She didn’t know those words were the last thing I wanted to hear.
I didn’t need anyone’s protection.
Ethan sat by the window. Listening to Ms. Harper, he lazily lifted his head to glance at me, then flopped back over his desk.
There was no curiosity, no surprise in those beautifully lazy eyes.
I let out a quiet breath and carefully walked to the empty seat beside him.
To my surprise, Ethan really didn’t offer me any special treatment.
To him, I was the same as every other student in class.
Equally ignored.
I was quietly grateful.
That tiny gratitude—of being treated like a normal person—grew inside me day by day.
I started trying to talk to him. I’d offer to tell him the answers to problems he’d left blank, even though he never listened.
He barely spoke to me.
Still, I thought maybe we were friends.
I’d never had a friend before—he was the first.
Until the day I saw him leaning against a wall off campus, a cigarette stubbed between his fingers.
Some courage I didn’t know I had tightened the strap of my backpack and I walked up to him. In my halting speech I said, “Ethan, smoking is bad.”
He looked at me but didn’t say anything. The kid facing him laughed and mocked my pronunciation: “Cole, smoking bad.”
Then he inhaled and blew smoke straight at my face.
I choked on it, coughing. When I turned back to Ethan his expression had changed.
“Mind your own business,” he snapped.
The hearing device I wear makes every sound shrill and harsh to my ears.
Ethan’s voice was different from others—I liked hearing him speak.
But he rarely spoke to me, and he’d never used that kind of language with me before.
Shame flooded up from my chest. I gripped my backpack strap tighter and fled as the other kid laughed.
After that, Ethan changed.
He changed, and then the whole class changed.
Their discrimination and mockery toward me grew worse in step with Ethan’s shift.
Anyone singled out by Ethan was destined to be singled out by everyone.
“Claire, go buy me a bottle of water.”
Ethan had one foot on the rung under my chair during break, his nice voice sandwiched with a nasty tone.
He was always like that—ordering me to do things.
He would take the hearing device out of my hair like a bored kid plucking a toy, as if it were nothing.
He didn’t know it was the thing my whole family had scrimped and saved to give me; if it got lost, they couldn’t afford another.
Because he didn’t know, he was casual about it. Maybe he didn’t mean to be.
I always made excuses for him.
But when I brought back the water, he said, “I don’t want it anymore.”
The schoolstore was far; I spent the whole break getting that bottle.
He said he didn’t want it in a single offhand sentence.
My chest stung. Tears circled my eyes but I blinked them back.
“What? Crying already?”
Ethan reached over and yanked the elastic from my hair.
The breeze slid in through the window, tugged at the elastic on his finger, and tossed down my hair.
My ear was exposed—and the hearing device fell off to the floor.
The world went silent.
Classmates from across the room were whispering—something—but their words were just noise through the hearing device.
I scrambled to my knees to pick up the device and fasten it back onto my ear.
The tears that had been held in dropped instantly.
The bell and the students’ whispers chattered into my brain through the device.
I knew I couldn’t stay at this school for long.
All I wanted was to finish high school properly. Why did things never go my way?
2.
When the lunch break bell rang, I quickly pulled back the book I’d been propping against the window to block sunlight from Ethan’s face.
He’d complained the sun was too bright and bothered his naps, so I always held a book up for him before he fell asleep and removed it when he woke.
Ethan lifted his head slowly like usual. His pretty eyes opened lazily.
The lazy look vanished the instant he saw me, and a roguish smile tugged at his mouth. “Had another dream, huh.”
Ethan never smiled at me. I’d never seen him smile.
The sunlight poured in—him smiling in it looked blinding in a way I couldn’t decide if it was him or the sunlight that dazzled more.
Teacher came in before I could think about his words, and class started.
Ethan was off today.
He didn’t flop over his desk all afternoon and he didn’t skip class. He just stared at me the whole time.
At dismissal he stood up, hit the edge of his desk.
The dull thud made me wince. He stared at the leg he’d hit, then up at me like he’d forgotten something.
“Ethan! Let’s go!”
A kid poked his head in from the doorway—Kyle Mason, one of Ethan’s crew.
Ethan glanced at Kyle then back at me.
“Shit!” he cursed under his breath.
I thought he’d been cursing because it hurt—the reflexes of a kid always ready to fight are slow to settle.
Ethan never bothered me after school; he always had fights to go to and scenes to crash.
But today he didn’t go fight.
Hazel Park, who walked home with me, linked her arm through mine. On her third look back she asked tensely, “Claire, did you get on Ethan’s bad side today?”
I shook my head and tugged her hand. I didn’t answer and picked up my pace.
I had no idea why Ethan and his group started trailing us.
Hazel had suddenly started being nice to me a few days ago—wanted to be friends, offered to walk me home.
Her friendship felt like a favor. She was the only one who would walk home with me; if Ethan bullied me on the way home, she might stop coming.
But Ethan followed us the whole way and did nothing.
“Maybe he’s on his way to a fight and just passing by,” Hazel whispered from behind the window as we watched Ethan and his men walk away.
That made sense. It meant she’d still walk home with me tomorrow.
Relief at Ethan’s inaction shaved a little off the thin dislike I already felt for him.
I stared at Ethan’s empty seat, feeling spaced out.
He hadn’t come to school three days in a row now. Maybe he’d really gone to some big fight that night?
I’d just placed his zero-score quiz on his desk when he appeared beside me.
A shadow fell over me. I turned reflexively and saw him in a neatly buttoned uniform with his hair cut short.
Since I transferred here, this was the first time I’d seen him in the uniform.
Ethan was already handsome—the slightly longer hair had added to that lazy look—but now with a buzz cut, and the clean uniform, he looked neat and sharp.
The kind of handsome that mixed streetwise charm with fresh sunlight—something he’d never shown before.
A few girls in class glanced over.
He didn’t care. He tossed his backpack on his desk, exactly covering the quiz I’d just put there.
“I—” I hadn’t meant to look at his test.
What I was about to say wouldn’t change anything, so I stayed quiet.
He looked at me, and I felt guilty.
I braced for another order when he sighed and climbed over the desk behind me to his seat.
I looked at the spot where he’d been standing, dumbfounded.
He had just stood there because he wanted to sit down?
3.
Ethan had changed.
Everyone whispered it.
“Ethan!”
Kyle poked his head in at the door.
This was study hall—normally Ethan would be pulled out by Kyle and gone.
It seemed like he’d never sat through a study hall properly.
Not just study halls—he seemed to get up whenever he wanted.
Kyle waved at him from the doorway. Ethan glanced up.
I stood, intending to let him go, but he grabbed my hand and slammed me back into my seat.
“Back off,” he said without looking away from the door.
It startled me—and Kyle.
Kyle’s hand froze mid-wave, then he rubbed his head and retreated.
A math workbook thumped down on my desk.
His workbook was cleaner than my face.
Ethan tapped a problem with his finger and asked, “You know how to do this?”
I blinked, then looked. It wasn’t hard, just a lot of little foundational steps.
“Explain it,” he said.
He handed me his pen.
His voice came through the hearing device in my right ear—oddly pleasant.
The boy two seats in front of me glanced back instinctively, only to be glared into looking forward again.
I looked at Ethan.
Those three words shouldn’t have been anything special coming from him.
He frowned a little, as if a curse might spill out next. But it didn’t. He asked, “You don’t know?”
“I do…”
I fumbled a pen from my pouch and began to explain the problem.
It was the first time anyone had ever asked me to teach them a problem.
Even though I was good at school, having worn the hearing device since childhood limited my picking up of sounds and made my speech imperfect.
Not many people listened when I talked.
After I slowly and nervously finished explaining, the words “You get it?” stuck in my throat.
“So easy?” Ethan raised an eyebrow—there was a hint of pride, like he’d solved some profound mystery.
It was almost cute.
I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.
By the time Ms. Harper walked in, Ethan had already solved two problems.
“Told you this stuff can’t beat me,” he muttered, and the sound via my device landed in my head in a strangely pleasant way.
Ms. Harper glanced at him, then looked at me twice with disbelief written all over her face.
She probably couldn’t imagine the troublemaker sitting next to me being the one quietly doing his work.
But Ethan didn’t do what I expected. The next second he climbed out the window—right in front of me.
He’s always been like that, like no one else matters.
Sometimes I feel he’s changed, and sometimes he hasn’t at all.
Hazel walked home with me, arm looped in mine. She looked back a few times. “Claire, why does Ethan always pass by your place after school?”
“Maybe… coincidence?”
I use as few words as possible.
Luckily Hazel understands me.
“I heard since he cut his hair, girls from other schools wait at the gate every day.”
My clipped answer didn’t stop her gossiping mind.
I already knew that.
Every day after school there were girls in other school uniforms waiting at the gate.
They were waiting for Ethan.
“Mm.”
I gave a soft affirmative to show I was listening.
Hazel glanced back again. “Honestly, he looks way hotter than before.”
He always looked fine to me.
4. Girls waiting at the gate for Ethan came in waves.
That day I recognized a few familiar faces among them.
I instinctively grabbed Hazel’s arm, trying to make her linger, but before I could speak, the girls stepped right up to us.
“Oh?
Isn’t this our little Claire?”
The leader poked my chin with her finger.
Hazel tried to step forward but two girls blocked her behind me.
The leader used to be my classmate. I turned my face away from the obvious malice in her eyes.
She immediately grabbed my left wrist, and the squeeze felt like it was choking my heart—I froze, forgetting to struggle.
“Claire, you’re good at hiding.”
She tightened her grip, felt the abnormality at my wrist, and sneered, “You’ll never die clean.”
A chill ran through me.
The fog that had nearly lifted around me closed back in.
I tried to step back, but she pinched my chin and leaned close, her mouth brushing my hearing device. “What? You put on that little suicide act and got me suspended—proud of yourself?”
I didn’t— Before I could finish she ripped the device off my ear and tossed it into the air like she always used to.
All the memories swelled up. I panicked and reached for it, but the device landed squarely in another girl’s hand.
They wore that familiar sneer and played the same cruel game.
On the third toss, someone leapt from behind me and caught it.
I looked up and saw Ethan standing there like a god descending.
He shoved the device into his pocket with one hand and slapped the girl across the face with the other.
The laughing stopped.
I couldn’t see his expression, couldn’t hear what anyone was saying—I could only stand there frozen.
The girls hurried away. Hazel ran up and hooked her arm through mine.
Only then did Ethan turn around, the hard edge slowly sliding off his face.
He gently hung the hearing device back on my ear without a word.
That time Hazel took my hand and walked me home. I couldn’t help glancing back at Ethan trailing behind.
The streetlight stretched his shadow long on the pavement.
He’d been looking down, then suddenly lifted his head and our eyes met.
I quickly turned away and pretended nothing happened as Hazel and I kept walking.
Ethan really did seem to have changed—he was no longer unpleasant at all.
That night, watching Ethan with his head on the desk, I whispered, “Ethan, thank you.”
Thank you for getting my device back yesterday.
Thank you for not asking questions.
Ethan turned his head. Sleep fogged his eyes; he stared at me for a beat before blinking awake.
Lately he’s been doing that—drifting a little after waking, staring at me.
“Hm?”
He hadn’t heard.
“Th-thank you.”
I looked him in the eye, enunciated carefully. I meant it—sincerely, firmly.
Ethan lifted his head, nodded, then added with cocky ease, “You can repay me by tutoring me.”
I froze. I hadn’t expected him to make a request like that.
He seemed to think he’d been rude, so he awkwardly added, “Okay?”
I didn’t expect that either.
When I hesitated, he snapped, “If you say no, I’ll make you do it!”
Kind of cute—like an angry little cat.
I pressed my lips together and nodded. “But… I can’t speak well.”
My speech is not fluent; my pronunciation’s off. Even teachers never call on me.
“Then it’s settled—starting today.”
He finished and climbed out the window.
I turned and glanced. Kyle was hanging in the hallway on the other side. He caught my eye and made a face at me; Ethan smacked the back of his head as he strode past, arm thrown around Kyle as they left—hardly the image of two kids ready to study.
5.
Yesterday Ethan asked me to tutor him; today he showed up at school wearing glasses.
His books were neatly arranged, like he actually meant to study.
Even though we’re in senior year, he didn’t seem fazed.
When he put on his glasses and looked at the board, Mr. Peters—who’d just finished the example on the board—was so startled he dropped his piece of chalk.
While the teacher bent to pick it up, Ethan leaned over and whispered, “How did you get that one-half root-two?”
His breath brushed the wispy hair by my ear and startled me.
I glanced at the math teacher like he’d seen a ghost, then flipped open a fresh page in my notebook.
That step wasn’t hard, it had just been skipped in class.
For someone a bit weaker in fundamentals like Ethan, that gap was real.
I wrote the missing steps on the page and slid the notebook toward him.
He pushed up his glasses and studied my steps seriously.
After a moment he raised an eyebrow, like he finally understood.
Sunlight fell on my notebook, and Ethan’s shadow from the window lay over the page.
Suddenly he drew eyes and a mouth on his shadow with a pen.
“Pft—”
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. In the quiet room the sound was surprisingly clear.
When I looked up, Mr. Peters had a complicated expression. He glanced between the board and me, then said nothing and continued the lesson.
But after math and later Chinese class, I was summoned to the teachers’ office.
Because of my difference, I’ve sat in that office countless times.
This time felt different.
The teachers were lined up; Mr. Peters started, “What were you laughing at last class?”
My hands twisted together behind me.
When I kept my head down and didn’t answer, Ms. Harper spoke in a heavy, earnest tone, “Claire, your situation is special—you should be careful.”
I knew.
Getting into this school took my parents a lot of trouble; they begged and pleaded for me to be allowed to stay.
“You’re in senior year. Your grades are stable. Don’t let irrelevant people affect you.”
She slowed down so every word landed in my ears.
I hadn’t been affected by Ethan, but I couldn’t say anything. I bit my lip and nodded.
She was right. In my situation, with my family, only doing well on the college entrance could change things.
Ms. Lang looked at me. “Has Ethan been doing anything unusual?”
That was the real reason they called me in.
They thought Ethan’s most unusual behavior was actually studying.
They aren’t against Ethan studying—they just think something off must be happening. Ethan’s the kind of rich, ungovernable troublemaker even teachers hesitate to discipline. He could skip days and still not get expelled.
So when that chaos prince decided to study, everyone found it strange. I found it strange too, but I said nothing.
When they couldn’t get anything from me, the teachers sighed.
Finally Ms. Harper stood and patted my shoulder. “We’ll move your seat tomorrow—don’t let it affect your college… ”
Before she finished, Ethan walked in.
He strode up and called out, “Reporting in!”
Same careless tone, same swagger—like last class had never happened.
The teachers filed out quickly, leaving Ms. Harper standing across from us.
She looked briefly uncomfortable, sat back down, and asked Ethan, “What is it?”
Ethan looked at me. “You, get out.”
His tone was sharp but I felt relieved.
I glanced at Ms. Harper like I was apologetic and left the office without looking back.
I didn’t hear what Ethan said inside. When he came out, he stood beside me with a mischievous grin. “What, still wanted to go back in?”
No. I hurried back to class.
6.
In the end Ms. Harper didn’t move my seat.
Ethan stopped bullying me.
And I noticed things around me improving.
Classmates were friendlier; I never heard anyone call me that slur about hearing again.
I thought maybe I’d be transferred, but things stopped deteriorating.
Everything went back to normal—except Ethan.
He started attending class, asking me to explain problems at break, sometimes dragging me into extra study before heading home.
A month of this left Hazel still incredulous.
She grabbed my hand on our walk home and, looking back a few times, asked, “Why didn’t Ethan follow behind today?”
I couldn’t help looking back too—he wasn’t there.
Before, he used to amble behind us with Kyle every day, doing nothing. They’d only keep pace until we neared home, then continue on like they were just passing by.
“I don’t remember him doing that before.”
I watched the path ahead.
He hadn’t followed us at first; it’d started a month ago. Maybe he’d only been passing by for a reason—and now whatever needed doing was finished.
Hazel nodded, seeming to accept that.
We’d taken only a few more steps when a group of kids suddenly blocked our way from nowhere.
"You’re the little handicap who made Ethan Cole straighten up?"
The blond kid leading them tossed his half-smoked cigarette to the ground.
It’s just a hearing issue, not a handicap… I tightened my grip on my backpack strap.
Hazel let go of my hand and, without making it obvious, stepped in front of me. "Y-you—you… who are you?"
She sounded like she was fighting herself to keep from crying.
The blond kid took a few steps closer. Hazel backed up, shielding me.
"Ethan beat up our boys. Does he think that’s the end of it?"
The blond reached for Hazel’s shoulder.
Hazel was a perfect student—if she hadn’t taken pity on me and become my friend, she’d probably never be mixed up with kids like this.
I grabbed her to pull her back.
Clearly, the blond’s target was me. When he saw me move, he let Hazel go and reached for me.
Before I could figure out what to do, a backpack sailed over from behind and smacked the blond in the head.
"What? Your buddy didn’t get beaten enough, so now you want to try?"
Ethan’s voice came from behind me.
I hadn’t even processed what had happened when a gust blew past my side.
Everything went suddenly quiet.
I reached to touch my hearing device—and it was gone.
Hazel pulled me a few steps back, and I finally saw Ethan standing in front of me.
He and the blond were talking, but I couldn’t hear a word.
I only saw him quickly put my hearing device into his jacket pocket.
I didn’t know why he’d taken it, and I didn’t dare demand it back then.
By the time Kyle and his crew arrived, the blond was already riled up with Ethan.
Even without sound, you could see the anger on the blond’s face.
Hazel patted my arm and dragged me into a narrow alley.
"I can’t hear," I said, mouthing the words I couldn’t even hear myself.
Hazel heard me. She nodded and led me to sit on the steps.
We sat there a long time without speaking. I had no idea what had happened with Ethan over there. Maybe Hazel did—she could hear, and I watched her brow knit sometimes.
I felt like the sound of the whole world no longer belonged to me.
Who knows how long passed. The streetlight beside us grew brighter.
A shadow stretched across our feet and I looked up to see Ethan, his jacket rumpled.
He fished my hearing device out of his pocket and clipped it onto my ear.
"Let’s go home."
His low words came into my ear along with the return of sound.
I adjusted the device and, with Hazel, stood from the stone step.
"Did you fight?" I asked softly, noticing the sweat on his brow.
He shook his head and spread a roguish grin. "No."
7. Ethan lied.
He really had fought the blond. I saw the bruise on his arm when his sleeve fell earlier.
It must’ve hurt.
I had just left the nurse’s office with ointment when gossiping passersby chattered nearby.
"Ethan Cole’s dad showed up?"
"Yeah. Heard he’s some bigshot CEO—no wonder Ethan acts so arrogant."
I’d never heard anyone mention Ethan’s dad before.
"The principal took him to the office—principal seemed really…," the voices trailed off as they walked away until I couldn’t make out anything.
I put the ointment back in my desk and got ready for the next class.
Ethan didn’t come back to class all morning.
I heard he’d argued with his dad in the principal’s office and stormed off.
When I checked his desk it was empty. The classroom buzzed with talk about what had just happened.
Apparently his dad had come right after I left the room, so I’d missed him.
I kept the ointment in my desk and prepared for class.
There weren’t many people on the rooftop. I spotted Ethan sitting in the corner right away.
As I approached, he lifted his head from his knees; his eyes were a little red.
He stared at me and suddenly smiled. "I knew you’d come."
He looked as if he’d expected me to find him.
I didn’t ask why. I crouched down in front of him, rolled up his sleeve, and took the ointment from his school uniform pocket. I dabbed it on the bruise.
"The nurse said this… promotes circulation and reduces bruising."
After I applied some, I handed the tube to him.
The smell of the ointment filled the air and made my eyes sting. Ethan looked at the tube for a long beat and took it from my hand.
When he looked back at me, there was a glint in his eyes beneath that defiant look. I thought he was about to say thank you, but instead he asked, "Claire, do you want to go abroad?"
The question came out of nowhere.
But I didn’t need to think to answer.
"No."
I couldn’t dare to think, couldn’t claim to deserve such a possibility.
"Your dad wants you to go abroad?"
I blurted it, clumsy and careful at once.
That had to be the thing upsetting him, but he answered like someone avoiding intimacy—he couldn’t bring himself to open up.
Sure enough, the light in his eyes dimmed.
"Where do you want to go?"
He asked, looking at me without answering his own question.
"The capital."
I blinked—no thought, just an answer. "Stateview University."
It was my parents’ hope. I’d decided years ago that I couldn’t let them down again.
Ethan paused, let out a short laugh. "Of course."
Of course what?
I’d never told anyone about wanting Stateview.
"Okay." He said, then, "Then go to Stateview."
The Bad Boy Who Made Me His
I nodded and smiled at him. "Okay."
He seemed in a better mood. I tried to stand and head back to class, but my legs were tingly. A gust of wind threw me off balance and I fell into Ethan's arms.
My hands braced his chest and I could feel his heartbeat quicken beneath my palms.
I froze, flustered, and then toppled into his embrace.
Ethan caught me with both arms. There was a look I had never seen on him—defiance mixed with a strange light in his eyes. A small dimple showed when he smirked, making him look extra roguish.
His voice dropped, casual but intimate. "Claire, do you want to have a boyfriend early?"
8. That day I covered my face and ran.
Even though I knew he was joking, for days afterward I couldn't act normal around him.
Midterm grades were being posted today.
This time, more than my own score, I wanted to see Ethan's.
When the class rep brought the grade sheet from the teacher's office and stuck it on the wall, everyone squeezed forward. I, inexperienced in crowds, was pushed to the outer edge.
My hearing device almost got knocked off by the press. I reached to steady it and then felt a hand slide past me from behind.
"Make way."
Ethan's voice came from behind. In the noisy room it sounded exceptionally clear—like a cool spring pouring into an echoing valley.
Thinking of him asking me that question in that voice made my face heat immediately.
The students in front obediently stepped aside. Ethan walked up from behind, basketball tucked under one arm, and ripped the grade sheet off the wall.
"We haven't looked yet…" someone protested quietly.
Ethan glanced at him and raised an eyebrow. "So?"
The mood chilled—like he could throw the basketball at any second.
The class rep hurried to smooth things over. "I'll go print another copy."
No one dared argue. Ethan walked up to me and put the grades in my hand. "What's there to look at?"
Then he tossed the basketball to a boy in the back and sat down.
I hurried back to my seat, clutching the sheet.
Ethan's grade, as I'd suspected, had jumped up a lot—he was now in the top hundred for the year.
I looked up, excited to tell him, and saw him pick up the water bottle on my desk and take a sip.
"That— that's my water…" I stammered.
He screwed the cap back on and set it down. "I didn't touch your mouth."
I knew he hadn't. He'd already sipped it.
I froze, not knowing what to say.
He leaned toward me. "What? Can't drink it?"
My face flushed again. It wasn't that anyone couldn't drink my water before—it's that no one ever drank my water, no one had ever been that close to me.
"Hm?" I came back to myself and blushed. "N-no."
I couldn't look at him. I glanced at the grade sheet on my desk and remembered what I'd meant to say.
"Y-your grades improved a lot."
I tried to enunciate clearly.
Ethan glanced at the sheet on my desk. "Was that to check my score?"
I smiled at him. "Yeah."
Because I'd tutored him, his progress gave me more satisfaction than my own gains.
Ethan's ears tinged faintly pink. He looked away and straightened. "Kid."
With my hearing device on, sounds could be sharp—especially since he sat on my right. The device picked up those three words perfectly.
I covered my mouth and laughed.
Ethan's dad really is a big boss. I watched the car parked at the school gate—I'd never seen it before, but even I could tell it was expensive.
Hazel tugged on my sleeve. "Claire, look at that car—it’s *so* expensive."
When it came to things like that, I trusted Hazel implicitly.
The person who climbed out of the car walked up behind us and stopped beside Ethan Cole. "Sir."
Unexpectedly, there wasn't much deference in his voice.
"Don't bother me. I don't agree."
Ethan slung his jacket over one shoulder and, before the man could say another word, turned and walked off.
He walked ahead of us, then looked back at me. "Not going home?"
"Yes."
The words slipped out. Under Ethan's gaze, I grabbed Hazel Park's arm and kept walking.
Hazel glanced back, made a face at me, then squeezed closer.
"I told you he was walking you home!" she whispered.
Heat rose to my cheeks. I pinched Hazel's arm and signaled for her to stop teasing.
This time Ethan didn't stay far behind like before.
He was only two steps back, following us slowly.
I didn't know if he heard Hazel's little remark.
I looked down and saw his shadow fall at my feet, as if it willingly settled there.
I couldn't help the small smile that tugged at my mouth. In that instant I forgave him for all the minor cruelties he'd done before.
9.
Hazel said Ethan's family situation wasn't great — he was raised by his grandmother and had only been brought to live with his father a few years ago.
"What about his mom?"
Hazel and I lay on the bed together; I watched the bright white ceiling.
"No idea. I heard she either died or ran away."
Hazel hesitated, then added, "Sometime when he was five. Kind of makes you feel sorry for him."
It did make me pity him.
Since hearing that, I'd been kinder to Ethan.
At lunch I propped two books on the windowsill to block the sun for him. The sill was narrow and the books were thick; after wobbling they toppled and hit Ethan on the head.
I jumped, scrambling to pick them up.
The moment my hand touched the books, his hand closed over mine.
His palm was incredibly hot.
When he opened his eyes and saw me, the flicker of sharpness in them vanished and he let go.
I felt awkward for a second, but when I noticed his lips were a little pale, I stopped being embarrassed and reached to feel his forehead.
Just as I suspected—he had a fever.
"You're burning up."
He closed his eyes again and I tugged his shirt.
He opened his eyes and looked at me; the fever had reddened them. "Mm."
He didn't seem to care.
I panicked. "We need to go to the nurse."
Maybe because I was flustered, or because he wasn't fully awake, he blinked blankly for a moment.
After a moment he reached for my cup and gulped down two big swallows of water.
Since I had tacitly okayed it before, Ethan hadn't bought his own water since.
"Drink more, you'll be fine."
He capped my cup and set it back on my desk.
No. I couldn't let it end there.
I grabbed his sleeve and shook my head hard. "Go. Nurse's office!"
I stood up and tried to pull his scalding hand to get him to stand. Two tugs did nothing.
Only when I was on the verge of tears did he finally obey and stand.
I didn't have time to ask a passing teacher for leave; I dragged him out.
Maybe to Ethan I looked crazy, but he didn't know that a high fever could fry a pair of ears.
Any careless moment could cost us more than we could bear.
"40 degrees? That high?"
Nurse Alvarez frowned, holding the thermometer.
I had known his temperature would be high from how hot his hand had been. Thankfully it was just a bad cold. The nurse gave him medicine and hooked him to an IV for a nap.
"He should be okay after some sleep. You can go."
She adjusted her glasses, glanced at Ethan asleep on the bed, then at me.
I nodded but couldn't shake the worry. Since it was still lunch and the next two periods were study hall, I decided to stay by the bed.
The nurse looked at me differently for a beat, sighed, and returned to her desk.
I'd been staying up late cramming lately and was sleep-deprived; waiting there during lunch, I soon dozed off with my head on the desk.
When I woke, Ethan was already awake. He was staring at the sliver of wrist I'd accidentally exposed.
My sleeve had ridden up while I slept. I hurried to pull it down. My clothes were intentionally a size too big; I always wore long sleeves so no one noticed anything.
But Ethan saw. He quickly took my left hand, and before I could pull away he peeled back the layers of fabric around my wrist.
The pale pink scar lay exposed.
His hand trembled. When he looked up at me, the outer corners of his eyes were red, full of disbelief.
I couldn't bear to look at him. I wrenched my arm free from his shaky grip and, blank-headed, ran out.
That was everything I had left of dignity.
In that instant everything shattered between us.
10.
I didn't know where to go.
I didn't know where I could go.
When Ethan found me I was curled in a corner on the rooftop, holding the removed hearing device in my hand.
He crouched down beside me and gently pried the device from my palm. I could see his fingers go a little red; his fingertips trembled.
The wind blew, sending the fine hair behind my ear to my cheek. Ethan brushed the strands back behind my ear and hung the hearing device on me.
Sound flooded in from all directions.
"Ethan," he said, eyes wet. "It's time for class."
His voice was awkward and slightly trembling.
He didn't ask about the scar on my wrist.
I stared and, stunned, whispered, "Okay," but didn't move.
He didn't move either.
After a while the wind cooled the remaining flush on my face and I squeezed out, "Ethan, my legs are numb."
He seemed surprised I said that, then let out a small laugh.
He turned his back to me. "I'll carry you."
No way. I shook my head, then remembered—he couldn't see that I shook my head. "No…it's fine."
He didn't insist. He came back, took off his school jacket, smoothed it neatly on the ground.
He patted the jacket. "Sit here."
I hesitated.
"Then I'll carry you."
He said it softly.
I obeyed and sat down. Pain like a thousand needles shot through my legs.
Ethan gently straightened my legs. I tried to move, and he gripped my calves. The prickling intensified, but through the long pants I could still feel the warmth of his palms—more real than the pins.
He softened his hold and began to massage the soles of my feet. Gradually, after a tingly buzz, my feet came back to life.
When Hazel arrived, she saw a scene that could be easily misread.
She hesitated, then ran over.
Her ears were flushed; whatever she assumed, she said nothing. She just grabbed my hand and helped me up.
"The teacher sent me to find you," Hazel said in a small, guilty voice.
I wanted to explain but didn't know where to start, so I clutched my sleeve and gave a small sound.
Ethan shrugged on his jacket without looking at me. "You should go back to class."
Meaning he wouldn't.
I remembered he had been burning with fever just a while ago. No wonder his hand had been so hot.
I couldn't help wanting to follow, but Hazel held my hand.
She waited until Ethan walked away, then let go of me. She blinked several times, and the tips of her ears were pinker.
"You're different from them, Claire."
Those words had been said to me countless times in my life.
My heart dropped. Even Hazel said it — and I couldn't argue.
I clenched my right hand around the left sleeve, at a loss for words.
Hazel took my hand and looked at me seriously. "You can't go fooling around like them. You need to get into Stateview University."
Before I could react she leaned closer and whispered, "You're not in the same world as Ethan."
I blinked. It took me a moment to understand, then blood rushed to my face.
"No, no, no—it's not like that!"
No matter how I tried to explain, Hazel kept looking like she already understood. In the end I gave up and let her drag me back to class.
11.
Maybe the homeroom teacher had heard something.
After Ethan's sick leave was over, she rearranged our seats.
Hazel got her wish and became my deskmate.
Ethan didn't protest. He agreed without complaint.
He took the window seat across the room. When my eyes drifted to him, he happened to look back.
The pen that had been rolling between his fingers came to rest in his hand. He gave a little smile, the dimple at his cheek making him look even more roguish.
I quickly turned away.
The semester flew by and finals arrived in a blink.
After our exams, Hazel looped her arm through mine, insisting on walking home with me.
I knew her route home was out of the way for me, but I never refused; I secretly liked the warmth of being wanted.
"Right after Ethan left the exam room, his dad hauled him away," Hazel said, explaining after a couple of looks back.
I shook my head without thinking. "No—I'm not."
But I was. I was.
Even though Ethan switched seats, he still followed us and waited until I got home every day before he’d leave.
Rain or shine.
He never told me why. After he changed seats, we hardly spoke.
I’d grown used to the feeling of him walking behind me — like nothing ahead could scare me when he was there.
I’d heard his dad was some bigshot, and that he’d started a new family and didn’t pay much attention to Ethan.
“Someone said they’re planning to send him abroad.”
All my news about Ethan came from Hazel.
That night Hazel said she was staying over, so we shared a bed and she started gossiping about class. Inevitably, she started talking about Ethan.
That was the part I wanted to hear most.
But my hearing device pinged, and I scrambled up and banged my leg on the way.
“Claire, what’s wrong?” Hazel sat up too.
I shook my head. “Battery’s dead. I’ll get a new one.”
Hazel pressed on the bruise where I’d hit myself. “Don’t worry about it. It’s late. Sleep.”
But I wanted to hear.
I pulled her hand away, limped to the desk, and swapped the batteries like I always did.
When I limped back she smiled at me and said, “It’s still early. I can’t sleep.”
Hazel sighed and rubbed the sore spot again, then went back to the conversation she’d started.
“Last time he came to school, it looked like he was talking to Principal Rhodes about this.”
She rubbed for a moment, then tucked the covers back in and lay down beside me.
“I heard from the students that his dad’s new wife had a baby girl, and now they want to groom the heir properly.”
I’d always thought Ethan’s reckless, untethered life came from having something enviable. I never imagined his life was riddled with wounds like mine.
I suddenly remembered the day he’d asked if I wanted to go abroad. Hazel’s story made sense — his dad was probably already arranging it.
But Ethan had told me he wanted to go to Stateview University.
“Do you think Ethan will go abroad?” I asked, turning to Hazel.
She’d already closed her eyes and fallen asleep.
I sighed and gently took off my hearing device, slipping it into the little box beside the bed.
For years on end, no one invited me out during the holidays, so when Hazel came to pick me up, even though I still had heaps of homework, my mom pushed me out the door.
“Claire, go out more,” she said.
I knew she was worried. I didn’t want her to worry.
I pinched my left wrist subconsciously, smiled, nodded, and tried to sound cheerful as I headed for the door where Hazel waited — and Ethan stood in the corner.
“It wasn’t me who asked him to come,” Hazel hurried to explain.
My eyes landed on Ethan. He awkwardly turned his back. “I have some questions about homework.”
That line turned what had been shaping up to be a fun day into a study day.
Hazel told me she always saw Ethan standing outside my place every time she came to get me.
“Lucky he’s not here this time. Let’s go!” she said, dragging me out. “The break’s almost over and we haven’t had any fun. When Ethan’s around, it’s always the library. I’m so sick of it.”
When Ethan was around, she couldn’t even breathe easy. Without him, she flipped into a whole different mood.
She kept pulling me along, grumbling about him the whole way, and we ended up at an amusement park entrance.
Hazel grinned and tried to pull me in. “I’m taking you to have fun today.”
I stood frozen. “Hazel…”
I’d never been to an amusement park before. My family life kept me away from places like this. Hazel bounced over and took my hand. “It’s our last semester. I need you to help me study. You won’t let me treat you today, so I can’t keep bothering you after that.”
Half forced and half persuaded, I followed her inside.
We left the park as the sky dimmed to twilight, laughing the whole walk home. I hadn’t laughed like that in a long time — it felt like the whole world could hear us.
“You look better when you smile,” Hazel said suddenly, taking my hand seriously.
She gripped my hand and looked at my left wrist. “I had this really long dream where you didn’t smile much.”
I shoved my left hand into my pocket, uncomfortable. “You dreamed about me?”
She stared at my face a moment, then nodded and shook her head. “Just a nightmare. Never mind!”
We were almost home when Hazel stopped. I followed her gaze and saw Ethan standing in front of my door.
His hair at his forehead was damp, like sweat had soaked it.
When he saw us he came running over. Only then I noticed his shirt was a little rumpled and damp with sweat.
“Where did you two go?” His voice was sharp and hurried. His eyes were a little red; his tone was weird — fierce and anxious at once.
Hazel and I hesitated. He stared at me a long moment, then sighed softly and reached up to pat the top of my head.
“Don’t go anywhere without me from now on.”
He bent slightly so our eyes met.
I saw the faint, barely visible worry and fear in his eyes. I didn’t know why, but I nodded without thinking. “Okay.”
He ruffled my hair, stood up, and said, “Let’s go home.”
I waved to Hazel and went inside. As soon as we did, I heard Hazel say to Ethan, “We need to talk.”
I never asked what they talked about, and they never told me. But nothing changed.
The countdown on the wall kept ticking one day at a time.
Ethan didn’t go abroad like Hazel had said. Instead, he seemed to stop getting into fights and just stayed in class, plowing through those numbing practice problems.
The last semester of high school wasn’t as unbearable as I’d feared. I watched Ethan’s grades inch closer to mine. Every time he improved, he’d put a separate grade report on my desk.
Our names moved closer together on the list until one day he passed me.
We sat the tests together and left together. I looked up at the cloudless blue sky and felt like my future was suddenly wide open.
“It’s finally over!” Hazel hugged my neck as she came out of the next room.
Yes — finally over.
My dark, lightless adolescence had come to an end within a warmth I’d once thought unreachable.
At one last class reunion, Hazel dragged me along. Classmates who’d never interacted with me before sobbed into my arms after a few drinks, like all past slights had been thrown away with the test prep books.
Everyone talked about how they couldn’t bear to part, but nobody mentioned old hurts or arguments.
I sat on the couch feeling everything around me noisy and distant. Then a hand reached over and, with practiced ease, pulled the hearing device off my ear.
I turned and saw Ethan sitting next to Hazel. He put my device in his pocket like nothing had happened.
This time I didn’t reach for it. I suddenly remembered the countless times he’d taken it off me — it hadn’t always been to tease.
“Ha ha, it’s that hearing-impaired—”
“Look at her, the hearing—”
“I heard she—”
I’d only ever heard half of that before Ethan snatched my device. Because I’d always instinctively grabbed to get it back, I never listened to the rest of what was being said.
Now I realized I’d always been thinking like a victim, assuming he was out to hurt me.
Watching Ethan turn away coldly from several girls, I couldn’t help but laugh. He’d never wanted to hurt me.
I didn’t notice when Hazel left my side, but Ethan slid into the spot she vacated. We were in a karaoke room. Everyone else soaked up the bittersweet mood of impending goodbyes — some singing, some drinking, some confessing.
I was tucked into a quiet corner with Ethan. The room felt muted. My hands kept fidgeting; when I looked up I saw his defiant face.
The room was dim, but I felt a light I’d never known.
Eventually, Ethan took me out of the KTV and led me under a bridge. The river curled below, and thousands of lights flickered along the banks.
I’d never been here before.
He fished the hearing device from his pocket and clipped it back on me. The river sound slipped into my ear and the night breathed around us.
I tucked windblown hair behind my ear and looked down at the pebbles. “Ethan…are you going abroad?”
That question had been tucked away inside me all winter. Tonight I could finally say it out loud.
He hadn’t expected me to ask. He’d been staring at the opposite bank, then turned toward me. His eyes looked like they held every city light — startlingly bright.
“I’m going to Stateview University,” he said, with that reckless certainty that felt so much like him.
Stateview was hard to get into; even I wouldn’t confidently say that before the scores were out. But from his mouth it sounded like a done deal.
His certainty was contagious and I smiled. “Okay. I’ll go to Stateview too.”
Going to Stateview had once been about not disappointing my parents. Now those words felt like they meant something more.
Ethan reached into his pocket and pulled something out. I didn’t see what it was before he took my left hand.
When I reflexively tried to pull away, he rolled my sleeve up to my elbow easily.
A cool early-summer breeze prickled the hairs on my arm. The scar that had marked my dark years was suddenly exposed, plain as day, and the passing wind could see every line of it.
Shame flooded me. I didn't pull my hand back in time before something icy landed on my wrist.
"Turns out the world really does miss you."
Ethan Cole gently fastened that cool thing onto my wrist. He kept his head down so I couldn't see his expression; all I heard was a slightly awkward voice. "Luckily, it's still not too late."
Only after he let go did I notice the chain resting on my wrist.
Little stars and moons dangled from it, covering the scar perfectly.
Ethan's fingers brushed the scar on my wrist. "I'm not fit to be the sun, but the moon can light up the whole sky."
His hand felt like it plucked at my heart.
For a moment I could hear my heartbeat echoing—deafening.
He knew what that scar meant, but he never asked a single question.
With just those two lines, he lifted that scar right out of me.
I'd always thought I was the extra one in this world.
No one had ever told me the world needed me.
Even my parents, who loved me to the bone, never said out loud that my existence mattered because they weren't words people.
My nose burned; tears filled my eyes in an instant.
So many things rushed up from my chest toward my tongue, only to be swallowed back down.
Finally I tugged at Ethan's sleeve and asked, "Ethan, can I—like you?"
14. Ethan didn't answer.
He sat on a nearby rock, patting the spot beside him, motioning for me to sit.
I sat down stiffly. He turned to look at me. "Claire, I'm not worth liking."
How could he say that?
I opened my mouth to deny it, but he kept talking, cutting me off.
"I had a very long dream."
He looked at me; the light in his eyes dimmed. "About you."
Hazel Park had said the same thing.
I didn't know why he suddenly said that. My hands twisted my shirt hem as I replied quietly, "Hazel said she had a dream about me too."
"Not the same."
Ethan blurted it out, then laughed at himself, self-mocking. "Well, kind of the same."
I couldn't understand what he meant.
All I knew was he'd spoken so much and still hadn't answered my question directly.
"Not allowed, huh?"
I stared at the little pebbles at my feet, sadness surging up again.
I shouldn't have asked. I always greedily wanted more.
After a while he sighed softly.
He shifted closer and his hand fell onto my head, ruffling my hair. "Claire."
I looked up at him.
"These things—guys should say first."
He smiled, and the stars returned to his eyes.
Huh?
I blinked, not catching his meaning for a moment.
"Claire, can my future include you?"
Ethan looked at me, serious and careful.
Like I was a treasure hard for him to win.
But I wasn't hard to win.
"Yes!"
I nodded, tears rolling down my cheeks.
I leaned in and hugged Ethan, a safety I'd never felt before settling over me.
Hazel was the first to know about us.
She sat with me at the dormitory entrance, watching people stream by. She sighed; I couldn't tell why.
"Claire, I'm going to Stateview too. If he bullies you, I'll beat him up."
She rolled up her smooth sleeve and struck a tough pose.
She made me laugh. I laughed until she stared at me, then stopped.
Her gaze dropped to my left hand.
"Claire, it's the first time I've seen you in short sleeves."
She reached for my left hand, her eyes slightly red. "At first I didn't agree with him being with you."
I tilted my head at her.
Her fingers stroked the chain over the scar. "But that day he said he had a very long dream."
"He said when he woke he even prayed to Buddha."
She laughed as she spoke. "Prayed that none of what was in the dream would happen. I thought, if a person like him's praying, he really cares."
"About…a dream of me?"
That dream kept getting brought up like it was something ominous.
Hazel nodded and tapped my forehead. "Just a nightmare."
She seemed reluctant to say more, but I wanted to know: "Is it the same as the dream he told you about?"
She thought, arranged her words, and said, "Different in nature, but similar in content."
I understood each word, but together it meant nothing to me.
We didn't talk further because the acceptance letters arrived.
I grabbed the Stateview University acceptance letter and ran back into the house.
"Mom."
I handed it to her. She stopped her work, looked at the envelope in my hand with no expression, then looked up at me and finally smiled with relief.
"That's wonderful," she said.
That's wonderful.
15. Hazel really did come to the capital.
She got into Capital Teachers' University, right next door to mine.
When she received her letter, her mom grabbed my hand and thanked me for two hours and insisted I stay for dinner. My mom was grateful too, but she couldn't gush like that. She's like me.
After Hazel hauled my luggage into the dorm, I just held her hand and grinned like an idiot.
"No boyfriend duty, no bossing me around!"
She pinched the soft flesh at my waist.
I squirmed away and we both laughed.
Male visitors weren't allowed in the girls' dorm without registering with the dorm supervisor. Too much hassle and attention.
I pleaded with Ethan for a long time before he grumped and agreed to let Hazel come help.
My college life finally started with laughter.
But word about my hearing impairment spread through the program like wildfire.
Worse, on the second day of classes I found a love letter in Ethan's backpack. That night I saw a confession on the school's public wall—someone declaring love for him.
I knew Ethan was handsome, but I didn't expect this to explode so fast just as college began.
"You're right. We're not from the same world."
I lay in bed texting Hazel.
She sent a rolling-eyes emoji.
"Come on—when was that? Why do you still remember?"
"Don't tell Ethan, I don't wanna die early."
"You two are meant for each other. Stop overthinking."
She sent a string of messages. I hadn't finished reading when another popped up: "Kyle Mason video-called me a few times, I'm gonna go see him."
I typed then deleted my reply, finally just sending, "Okay."
I could see Kyle's feelings for Hazel—everyone could—except Hazel, who thought he was just teasing.
I sighed and Ethan's chat window popped up.
"What are you doing?"
Right then a roommate screamed.
I barely talked to them; my speech was slow and we seldom had conversations. But I wanted a peaceful dorm life.
The screaming girl glanced at me, then at her phone, then back to me. "Wait, are we the only Claire in this major?"
Another roommate leaned in and nodded.
"You know Ethan Cole from Clinical, right?"
The moment Ethan's name hit my ears, my whole body tuned in, straining to catch the next words.
"Today the confession wall was full of posts for him—of course I know! So hot, exactly my type…"
Once she opened the floodgate, she couldn't stop praising Ethan.
She handed the phone over. I squinted at the screen and then they both shrieked again, staring at me.
"Claire, hidden treasure!" the screaming girl grinned.
The other roommate slid the phone into my hand. I finally saw the confession wall: two simple lines.
"I'm Clinical's Ethan Cole, I love Psychology's Claire Bennett."
16. Just like a year ago, Ethan pushed me into the spotlight again.
This time it was different—he walked beside me instead of trailing behind.
His shadow at my feet became a hand that intertwined with mine.
But the confession on the wall didn't make the other girls back off.
Like now—Ethan was waiting at the classroom door after class.
I had just packed my bag when I saw a shy female classmate standing in front of him. Even though Hazel kept telling me to be confident, moments like this made me shrink.
I was fumbling in my bag to take out a book to tidy my things when Ethan appeared at my side.
"What's up? Going to take another class?"
He crossed his arms and blocked the sunlight from the window.
I glanced out; the girl still stood there, looking at me challengingly.
"N-no, not staying."
I hurriedly shoved the book back into my bag.
Ethan snatched my bag and slung it over his shoulder with a sigh, then reached for my hand.
He led me out of the classroom.
All eyes were on us.
I thought he was taking me to eat, but he turned and went into an empty classroom.
He tossed my bag onto a desk, came around, and cornered me against the door.
Outside, footsteps passed by on the corridor, clear as day.
Inside, my heart pounded like thunder.
"Claire."
Ethan pressed both hands to the door, trapping me in his arms. "What am I supposed to do with you like this?"
His voice was low and made my mind blank.
I didn't know what to say. My face heated; I shook my head, then nodded.
He froze for a second, gave a light laugh, then reached out and took the hearing device off my ear.
The whole world went silent. The footsteps at the door vanished, but my heartbeat kept thudding in my ears like thunder.
Before I could even process it, his lips were on mine.
!!
I stared wide-eyed, utterly shocked—I'd never expected my first kiss to come at a moment like this.
Ethan put the hearing device into his pocket, then raised his hand to cover my eyes.
Unable to hear or see, it felt like it was just the two of us in the whole world.
His lips were clumsy and hesitant against mine. I closed my eyes slowly, my chest flooding with a feeling I’d never known.
I don’t know how long we stayed like that before he finally pulled away.
But his hand stayed over my eyes.
After a long moment, he let go and took the hearing device from his pocket, hanging it back on my ear.
I opened my eyes and saw his ears, flushed a bright red—adorable.
I wanted to touch them.
I reached out, but he caught my hand in his.
“This is my first kiss.”
His voice was low and beautiful. “Claire, you have to take responsibility. No running away.”
My face, already burning, flamed even hotter.
He looked at me, eyes steady and serious.
I swear, nobody could say no to him.
I couldn’t refuse him either, so I nodded. Worried he wouldn’t believe me, I added, “Okay.”
In the end, egged on by Hazel, I even posted a confession on the campus wall.
The result? Ethan gleefully took me and Hazel out for a huge meal.
Freshman year flew by. People who’d originally doubted us were soon obsessing over our relationship; even Hazel’s roommates made her livestream when we “threw sugar” for them.
Sometimes it felt like I’d fallen into a dream.
Every morning I woke up thinking I’d stolen someone else’s life.
My parents found out about Ethan and me at the end of freshman year.
I told them during dinner.
My dad froze, chopsticks paused midair, then set them down.
“I don’t approve.”
He looked at me and said it plainly.
17. I was locked at home.
When Mom brought me food, I was begging Hazel for help.
“Claire, your father is doing this for your own good,” Mom sat beside me and sighed.
I knew. Even though Dad went silent after saying he didn’t approve, I knew it was because he cared.
“Since then, your father has watched the people around you closely—what they’re like, their families, how they treat you. He always knows everything.”
Mom looked at me, guilt written all over her face.
I knew exactly which time she was talking about.
Her hand rested on my head. “Back in your senior year, your father knew Ethan better than you did. Their family situation is complicated, and his personality… isn’t great.”
She stroked my hair. “We only want you to be healthy and happy, to live a normal life.”
When she said “healthy and happy” I heard the slight tremor in her voice.
We never spoke of those things again, like it was something understood and left alone.
Mom kept patting the top of my head until her hand lay over mine.
Her hands were rough, callused—each thick callus scraping my skin.
“It’s all my fault,” she said, looking at the bracelet on my left wrist as a tear slipped down onto her lap.
I had never seen her cry.
Not even when I’d been taken to the hospital for cutting my left wrist—she didn’t cry then.
When she cried, I panicked and wanted to hug her.
I knew what she meant. Softly, she murmured, “If I’d taken you to the hospital back then…”
It was a thorn buried in her heart she never voiced, and I didn’t dare touch it.
It wasn’t her fault.
I thought a little water and sleep would cool things off—just fate, I told myself.
I hugged her and patted her back gently. “Mom, no.”
“If it hadn’t happened, you might have had a better life, met someone better.”
Her crying became harder to hold back.
All I could do was shake my head.
Those regrets had eaten at them for years. Day after day, year after year.
I knew it; I never blamed them.
“It’s not your fault. My life is…good now.” I soothed her with what I truly felt.
My life, which could have gone terribly, had gotten so much better since Ethan appeared.
A sudden clatter outside made me look up—heavy footsteps hurried away.
When Mom left, I peered out the window and saw Dad in the corner, smoking.
He didn’t usually smoke.
He must have been outside the door earlier.
On the tenth day of being grounded, Ethan came.
He talked with my parents in the living room for a long time; I couldn’t hear what they said. When Dad finally opened my door, his eyes were slightly red.
He’s a man of few words, always decisive—yet this time he looked at me and slowly said, “Go out for a walk.”
Dad letting Ethan take me out was basically Dad accepting us being together.
On the walk I asked Ethan, “What did you say to them?”
He tilted his head, then made two signs with his hands in front of him.
I stiffened.
When I was cut off at home and had nowhere to go, they’d sent me to learn sign language for a while. Even after getting the hearing device I kept it up—they worried about what might happen.
“I told them I learned sign for you,” Ethan said, taking my hand as we crossed the street.
That probably wasn’t the real reason they relented, but it was something.
I never imagined Ethan would do something like that for me—something that seemed pointless.
No matter how I pressed, he wouldn’t say what else he’d told my parents.
When he walked me home later, he took the notebook off my desk.
It was the diary I’d bought but never used, only a few scribbles inside. He said he needed a notebook and took it.
I told him there was a convenience store around the corner with tons of notebooks. He said, “I’m short one—a notebook with your name in it.”
18. I always thought Ethan’s dad would never agree to us being together.
My parents thought so too. Hazel thought so too.
So when Ethan brought me home, I was so nervous I didn’t know where to put my hands.
When we stepped in, Ethan’s father was heading out with a cigarette pinched between his fingers. He saw me and paused mid-motion, appraising me top to bottom, then smiled kindly. “Claire, right? I have a meeting—go on and enjoy yourselves. We’ll eat together later.”
I stood there, stunned, forgetting to say anything.
He walked out without a second glance—and came back on time for dinner. We ate together.
That dinner was unusually warm. Ethan’s stepmother fussed over the crying little sister, and his father asked me about school from time to time.
It felt like being at home.
No one stared at the hearing device on my ear. No one asked about it. Their actions never made me uncomfortable—definitely nothing like the terrifying rumors.
After dinner Ethan walked me home. I still felt dazed.
He stood at my door and smiled, saying we could finally worry-free live our lives together.
I didn’t understand exactly what he meant but didn’t ask, and he didn’t elaborate.
College passed quickly. Graduation came.
I didn’t pursue grad school; I took a job as a student counselor at a school, and Ethan started his hospital internship.
We both got busy. Our time together dwindled.
I thought things might stay like that indefinitely. I never expected him to propose on my birthday.
“Can I have you in my future forever?”
He was on one knee, asking the same question he’d once spoken long ago.
Before I could react Hazel burst into tears beside me. Kyle hurriedly guided her away so I could answer.
I laughed, looking at the ring box—modest, not huge, but not small either.
Countless nights I’d thought about ending my life. I could never have imagined this day—my beloved proposing, my true friend sobbing with joy. It felt like all the best things in the world were focused on me.
“Yes.”
I answered without hesitation.
At twenty-five I married Ethan.
Living with him, I learned he often had nightmares and woke up in a panic—just like now.
I took the hearing device from the bedside box and put it on, watching him calm down. “Do you think this happens because you’re sick?”
He looked at me and shook his head.
“No—why?”
I wiped the sweat from his brow. He pulled me into his arms and rested his chin on my head, nuzzling my hair. “Claire, this is the price I pay.”
“What price?”
He didn’t answer. I looked up and caught his gaze.
“For everything that never happened,” he said.
It sounded like nothing and everything at once. I still didn’t really get it. He always said things I didn’t fully understand.
I changed the subject. “Why did you choose medicine?”
From his father’s tone, he’d expected Ethan to manage the family business, but Ethan had stubbornly chosen to study medicine.
Ethan looped a hand around my neck, brushed a stray hair behind my ear, and adjusted my hearing device.
“You know,” his fingers rested on the device, “if something went wrong, if a surgery failed, you might never hear again.”
For me?
I looked at him. “I’m not worth it.”
My eyes pricked. I whispered.
He bent and kissed my forehead. “You are worth it.”
“That day—you in a white dress—coming up to me and telling me not to smoke. After that, I quit and never smoked again.”
I paused. The moment I’d thought was me being sentimental—something that might have pushed him away—was the reason I was worth it.
Life went on busy and happy.
It wasn’t long before Hazel and Kyle’s wedding day came.
I tore the house apart looking for the invitations they’d sent, and I found the notebook Ethan Cole had taken from my place years ago.
I’d only written a few pages, so why was half the notebook full?
It wasn’t my handwriting, but it was written like the diary entries I used to write.
Every page was dim and heavy with sorrow.
One page described, in cold, brutal detail, the breakdown and despair after I was supposedly sexually assaulted while out.
It had never happened, but reading it I felt the weight behind every word.
The date at the top was the winter break of senior year—the day Hazel Park and I first went to the amusement park.
There were pages and pages after that, and I didn’t have the courage to keep reading.
I flipped to the last page. A few lines on a blank sheet: nothing happened. It’s not too late. I will take responsibility for everything. May God bless her.
Signed: Ethan Cole.
Ethan Cole—Extra 1. The year my grandmother died, I finally met the father everyone spoke about in stories.
Everyone said I was finally going to the city to live a better life.
I believed it too.
But when I got there, I was greeted by his newlywed, a gorgeous trophy wife, and unending indifference.
It felt like he’d brought me home only to avoid being judged, to prove he’d done the bare minimum of his duty.
I was fourteen. My grades stunned the teachers, but to the Coles I was just a neglected country kid no one cared about.
At the new school, I was too visible and quickly became a target.
Others could go home and tell their parents. When I got beaten, I curled up alone in the big house and tended my own wounds.
Everything felt different. Grades stopped meaning anything.
I spent the money the Coles gave me and started blowing it around, recruiting boys to my side.
Before long, I became someone no one dared mess with.
I turned in blank tests forever.
That’s when I learned the only real advantage of being a Cole: no matter how much trouble I caused, the school wouldn’t do anything to me.
I drifted on like that for years—numb, bored, empty.
I assumed my life would remain a black hole until senior year began.
“Ethan Cole, look after the new student.”
Ms. Harper—who never used my name—suddenly called me out.
I lifted my head and saw Claire Bennett in a white dress.
She looked clean, like a blank sheet—someone from a totally different world.
Claire sat beside me and never crossed any lines. Every move she made was so light it was like she wasn’t even there.
But she was strange.
Good students like her should have feared me the most.
She didn’t.
She kept trying to talk to me, but always stopped halfway through.
That’s when I noticed her speech was a little awkward—noticeable differences—and finally understood what Ms. Harper meant by “look after her.”
“Heard you’ve got a deskmate,” a buddy of mine who’d followed me for years teased after lighting a cigarette. “Is it that little hearing-impaired girl?”
Hearing-impaired (slur)?
I frowned, put the cigarette to my lips and took a drag, then said, “She’s not.”
No sooner had the words left my mouth than Claire walked over in that white dress she’d worn on the first day, hands clenched tight on her backpack straps, like she’d made a huge decision to come here.
She stood in front of me and said softly, “Ethan, smoking is bad.”
I froze.
Who didn’t know smoking was bad? No one had ever told me that before.
My friends always joked that if their parents found them smoking, they’d be beaten. They envied me—no one would check on me.
Envy, huh?
I looked at Claire, who’d just finished coughing, and something chaotic in me turned into a raw sentence: “Mind your own business.”
She ran off—scared away by me.
I realized I’d changed.
Whenever people talked about her, I bullied her. I’d force her to run errands far away. Sometimes I stole her headphones.
But she was especially terrified when I touched her hearing device. She’d look like she was about to cry every time.
It irritated me.
She hadn’t brought water one day, so I made her buy some for me just to be petty. When I said I didn’t want it, she nearly cried.
Couldn’t she just keep it?
Those tear-filled eyes made me uneasy. I reached out and ripped her hair tie off so her hair would fall over them, but the hearing device came off too.
The tears that had been steady in her eyes fell straight down, and my heart spun.
I threw the hair tie onto her desk and climbed through the window to get out of there.
2. The old man’s young wife finally had a baby girl.
That reminded him of his one son—me.
The day after I fought with Kyle Mason and a few kids from the neighboring school, the old man showed up at school.
I thought it was because of the fight, but he’d come to send me abroad.
There wasn’t a single word of approval for me—just the plan to ship me out to polish my resume overseas.
If his wife had had a son, maybe he wouldn’t have even bothered to come.
Screw that.
I slammed into the principal’s office and ran up to the roof.
I wanted a cigarette, but it’d been a while since I’d smoked.
I crouched up there, not knowing what I wanted.
After a while I heard soft footsteps and looked up to see Claire walking toward me.
She crouched in front of me and handed me a tube of ointment.
“You have a wound on your hand,” she said.
She spoke slowly, her voice soft; even with that odd pronunciation, it sounded comforting—as if a breeze had just brushed my face.
A few days ago she’d cried because of me, and now she’d come to bring me medicine.
I’d never seen anything so foolish—so achingly sincere.
Before I could do anything, the old man shipped me overseas.
Everything I had was his; in front of him I had no choices, no way to fight back.
I didn’t see Claire again until the year before I planned to return.
I saw the news that she’d jumped into the river.
Everything went black—maybe I’d misread it. But when I rushed back, she was already buried.
I hadn’t seen her one last time.
“She didn’t have any friends,” her mother told me when I went to their house.
They were surprised I’d shown up.
But I wasn’t her friend.
I’d almost tried to start something with her once, and I’d done nothing.
In Claire’s room I found a notebook her mother said she planned to burn.
I didn’t stop her. I opened it.
Half the book was filled, and my name appeared several times.
My chest tightened. Apparently, I’d been that hated.
It read like all her senior-year misfortune had been because of me.
Then I found that page.
It was the winter break of senior year. She’d been called out by an old classmate and dragged into an alley. Her hearing device had been tossed somewhere.
The page was stained with water. My fingers trembled as I touched the stains, feeling as though I could feel every tear she’d cried while writing.
“She never said. She said she lost her earphones; your father and I scolded her,” her mother said, hands over her face, sobbing. “After that, her mental state kept getting worse. We didn’t know—”
From that page on, the words were hopeless, each line pressuring toward her decision to die.
That year she should’ve been a sophomore at Stateview University, but because of her health she hadn’t taken the college entrance exams.
She was twenty when she said she needed to go out and see the world.
She stayed at her twenty.
I went mad trying to find who’d done it.
I traced it back to a group of delinquent boys who’d been targeting Claire for a long time.
They’d grown up and moved on with their lives—without remorse.
I didn’t want crude, brutal revenge. But Claire haunted my dreams every night.
The cleaner she appeared in my dreams, the more I hated those men.
I planned to send them to hell, but the police got there first.
We were all nearly dead and were rushed into the ER.
3.
A familiar, strange bell rang in my ears.
I opened my eyes.
No pain. No machines.
Claire sat beside me, a book in her hands, looking at me with that pure, earnest gaze—her eyes a little nervous.
“Dreaming again?”
I hadn’t seen her in my dreams for a long time.
We were back in senior year. Claire wore that white dress I liked, the image of a fairy.
I stared at her, afraid the dream would snap.
Then the bell rang for the end of school.
Claire packed her bag. I stood up without thinking and banged my leg on the corner of the desk—sharp pain.
“Come on, Ethan!” Kyle stuck his head in the doorway.
I’d never dreamt of him.
I checked my sore leg, looked at Kyle at the door, then turned back to Claire.
This felt real.
“Shit!”
So many things I wanted to say squeezed into that curse.
Kyle said there was a fight scheduled and our boys were ready.
It was still early in senior year.
My crew waited for me to lead.
But I didn’t go to the arranged spot. I fell into step behind Claire.
I was going to walk her home.
Everything replayed like the last life, except for one difference.
There was a girl with Claire—someone named Hazel Park.
In the last life Claire had no friends at all.
Absurd as it felt, I’d really gone back—back to before everything started.
For the first time in my life, I believed in gods.
They’d heard my desperate prayers and given me a chance to fix things.
I spent three days visiting every temple nearby.
I tied Claire’s name to every safety prayer tree.
This time I would protect her.
Because I showed up, many things changed.
An old classmate who’d never appeared to Claire before showed up in front of her.
I caught the hearing device that someone threw and didn’t put it back on Claire.
“You touch my girl, you touch me,” I slapped the ringleader girl.
Reborn, I had no softness left—for Claire or for anyone else who crossed her.
But I never hit a woman. This was the first time.
That girl didn't seem to expect the scene; she froze where she stood.
A few girls gathered behind her.
I raised an eyebrow. "If you show up in front of her again, you can ask around about what I do."
Back then, my reputation in every high school was well known.
She didn't need to ask. She already knew how ruthless I could be.
So she took a step back, then hurried off with the others.
Hazel steadied Claire and looked at me with surprise.
I knew she was surprised by the change in my attitude.
I didn't care.
Even if everyone thought I was crazy, this once I would stand firmly by Claire's side.
So much had changed, yet some things still aligned by chance.
Just like the day before, after a fight, the old man came to the school.
This time I wouldn't vainly believe he came because of the fight for me.
But when he said I was his only son and hoped I'd make something of myself, I cursed under my breath: fuck him.
Sitting in a corner of the rooftop, my emotions slipped out of control.
Some things, no matter how many times they happen, still hurt me.
Footsteps came softly.
Someone squatted down in front of me.
Someone took out ointment.
"School nurse says this helps move the blood and reduce bruising."
The voice was the same—soft, soothing.
For a moment I thought maybe leaving the country would be fine, if I could take Claire with me.
But she didn't want that. She still wanted to try for Stateview University.
Stateview was hard to get into.
"Alright. Stateview, then."
If that's what she wanted, I'd go with her.
But I'd have to figure out the old man.
He sat on the couch and asked, "Stateview?"
I said, flat, "Mm."
"What major?"
He rested his cigarette on the ashtray.
I already had an answer.
"Clinical medicine."
Stateview's clinical program was the best.
In the last life, Claire had an accident during a cochlear implant removal surgery that left her unable to hear with that ear ever again.
This time, I wouldn't let that accident happen to her.
Unexpectedly, the old man didn't object.
He said, "If you don't get in, go abroad."
I could get in.
I had the homeroom teacher switch seats so I wouldn't sit next to Claire. I couldn't disrupt her studying—or mine.
Soon the bleak summer break arrived.
I waited every day at Claire's house. I never ran into the old classmate who was supposed to call her out, but I ran into Hazel many times—always wanting to drag Claire out.
Hazel didn't seem to care that the college entrance exams were around the corner; Claire was aiming for Stateview.
So I took them to the library every time.
Except once.
I was delayed dealing with something at home. When I got to Claire's house, she was already gone.
The date matched.
I had never felt such utter despair.
I searched every alley nearby, tore through every abandoned warehouse.
I forced myself not to stop, not to imagine the worst.
Just when I was about to break, I heard Claire's soft, clear laugh.
She and Hazel were holding hands, walking toward me—like a sudden thread of light in the dark.
She was okay.
She was fine.
Nothing had happened.
Hazel stopped me and led me to a nearby café.
She asked, "Did you have a dream too?"
Her question came out of nowhere. I looked up at her.
She took a sip of her milk tea, thought a moment, and said, "Because you're acting weird. I've thought you were strange for a while."
"You changed so suddenly, I thought maybe you had a weird dream like I did."
"What dream?"
I took a drink of water.
"A nightmare. I dreamt something bad happened to Claire, and in the end she jumped into the river."
I snapped my head up and stared at her.
So she was sent to be by Claire's side too.
"The dream felt so real. When I woke up my chest was aching. I thought about Claire—poor thing. I have to protect her."
She looked at me. "What about you?"
I wasn't the same.
That wasn't a dream.
But she wouldn't believe me. Let it all pass as a dream.
"Yeah."
I nodded.
Told her about the last life's events—let it be my dream.
"I don't believe in gods, but because of that dream I prayed to Buddha for three days," Hazel said.
I smirked bitterly. "I hoped all the disasters came to me instead of her."
God.
I prayed sincerely.
May the light go to her; I'll gladly fall into hell.
(The End)
