The clumsy translation of love
The desk lamp cast an amber glow on the exercise book. The son eraser rustled, and the tip of the pencil lingered behind the word "Answer" for a long time. I caught a glimpse of the crooked doodle figure on the scratch paper, and suddenly the astringent taste of aged mint candies welled up in my throat - thirty years ago, I did the same, scribbling math problems into comics and whistling with my textbook covering my face when my father took away his exercise books.
