June, the month of European Cup madness.

She sat alone in the broadcasting studio. The show was about to start, but her co-host was late.

Tong Yan, tired from a sleepless night, rested her head on her hand, flipping through the script. The director’s voice crackled in her earpiece. “It’s almost seven. If Mai Ming isn’t here in five minutes, start with the traffic report.” She gave a thumbs-up.

With two minutes to spare, someone tapped her shoulder. It was her co-host. “Just made it!” he said, sitting down beside her, breathing heavily. He cleared his throat.

“You should really switch to the evening shift,” Tong Yan said, handing him her earpiece.

“Why are your eyes so red?” he asked, taking the earpiece.

“It was my grandmother’s death anniversary yesterday. Couldn’t sleep,” she said quickly, then made a “be quiet” gesture.

The two-hour live broadcast consisted of traffic reports and lighthearted banter. Mai Ming, a huge soccer fan, especially of the German team, steered the conversation towards the European Cup. Tong Yan, not a soccer enthusiast, simply played along, letting him engage the listeners.

After an hour and a half, he handed the listener call-in segment to her, his voice hoarse.

It was mostly a text message interaction segment. Only once a month did they take live calls, with a traffic police officer as a guest expert.

“Xiao Ke (Tong Yan’s nickname), I’m a long-time listener. I always tune in to your morning and evening shows,” a caller gushed, and Mai Ming mouthed, “A fan,” with a grin. Tong Yan made a face, then said to the caller, “Thank you.”

The topic was supposed to be about new traffic regulations, but the caller, after expressing his admiration, abruptly hung up, even making the guest police captain chuckle.

With five minutes left, she warned Mai Ming she needed a water break, and he, re-energized, took over, his voice smooth and resonant. “Hello.”

“Hello.”

The voice was low, warm, and familiar.

She froze, recognizing it instantly.

A voice she hadn’t heard in years, yet could never forget.

“Can you… hear me?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes.”

It was Gu Pingsheng.

She was speechless. Her co-host, puzzled by her sudden silence, seeing she wasn’t going to continue, smoothly took over. “Today’s topic is traffic in Xicheng District…”

The line suddenly disconnected.

A bad connection, probably.

It happened often. Her co-host chuckled, saying to the listeners, “Our caller must have been so starstruck by Xiao Ke’s voice that he hung up.” He then took the next call.

After the show ended, everyone, including the police captain, removed their headsets and stretched. Tong Yan remained seated, lost in thought. The director, reminding her that the show was over, went to scold Mai Ming for almost being late, and she slowly gathered her things, tossing her headset aside.

As she reached the door, she opened it and bumped into a colleague.

“Tonight…” the colleague started to say something, and Tong Yan abruptly turned around, hurrying back inside, almost slamming the door.

“Li Xing, I need the phone number of the last caller,” she said urgently, grabbing a colleague’s arm. Li Xing looked at her, puzzled. “Which caller? Tell me which one you need.”

“The one who only said ‘hello’ before the line disconnected.”

Li Xing hummed, then chuckled, writing down the number on a sticky note. “Who is it? Someone you know? Why so eager?”

Before she could pry further, Tong Yan had grabbed the note and run off.

She found an empty booth, closed the door, and stared at the number, hesitating.

Two years ago, the night her grandmother died, she had been heartbroken, desperate to hear his voice, only to discover he had changed his number. She had then changed her own number and moved, never attempting to contact him again, even during the difficult first few months of her new job, when she would sit alone on the side of the road late at night, or when her father, finally realizing the impact of his actions after her grandmother’s death, had turned his life around. She hadn’t reached out to Gu Pingsheng.

Life was full of unexpected twists and turns; in moments of despair, you never knew what tomorrow might bring. She didn’t want to dwell on “what ifs.” Her father’s transformation had come at the cost of her grandmother’s death, a bittersweet victory in the face of life’s harsh realities. She wouldn’t say that if she had known, they wouldn’t have separated.

But she still thought of him, often.

In familiar places, on special occasions, she remembered him.

She closed the blinds of the booth, entered the number, and pressed call.

The call connected quickly. “Hello.”

“It’s Tong Yan.”

A long silence followed. It was their first real phone conversation. In the past few years, from her internship to her current job, she had answered hundreds of calls, yet she had never been so nervous, her breath catching in her throat.

“I just heard your show,” he finally said.

“I know…” she repeated softly. “I know.”

“I only remember your voice from when you were a teenager. It’s changed a lot,” he paused. “But I recognized it.”

His voice, his tone, hadn’t changed.

It was as if they hadn’t been separated for years, as if they had just said goodbye yesterday.

“I have so much to tell you,” she said, her voice choked with emotion.

He chuckled. “I’m listening.”

“So much… so much…” Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She didn’t know where to begin.

“I’m on the airport expressway. If traffic in Beijing is as bad as it used to be, it’ll take about thirty minutes to reach the city. Tell me your address,” he said, his voice warm and gentle. “I’ll be in Beijing for two days. If that’s not enough time for you to tell me everything, I can apply for vacation time. And if that’s still not enough, I can request a transfer back to the China office, so I can… listen to you, slowly.”

His words, a steady stream of comforting reassurance, flowed from the phone.

She laughed through her tears, then, her legs feeling weak, she crouched down, holding the phone tightly against her cheek, listening to every word, his voice so clear, so familiar, and he could hear her too.

He hadn’t changed, not at all.

Though the path behind them had been fraught with hardship, though fate had been cruel,

Time, in the end, had been kind to them.