The young girl's confession was as intense as flame, catching Zhou Shuhuan completely off guard.
"Xiaoqiao, I..."
"Brother Zhou, you don't need to rush your answer. I have all the time in the world to wait."
With that said, Zhou Shuhuan didn't say anything more.
After dinner, the two strolled around the restaurant, and upon encountering a child selling flowers, Qiao Ya picked out a bloom, and Zhou Shuhuan promptly paid for it.
"Brother Zhou, look carefully."
Zhou Shuhuan looked at the flower Qiao Ya handed him, puzzled, "What?"
"I like white roses; make sure you don't send the wrong ones in the future."
Zhou Shuhuan was silent.
Qiao Ya giggled, put the flower to her nose and lightly sniffed, her charming face continued, "I love its fragrance, so fresh and clean, it's uplifting to the spirit."
"Do you know what the white rose symbolizes? Pure, noble love."
Qiao Ya chattered all the way, like a songbird.
For Zhou Shuhuan, this was an entirely foreign and novel feeling.