The Best Actor in the Vase of Meiyu

Chapter 1792 Daydreaming
"Please note that British Airways flight BA249 from Buenos Aires has arrived at Terminal 5..."

"For security reasons, please do not leave your carry-on luggage out of your sight. Unattended luggage will be removed and destroyed."

"Passengers traveling to Dubai on Emirates flight EK2, please note that this is the last boarding reminder. Gate B44. This is the last boarding reminder."

"Attention passengers aboard American Airlines AA105 bound for New York's John F. Kennedy International Airport, boarding is now beginning, C23..."

"Attention Lufthansa passengers traveling on flight LH921 to Frankfurt: Proceed immediately to boarding gate A17..."

Busy, surging, and teeming with pedestrians.

The sounds of suitcases being dragged along, whispered chatter, and hurried footsteps as people rushed to catch their trains late were interspersed with children's cries, irritable complaints, and uncontrolled screams. The vast space echoed with the alternation of different languages, as if there was no time to catch one's breath.

International airports have always been like this.

As one of the world's busiest airports, London's Heathrow Airport is experiencing another ordinary morning, with people coming and going in a constant stream.

Sharon-Agutter was waiting for her luggage. Air France's baggage clearance process is always so slow and frustrating. One bag came out, but the other was nowhere to be seen.

She doesn't understand.

Weren't the two pieces of luggage checked in together? Why didn't they appear together, but instead came out separately? Even if they were separate, shouldn't they have been spaced so far apart?

call.

Sharon let out a long breath, trying to calm herself down. There was no need for the fact that her vacation was over and she had to go back to work tomorrow to affect her mood.

At least, I don't have to go to work today, right?
"Oh. Finally."

Sharon spotted her suitcase among the pile of luggage, though she still couldn't understand why the second checked bag had taken so long to appear; but that no longer mattered.

Sharon stepped forward and dragged out her suitcase. It was heavy, really too heavy. Only then did she realize that she had stuffed all the antiques she had bought on Sog Island into the suitcase. She had enjoyed the shopping spree, but now she had to pay the price for her impulsiveness and recklessness. She began to worry about how she would leave the airport, how she would get a taxi, and how she would carry the suitcase upstairs.

With a jumble of thoughts running through my mind, I lost my balance and awkwardly bumped into my other suitcase.

Oops!

Sharon immediately realized something was wrong. While worrying that the suitcase behind her might be in the way of other passengers, she also needed to pull the suitcase in her hand down.

Sharon's heart sank as she turned around.

Sure enough, the suitcase was in the way of others. "I'm so sorry, I'm really, really, really sorry," Sharon blurted out.

Seeing her pitiful suitcase crookedly blocking the aisle, she realized she had to hurry up and not let it become an obstacle to traffic, otherwise the crowds would soon become congested.

Sharon released her right hand, preparing to grab the suitcase lying on the ground, only to find that the other suitcase in her hand had been swept away by the conveyor belt.

"what."

Sharon exclaimed in surprise, overwhelmed and flustered.

Just then, the figure in jeans and canvas shoes darted forward, grabbed a suitcase with one hand, and quickly lifted it off the conveyor belt.

"Miss, is this yours?"

A refined, confident London accent reminded Sharon that she was welcome back to London, and she quickly forced a smile. “Yes, that’s mine. Thank you. I mean, sorry, and thank you, thank you for your help, thank God, you’re an angel.”

Startled, Sharon didn't even have time to steady herself before she looked up, trying to express her gratitude with a smile. But when she saw those handsome, refined eyes, she slammed on the brakes, cutting off all her words. She stood there dumbfounded, staring blankly at the face so close to hers.

The other person seemed oblivious to the situation and instead looked back, asking, "Miss, are you alright? Are you sure you're not injured?"

Sharon was somewhat confused—

That accent is clearly that of a London native; but that face... could I be mistaken?
How can it be!

Even in a dream, she couldn't possibly mistake this face!

“…You…I…It’s impossible…but…” Sharon didn’t know what she was saying, stammering and hesitating. Finally, all the thoughts in her mind surged out like a tidal wave, condensing into one word, “Anson?”

The person in front of him was taken aback, raised his hand to touch his cheek, and said, "Oh."

"Shh!"

He put his finger to his lips, signaling for silence, and a smile played on his lips.

Immediately afterwards, he took off the sunglasses hanging above the round neckline of his white T-shirt, put them back on, and his bright eyes were immediately hidden.

Sharon didn't realize that she was actually feeling a little lost. Her heart sank slightly, and she couldn't help but want to look at those eyes again through her sunglasses.

But why? What happened? Anson? London accent? And Anson-Wood? Heathrow Airport? So did Anson arrive in London in economy class?

Question marks kept popping up, one after another. There was no time to think; in the blink of an eye, they filled my head, making it feel like it was about to explode.

Sharon opened her mouth, and for a mere second it seemed as if a thousand and eight words were swirling on her tongue, but she couldn't utter a single one; she could only ask one question.

"'Sunflower' or 'Sailing'?"

Anson was taken aback; clearly, he hadn't expected to face such a problem.

Sharon nearly bit off her tongue. She didn't know what was wrong with her and thought she might need to get her head checked.

Perhaps the fact that she and her friends spent their entire vacation on the French Riviera debating whether to "sail" or "sunflowers" without ever reaching a conclusion can explain her behavior at this moment—her mind is a complete mess with only this one thought, the sole thought.

However, Anson seemed unconcerned, a slight smile playing on his lips. "'Sailing'," he answered crisply. "But..." With a slight lift of his eyebrow, Anson whispered, "Shh. Keep it a secret."

In a single sentence, Sharon's heart forgot to beat—

She never knew that at forty, she could still experience the feeling of being moved; she was even more unaware that at forty, she could still be infatuated like a sixteen-year-old girl.

What's truly important is that she never knew that at forty, one could still feel love, still be happy, and still hold onto a sliver of hope for life.

"Sailing"? It's actually "Sailing"? But why?

If she tells her friends that she actually bumped into Anson at Heathrow Airport, what are the chances that her friends will think she's a crazy daydreamer? Should she take a picture to commemorate the moment and keep it as evidence? But wouldn't that interfere with Anson's daily life? She shouldn't bother him.

But why is Anson here? And alone, traveling by himself? So, this isn't Anson, just an ordinary person who looks somewhat like Anson, right?
Wait, did Anson just answer her question so directly?

(End of this chapter)