chu Duxiu. They were about the same height, dressed differently, but their features bore some resemblance.
As their eyes met, Chu Shuangyou said nothing. Chu Duxiu felt a little flustered.
She felt like a student caught by a teacher at an internet café after school, or a child caught by parents eating street food on the roadside. Countless thoughts surged wildly through her mind, but she couldn’t piece together a single coherent sentence. Even her usual humor deserted her.
Chu Shuangyou never lost her temper or questioned others hysterically. She was always calm and polite—like a well-trained interrogator. She would silently apply pressure with a steady, rational gaze, as if professionally saying, “Confess willingly.”
Chu Duxiu swallowed nervously, feeling as if she were being interrogated, unsure where to begin.
Confess? Confess how much?
Had she done something wrong? How many years would she be sentenced to?
Fortunately, there was someone still clear-headed nearby.
“Hello, you must be Duxiu’s sister,” Xie Shenci said, studying the newcomer carefully. Seeing their silence, he spoke gently, “We were just chatting and I asked her to bring you to watch the show.”
“And you are?” Chu Shuangyou’s gaze shifted away from her sister to the tall man by the bar.
“I’m Xie Shenci from Shanle Culture, currently preparing a stand-up comedy show. This is Nie Feng, the owner of the Typoon Transit,” Xie Shenci introduced slowly and calmly.
Nie Feng quickly nodded and greeted them. He nervously rubbed his hands, equally surprised by the strong presence Chu Duxiu’s sister radiated—completely unlike the vibe of a typical stand-up comedian.
Xie Shenci replied calmly, “There’s an open mic stand-up comedy tonight. If you’re interested, you can come and watch.”
Chu Shuangyou looked puzzled. “Stand-up comedy?”
“Yes, it’s basically solo comedy, like what you see on stage,” Xie Shenci patiently explained. “This art form is more popular abroad; it’s only just getting started here, but more and more people are becoming aware of it.”
Chu Shuangyou glanced at the performer on stage, nodded knowingly, and replied politely, “I see.”
The two of them suddenly started talking about stand-up comedy, giving the flustered Chu Duxiu a moment to catch her breath.
Her chaotic feelings eased slightly as she watched them chatting politely. Yet a strong sense of unease arose—a feeling like a storm was about to break. Though their attitudes were friendly, their words carried undercurrents, making it hard to tell when things might suddenly become intense.
This was her sister’s professional mode: setting aside sugar-coated indulgence to show the poise of corporate negotiation.
And this was Mr. Xie’s professional mode—no more playful “black cat” emojis, instantly switched to business elite!
They both transformed into unfamiliar versions of themselves, masking any discord to preserve her dignity and maintain a facade of harmony.
Chu Shuangyou inquired about stand-up comedy, Shanle Culture, and The Stand-Up King, and Xie Shenci answered each question in turn. He then asked about her travel experience, return date from the business trip, and interest in nearby attractions, to which Chu Shuangyou responded politely.
Both were seasoned professionals, effortlessly navigating the conversation—and even indulging in some mutual business praise.
Chu Shuangyou admired, “You are impressive—accurately pinpointing gaps in the domestic comedy scene. For a startup to produce such a successful show speaks volumes about both vision and management skills.”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Xie Shenci said modestly. “I was just lucky, and my team is excellent. By comparison, Liansheng, which just graduated, is even more amazing.”
Their back-and-forth banter startled the nearby audience.
Nie Feng whispered, “Your sister works at Liansheng Group?”
Chen Jing murmured, “…Is it true they say fresh graduates there earn a million a year?”
Chu Duxiu felt a bit overwhelmed. “Matters for the gods above—I’m just a mortal, how would I understand?”
If someone asked her about a million streaming credits, maybe she could say a couple of words. But a million annual salary? What could she possibly add?
That was beyond her imagination! Not even worth discussing!
After some casual chatting, Chu Shuangyou took out her phone and suggested, “I really don’t know much about this industry. There might be some things I want to ask you, Mr. Xie. Why don’t we exchange WeChat contacts?”
“Sure,” Xie Shenci replied. “I’ll send you some materials later. I’m curious to see how others view Shanle from an investment standpoint, and I’d like to gather some advice.”
Chu Duxiu: “…”
So strange. Really strange.
She wanted to stop it all, but she had no reason to interrupt—and no power to do so anyway. She certainly couldn’t suddenly pull out her phone and yell in public, “Behave yourselves, or I’ll turn you into material for my set!”
A stand-up comedian’s humor isn’t like casting an Avada Kedavra curse—waving a wand won’t intimidate everyone around.
After connecting on WeChat, Chu Shuangyou looked at Chu Duxiu and said, “It’s getting late. Let’s head back.”
Chu Duxiu replied, “Okay…”
Nie Feng was surprised. “Aren’t you performing tonight?”
The open mic wasn’t over yet. Chu Duxiu was scheduled last, with several people still ahead of her.
She hesitated, glanced at Xie Shenci and the others, then at Chu Shuangyou beside her, and apologized, “Sorry, maybe next time. My sister has work tonight—she probably won’t make it.”
If she stayed, her sister wouldn’t leave and would miss her video meeting later.
The door jingled as it opened, then closed behind them.
Xie Shenci stood quietly against the wall, one hand in his pocket, watching the two sisters leave.
On the pedestrian street, the two walked silently toward the car, passing by a dazzling array of shops.
Chu Shuangyou broke the silence first, her tone steady. “How long have you been coming here?”
“Started about two months ago, and I’ve performed a few times here and there, so not very long,” Chu Duxiu replied earnestly. “I only come after I’ve finished other work. When I’m writing my thesis, I don’t perform at all. Usually two or three times a week, about ten minutes each time.”
She really only took the stage for about ten minutes each time, but she didn’t mention the time spent writing material or watching shows.
Chu Shuangyou nodded.
Chu Duxiu glanced at her sister’s expression and cautiously asked, “I actually really like stand-up comedy. Can I give it a try?”
“How do you want to try?” Chu Shuangyou stopped and asked sharply, “Do you want to be on the show? Or do this full-time?”
“Um…”
Chu Duxiu suddenly faltered. As expected, once she stated her intentions directly, her sister would step back several paces—as if she wished the story would jump straight to the final chapter.
Of course, she secretly hoped to do stand-up comedy full-time, but a meal is eaten one bite at a time. She had to build up a reputation on the show first before gradually moving on to the next stage.
However, everyone wants clear, definite results—investors especially demand high returns with zero risk, or they’ll dismiss it all as a scam.
Seeing that Chu Duxiu remained silent, Chu Shuangyou didn’t press further. “Think it over carefully. We’ll discuss it tomorrow, alright?”
“Okay. You should head back soon—you have a meeting tonight,” Chu Duxiu realized, not wanting to waste more time. Feeling a little guilty, she said, “I’m going back too. I’ll message you from the dorm.”
The two sisters said goodbye by the car.
Chu Duxiu assumed her sister was busy with work, unaware she was actually going back to gather information.
The next day, at a café by the street, warm sunlight dispelled the chill.
The two sat down with their coffees and began a detailed, face-to-face conversation.
Chu Shuangyou placed a document on the table and slowly pushed it toward her sister. “Take a look.”
“What’s this?” Chu Duxiu asked, puzzled, picking it up and flipping through it casually before spotting the Shanle logo.
Chu Shuangyou, who had probably read the material countless times by now and knew it inside out, explained, “This is an overview of Shanle Culture’s operations. The company founders are Xie Shenci, Shang Liang, and Shang Xiaomei. The company was established not long ago, with a registered capital of three million. Xie Shenci is the CEO, Shang Liang the CFO, and Shang Xiaomei the COO.”
“After the company was founded, the angel round of financing likely came through connections in Mr. Xie’s family. But in the Series A round, which raised 150 million, well-known investors like Qixia and Lingguo joined, and the company gradually became more formalized.”
She lowered her head, gently stirring her coffee. “Judging by the timeline, this was around the time of the first season of the show. The Stand-Up King generated some online buzz and boosted investor confidence. Shang Xiaomei used to be a key director at a TV station but switched to Shanle Culture to produce web variety shows. Her first project after the transition was quite decent.”
Chu Duxiu gripped the document tightly. “What are you trying to say?”
At that moment, she deeply understood her sister’s strength—the usual gentleness and indulgence vanished, leaving only the sharp, decisive presence of a warrior.
“Although the show looks high quality, this company is very young, and the entire industry is still ‘small but beautiful.’ If I hadn’t heard the introduction yesterday, I wouldn’t even know what stand-up comedy is,” Chu Shuangyou said, looking up. “This is a hidden risk. Whenever they go out to seek funding, they have to patiently explain things—too few people understand this field.”
“Performers within the industry are also extremely scarce. I did some research and found that abroad, stand-up comedians and writers are abundant, with a well-established system. But here, the scene is still barren.”
“There are probably only about a dozen stand-up comedy clubs nationwide, and their scale is like the bar we saw yesterday—not standardized venues. Performers’ income depends on how often they perform. Although top comedians get business opportunities after exposure, they’re very rare. The industry itself is just too small.”
“This is a ship just setting sail, but the waters are rough—one wrong move and it could capsize.” Chu Shuangyou calmly asked, “Now that you know all this, do you still want to give it a try?”
That really was a powerful statement—turning a boring pun into “try it and you’re dead”!
Chu Duxiu thought to herself at an awkward moment: she had long known her sister wouldn’t shout or yell. Instead, she’d just lay out the facts logically, like an AI stacking data, calmly making you realize your mistakes.
When people are extremely nervous, they sometimes break through their limits. Maybe the open mic helped build her courage, because suddenly she wasn’t so flustered anymore.
She switched into stage mode.
“Maybe Mr. Xie was too harsh yesterday, so you think I was fooled by some bad people,” Chu Duxiu relaxed, leaning back in her chair and smiling. “I’m not an idiot. He was upfront from the start—stand-up comedy still requires hard work to have a future in the industry.”
Chu Shuangyou was taken aback. She’d expected her sister to be speechless, but instead, she just threw caution to the wind. She reminded her, “It’s an immature industry.”
“Right,” Chu Duxiu nodded calmly, “but I’m immature too. We can grow together. Isn’t that a perfect match?”
She wasn’t a successful adult by conventional standards yet, but she was no longer ashamed to bring it up and had found the courage to say it out loud.
