Falling in love

Raindrops tap against the window, forming little beads as they trickle down the glass. Yellow autumn leaves, soaked in rain, fall gently to the ground. Watching the leaves scattered on the wet pavement, I lower my head, the theme from In the Mood for Love (Yumeji’s Theme) playing in my mind.

The tense rhythm of the cello stirs up long-buried pain from deep within and scatters it into the air. The man’s deep gaze, as he silently looks at a woman with her eyes closed in sorrow and loneliness, melts into the music. The theme of longing, regret, and solitude plays again and again.

The movie opens and ends with a caption: “She lowered her head shyly when she met him. Because of his timidity, she eventually left.” That says it all — a love that could never be fulfilled. Wong Kar-wai’s In the Mood for Love (also translated as The Most Beautiful Time of Life) pulls you in deeper every time you watch it — especially on a rainy late autumn day like today.

The lead roles are played by Tony Leung and Maggie Cheung. In the cramped, narrow spaces of Hong Kong, the two characters cross paths silently, brushing past each other without ever touching. Yet, the music alone speaks volumes about their deep and desperate love.

As the woman walks down the narrow alley stairs with a heavy heart, the man passes her quietly, watching her with sadness. Later, under the dim light of a streetlamp in a dark alley, he leans against a wall to light a cigarette, hiding from the rain. From above the stairs, she looks down at where he just stood — her lingering gaze full of regret — while the music flows, almost as if to comfort her.

These fleeting moments and silent waits between two lonely people feel like scenes from a painting by Edward Hopper, who gently captured quiet emptiness.

As the English title In the Mood for Love suggests, the film is less about the story and more about the mood — the atmosphere, the silence, and the music. The soundtrack deepens the feeling of their unspoken love. On rainy days, I listen to it again and again, with the sound of the rain in the background.

There’s an old saying: “If you have a secret you want to hide, go to a mountain, find a tree, dig a hole in it, whisper your secret into the hole, and then seal it with mud.” In the film, Tony Leung’s character does just that. He whispers the secret of his love into a hole in a tree at an ancient temple in Cambodia and seals it with leaves and mud.

From behind, a young monk in orange robes watches him. The scene seems to speak quietly about the emptiness and impermanence of life. Though orange is a bright and warm color, why does it feel more like the blood-red of poppies — filled with sorrow and the futility of life — to me?

The film ends with the subtitle: “That era has passed. Nothing that belonged to it exists anymore.”
But unlike the words suggest, this movie lingers longer in my heart than any other love story. Maybe it’s because mature love that never came to be is the kind that stays with us the longest.