Does it start with a mooncake? No.

This morning, in my e-mail, I got two spam messages from "your" restaurant, so far away from where I live. It was one of those details that let you guess that something is going on, but you don't precisely know what.
Both were the same message, advertising about mooncakes. They were from two different addresses, but not from yours. I could never have gotten that spam if some indiscretion had not been committed. The double spam was such a blatant proof that I wonder how they even could do it. My messenger made a serious mistake. You probably got in trouble, for my letter to you had been seen by people who were not supposed to know about it. Whatever happened next, you were probably forced to write me a hasty, cold, noncommittal mail which made my head turn with anguish for three whole days and threw me in the worst pangs of sadness — the ones that won't let you weep. I missed my shot, my dear — I had no control over this. I hope you know that. I am not even going to blame my messenger friend for this, for he would not understand, or he'd pretend he doesn't. And here I am, left with virtual mooncakes.

My dear love, I am going to tell our story and write for you. Someday you will read all this, and you will know that all this is for you only. And one day, perhaps, we shall share a mooncake. Then we will know for sure that we have left a lot of trouble behind us.