Alatina Park has never left; it has always been here, witnessing the joys and sorrows, separations and reunions of the world. Couples have held grand weddings in the park, with pink petals filling the sky, permeated by the sweet scent of happiness. Bees and butterflies in the park fluttered around, greedily savoring this sweet atmosphere and reluctant to leave. Alatina Park teased, "It's not your wedding, so why are you so happy?" Elderly people have held funerals here, where tall trees stood solemnly. The air in the park was thick and oppressive, everything eerily quiet, shrouded in the shadow of death. In an instant, as the ashes drifted with the wind, sunlight pierced through layers of dark clouds, gently caressing the weeping people. Alatina Park whispered consolation, "Everything will pass."
Epic events have unfolded in this park. A sultan once set foot on this land, leaving traces of gold dust from his carriage and perfume from his wives and concubines in Alatina Park. The park has also witnessed countless daily trivialities, sitting quietly there, accompanying the people here year after year, unchanging.
Today is Anya's first day in the city, and her first day living in a completely unfamiliar place away from her hometown. She tossed and turned in bed, nervous yet excited, unable to fall asleep despite heavy eyelids. Three years ago, she came across a post about Alatina Park online. As someone who loves parks, she instantly fell in love with its beauty across all four seasons. Later, she learned about many stories that had happened there. During a family dinner, she announced an important decision to her parents: "Mom, Dad, I've decided to move to the city where Alatina Park is!" Three glasses clinked softly, and Anya's fate took a new turn, slowly and steadily heading toward Alatina Park.
Morning light streamed into Anya's room, and crisp bird songs urged her to get up. She rubbed her eyes, wanting to roll over and continue her sweet dream, but suddenly bumped her knee against the wall with a thud. Mumbling, she sat up abruptly. Looking at the unfamiliar surroundings and the bed half the size of her one at home, she suddenly realized she was in a brand-new city! Fully awake, Anya quickly got ready. She applied light makeup, and through the haze of setting spray, she looked out the window. Sunlight with the Tyndall effect draped gently like silk, and various sounds outside called out to her, inviting her to embrace the city.
Anya lives in Hufulu Apartment on Fifth Avenue, 8 blocks away from Alatina Park, a 30-minute walk. For a young girl new to the city, this apartment was undoubtedly the best choice—affordable rent, good security, and a reasonably sized room. After deciding to settle here, Anya hastily started looking for housing. She initially wanted to find a place near Alatina Park, but besides the exorbitant rent, there were no available listings nearby. Perhaps no one wanted to be far from Alatina Park. So she found this apartment with a somewhat strange name. Interestingly, the owner was also unusual—named Little Tomato, with an IP address showing Sudan?
This landlord, who wasn't even in the local area, seemed to have a special affection for Alatina Park. When Anya passionately wrote a 1,000-word tribute to the park and sent it to Little Tomato on a social platform, she was apparently moved. Little Tomato agreed to reduce Anya's rent by 20% and gave her an electronic membership card for Alatina Park. Although everything about this felt suspicious, Anya's anticipation overcame her fears. She hastily signed the contract and began imagining her new life.
Looking at the piles of luggage and unassembled furniture, Anya sighed: "Furniture, I really want to put you together, but if I don't leave now, I'll be late for my first day of work! I'll come back to assemble you later." With that, she put on her shoes and rushed out the door. Anya's job was nothing special—she wore a uniform, sat in front of a large computer screen typing, processing a dozen documents and making a dozen calls a day. At noon, she rubbed her temples, looking a little tired, and stared at the skyscrapers outside the window. She seemed to be searching for something, and suddenly a striking patch of green caught her eye. Her tired eyes instantly softened—that green was Alatina Park. She stretched, threw away the aluminum foil from her fast-food sandwich, and got back to work.
Finally, at 4:00 PM, it was time to get off work. Anya packed her things eagerly, said goodbye to her supervisor and colleagues, and hurried out of the company toward Alatina Park.
When Anya stepped into Alatina Park, it was already evening. The sunset stretched across the sky, bright orange fading into intense fiery red, and finally concluding with a serene yet mysterious purple—spectacular and beautiful. Bathed in this colorful sky, everything in Alatina Park became quiet and wonderful. People looked up at the beautiful sky while chatting in whispers. The hurried urban life was pressed on slow-motion here, as if all matters were discarded, and the only important thing at the moment was to stop and admire the dusk.
Anya was so stunned by the scene that she couldn't speak. She stood dumbfounded at the main entrance of Alatina Park, her eyes fixed on the sky and the park below. She stayed there until the sunset faded and the sky turned dark again. When she came to her senses, her face was already wet with tears, but her heart was not in pain—instead, she felt immense happiness and contentment. All the doubts and anxieties she had before moving here, all the efforts and sacrifices she had made to settle down, were answered in Anya's heart. Anya smiled and wiped her tears, gathering her thoughts. Suddenly, a melodious tune reached her ears—jazz blending trumpets and saxophones, like a gentleman's hand leading her into Alatina Jazz Bar&Diner.
Alatina Jazz Bar&Diner was established at the same time as Alatina Park. The mayor visited a Michelin restaurant in the city and found George, the restaurant's chef and owner, hoping he would be in charge of catering for the park's opening ceremony. But when George saw the park's construction plan and sample images, a strange feeling arose in his heart—he wanted to open a shop here, offering good wine, delicious food, and playing his favorite jazz music for people who came to enjoy life.
Was his original restaurant not good? No, it was perfect—elegant decor, cool-toned marble floors, sparkling silver tableware, and impeccable dishes served on high-end porcelain plates. In just one year, his restaurant was awarded three Michelin stars, attracting celebrities from all over the world, and he made a fortune. However, success did not bring him joy. Instead, this man from New Orleans, USA, felt an unprecedented sense of melancholy and confusion.
To make his restaurant famous, he had made too many sacrifices. He abandoned his family—his wife and daughter, who had moved with him, barely spent any time together each year after the restaurant opened. In the end, his wife couldn't stand his busyness and left with their daughter. He clearly remembered it was their daughter's birthday. When he returned home with a gift, the house was empty except for a note from his wife. But he didn't have time to grieve; he held back his tears and hurried back to the restaurant. He couldn't afford to waste a single minute.
He abandoned his relationships. In the eyes of his employees, he was always a tyrant in the kitchen. Intolerant of foolish mistakes, he would fly into a rage in front of all his staff. He would never forget the time an arrogant young man, humiliated beyond endurance, grabbed a knife nearby and threw it at him, shouting, "Go to hell, you psychopath!" The knife left a gash on his arm, and blood flowed instantly, but the pain in his heart overshadowed the physical pain. That curse was deeply etched in his mind. His employees only respected and feared him; no one wanted to hang out with him after work. He often sat at home staring at the ceiling, having nothing to do. He also sacrificed himself. He often thought of his childhood in New Orleans—wandering the streets during the day, eating traditional New Orleans sandwiches, and sneaking into bars at night to watch jazz singers perform. But since opening the Michelin restaurant, he had no time to cook the food he loved, no time to listen to jazz, and no time to be himself.
So when he saw the design drawings of Alatina Park, he was in a daze. Alatina Park seemed to be the paradise he had been dreaming of, and he, parched for so long, needed redemption from this paradise. Later, he handed over the management of the Michelin restaurant to his most trusted employee and turned his attention to building Alatina Jazz Bar&Diner.
"Good evening, ma'am. What would you like?" As soon as Anya entered, she was greeted by George, who was cooking in the open kitchen. A warm aroma wafted over—George was making shakshuka in a cast-iron pot, with eggs sizzling in tomato sauce and minced meat. Anya smiled: "I'd like a drink to relieve some fatigue." George smiled and pointed to the bar inside the restaurant: "My wife is bartending over there. You can order there. Trust me, you'll love her drinks, just like I love her." He winked invisibly in his wife's direction. Anya walked toward the bar.
On the way, she got a chance to look closely at this special restaurant. The walls were pale goose yellow, and the warm lighting made the food more tempting and the smiles brighter. George's open kitchen was built entirely of bricks, small but fully equipped with stoves and kitchenware, all expensive. Beyond the open kitchen, the space became more spacious. On the right was an exquisite vintage jazz stage, where a band performed every night at 6:00 PM sharp. Anya paused to enjoy the jazz for a moment, then turned left toward the bar.
An elegant lady was bartending there. She shook the shaker skillfully, then opened it and poured the orange liquid into a martini glass. Unexpectedly, the liquid gradually layered in the glass, creating a gradient of red, orange, and yellow. The lady pushed the glass toward Anya: "Nice to meet you. I'm Hannah, the bartender and co-owner of Alatina Jazz Bar&Diner. Yes, that big guy at the door is my husband." She nodded slightly in her husband's direction, as if catching his invisible wink. "This is a drink I created myself—Tanqueray Gin, mixed with grenadine syrup, citrus liqueur, pineapple syrup, and a touch of apple liqueur." Hannah sliced a cherry and skewered it on the rim of the glass, then pointed out the window. "The inspiration came from today's sunset. I hope you had a chance to see it. Welcome, new face. It's nice to meet you—this one's on the house." Anya smiled and took a sip. The drink was sweet and sour, warm and comforting, making her feel as if she was seeing the stunning scenery again. It also opened her up to conversation. "Do you run this restaurant with your husband? That's lovely!" Anya asked. Hannah continued bartending as she replied: "Thank you, but my husband and I weren't this in sync a few years ago."
Hannah was heartbroken. It was her daughter's birthday, and her husband had promised to come home to celebrate, but the two of them had been waiting at the dinner table for three hours. "Mommy, didn't Daddy promise to celebrate my birthday with me today?" Her daughter sat beside her, asking sadly. Hannah looked at the tears in her daughter's eyes, wanting to say something comforting, but her throat felt tight. Suddenly, a terrible thought crossed her mind—her recurring nightmare seemed to be coming true. George, her husband, seemed to value work more than her and their daughter. She brushed back her messy hair, gently took her daughter's hand, and said: "Sweetheart, shall we celebrate your birthday somewhere else this year?" She didn't pack much. After contacting her family, she wrote a note and placed it on the table. Before leaving, she turned off each light in the house one by one. Looking at the house that had once held her and her husband's dreams for the last time, she sighed softly, took her daughter's hand, and closed the door behind them.
Ten minutes later, George hurried home from the restaurant, saw the note, and returned to the restaurant in a daze. On the plane back to her hometown, Hannah patted her sleeping daughter gently, staring at the night sky and clouds outside the window, her heart heavy with worry. A husband who was never home was someone to be condemned, but Hannah couldn't bring herself to hate George. She had seen George full of youthful vigor, had seen him shower her with sweet words during their courtship. She knew how passionate George was when he succeeded, how passionate he was when he loved something—not anxious or lost. In her note, she didn't hurl insults or accusations; she simply stated George's changes and the pain in her heart calmly. At the end of the note, she wrote: "If you change, please contact me immediately. Your daughter and I have always loved you, but the person you are now isn't someone we can live with. We wait and hope for your change."
After returning to her hometown, Hannah didn't idle. She signed up for cocktail classes and kept learning. A year later, she became an experienced senior bartender. Her daughter grew older, and whenever she asked where her father was, Hannah was lost for words. It had been over a year, and she still hadn't heard from her husband. She couldn't help but wonder if George was angry about their sudden departure, or if he had simply forgotten about them in his busyness.
In the second year after Hannah left George, it was an ordinary morning. Hannah was preparing breakfast in the kitchen, having long stopped thinking about George. Her daughter had gradually learned to understand her mother's silence, and they were both busy living their lives, the old haze fading away. Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupted her breakfast. She opened the door and let out a cry of surprise. George was standing at the door, holding a bouquet of yellow roses, smiling awkwardly. Before he could speak, Hannah slapped him hard: "You fool! I told you to change, but did you really have to wait until you changed to come find me?! Why didn't you call even once in these two years?!" She burst into tears and hugged George tightly. George hugged her back just as tightly: "My love, I was wrong all along. Thank you for waking me up, thank you and our daughter for your unwavering wait and trust. I love you both." "Daddy!" Their daughter exclaimed, rushing toward him excitedly. The happy family was finally reunited.
Inside the house, Hannah put the yellow roses in a vase and took a deep breath. "So, you've changed. Let's hear it," she said, hands on her hips. George took out pictures of the completed Alatina Park and Alatina Jazz Bar&Diner and showed them to Hannah and their daughter: "This is a new restaurant I opened in that city. It will be much less stressful than the old one. There, I can be myself and serve truly comforting food to my guests." Hannah smiled as she looked at the photos, as if she was already in the restaurant, dancing with her husband. "And jazz," Hannah added. "Yes, and jazz!" The three of them laughed in unison.
Anya was deeply moved by their story. At that moment, George walked over and placed a plate of Manchego cheese and churros next to Anya. "Good wine and a good story deserve good food! Here, young lady, try this—it's a simple yet elegant combination." Manchego cheese has a salty and nutty flavor, and churros are Spanish fried dough sticks, usually savory and crispy. The saltiness of the cheese enhances the sweetness of the wine, and the crispness of the churros contrasts beautifully with the smoothness of the drink. Don't ask about the price—this one's on me! Anya was overwhelmed by their warmth: "Thank you so much. You're too kind—I'm truly flattered!" The couple exchanged a glance and smiled: "Since you like it here and like us, you must come often!" Anya nodded with a smile: "I will!"
When she walked out of the restaurant, it was already 8:00 PM. Most areas of the park were closed, except for the restaurant where a few people were still drinking and enjoying themselves. The early autumn night was already a bit cool, so Anya wrapped her thin cardigan tightly around herself and hurried home. Suddenly, her phone received a text message from an anonymous sender: "Have you found any clues yet?" Anya's expression darkened. She deleted the message in annoyance, muttering: "I just arrived here today. What's the hurry, old man? Ugh, I still have to tidy up the house when I get back—so annoying!" Alatina was extremely quiet at night. The two large streetlights at the main entrance were like a pair of eyes, watching Anya walk home.