We’ll meet in Mei: A short story

Illustration about love
Betsy Siegal/File

Mei Huang meets August Claremont in the spring, when the air smells of rotten honeysuckles and mist.  A chill rattles her bones even through her cardigan — a sure, swift wind that jostles her gait and forces her hands into thin denim pockets. Mei’s breath comes in sharp bursts: clouds
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