Three months after Olivia disappeared, her parents finally decided to hold a nominal funeral. I did not attend. If I had met Max at the funeral, I would have been in a situation where I would have to explain the whole story.
On the day of the funeral, I was working overtime at the company. Actually, I could have turned it down, but I just wanted to find something to do. If I had free time, I would have fallen into a state of paranoia.
I focused on the report preparation and worked on it for several hours. It was much easier than doing other things because it did not require emotional involvement.
During lunch break, I subconsciously opened the social media app on my phone. Messages of condolence were overwhelming. More or less of my former classmates attended her funeral. Those who didn't go also shared their memories of her. It seems that she exists in people's memories as a perfect beautiful girl. But the beautiful girl they describe is nothing like her. At least not the one I am familiar with.
I spent the whole afternoon blankly reading the various eulogies, photos, and poems about youth in my friend circle. As I read, I felt as if they carried the weight of seven years. The seven years since I met her --- soaked in all kinds of memories and emotions --- were summarized in such a simple three or two sentences with pictures.
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