Sheryl, Sylvia Chang is a director who aims to craft a tender romance film, yet the project makes her question the way fate shapes relationships. Her journey becomes a quiet, insightful meditation on a first love she thought she understood, now seen through a wiser, more compassionate lens. The narrative unfolds across two eras: in the 1970s, teenage Xiao-rou, Gigi Leung Wing-Kei captures the bright ache of a first crush, while in the 1990s the older Xiao-rou is portrayed by Sylvia Chang, linking the filmmaker’s life to the memories she revisits.
Ho-jun, Takeshi Kaneshiro, is a shy boy who falls for Xiao-rou, and their connection grows intimate even as parental objections loom large. Xiao-rou’s close confidante, Chen-li, Karen Mok, accompanies her through the turbulence, offering warmth and perspective as the romance strains under the weight of family expectations. The romance fades into misunderstandings, and Ho-jun eventually marries Chen-li, a twist that hints at the tangled paths love can take.
The story deepens with a troubling revelation: Chen-li discloses that she is a lesbian and that she and Ho-jun both loved the same girl—Xiao-rou. This confession reshapes every memory, prompting a new arc where Ho-jun travels to Japan to find Xiao-rou, who returns to her life in Hong Kong and becomes engaged. Ho-jun makes a final attempt to reconnect by arriving in Hong Kong and claiming he is a divorcee, but the moment arrives too late to change the past.
As years pass, Xiao-rou learns that Ho-jun’s wife was actually Chen-li, a discovery that arrives just after Chen-li’s death. Chen-li’s final forgiveness message and the photographs Ho-jun sends—images from a time when happiness felt possible—force a reevaluation of what was, what is, and what might have been. The narrative threads of memory and desire weave together, asking how much of our present is built from the stories we tell about the past.
In a deft, almost intimate twist, the film reveals that the director Sheryl’s own teenage romance has been dramatized within the movie itself. The realization—that life and art have long intertwined—casts the entire journey in a reflective glow, suggesting that the act of telling a story can be an act of living a love that may never be fully reclaimed. The ending leaves a resonant sense that memory preserves both sweetness and loss, and that every reimagining of a romance is, in its own way, a continuation of the first spark that began it all.
