I couldn’t help imagining what had happened between them.
I even vaguely smelled a sickly, salty tang in the air.
Ethan—Ethan Walker, the boy I’d loved for ten years—had slept with another girl today.
Ten years of secret longing, and in this moment I finally let go.
Ethan had been in a car accident; his right leg was broken. He’d be bedridden for at least a month.
He couldn’t take care of himself during that time.
After my mom nagged me relentlessly, I brought a pot of freshly made porridge to the hospital.
Ethan really had money—he was in a private room.
I couldn’t help but sigh.
He was reading. Hearing the door, he glanced up and met my eyes.
Not long ago I’d sworn I wouldn’t pester him anymore. Yet here I was again, showing up at his bedside barely two days later. I stood awkwardly in the doorway.
I had said those “I’m done” lines so many times over the years that Ethan had become immune to my so-called resolve. His reaction had gone from indifferent annoyance to total indifference. The last time I declared it, I even saw a trace of condescending mockery in his eyes.
In truth I’d only really said it three times.
Each time I gave up a little, he became more convinced I couldn’t live without him.
But he didn’t know that every time I gave up, I was genuinely devastated—my disappointment was real, my desire to quit was real.
This time, I really felt like I didn’t love him that much anymore.
I hadn’t meant to come.
But my mother said, “Your schedule is flexible—go take care of Ethan for a bit. We’ve been neighbors for so long; he’s like a brother. The kids should look out for each other.”
I was about to refuse when his mother phoned, speaking so gently and gratefully as she asked me to watch over her son.
I said, “But Ethan has a girlfriend.”
“A girlfriend? Since when?”
Her voice was shocked.
A few minutes later my mom called back. “Your aunt checked—Ethan said he doesn’t have a girlfriend. You must be mistaken.”
He just didn’t want to tell you.
I emptied the thermal food carrier; the seafood porridge filled the room with a burst of savory steam.
I handed him the bowl. He glanced at me and took it silently.
He tasted it once and frowned. “Did you buy this outside?”
I nodded and pulled a chair. “I was in a rush. Didn’t have time to cook.”
Ethan pressed his lips together.
I said, “Just eat a little for now. I’ll make you a proper one next time.”
He didn’t like outside food—he thought it was unclean and too heavily seasoned.
Seafood porridge was a bother to make: four or five ingredients and you had to devein shrimp. If it were before, I might have started cooking an hour or two earlier to have it ready.
Before long, Chloe Reed arrived.
The heat had left a rosy flush on her cheeks; she was out of breath but smiling. “Ethan, I brought you porridge. I made it myself.”
She wore a denim pencil skirt.
What made me notice it so much was that the first time I’d met Chloe, Ethan had complimented her—“You look really good in skirts”—with an approving look.
In contrast, the few times I wore a skirt, other guys ogled my thighs while Ethan frowned and asked, “Why are you dressed so strangely?”
Because of that line, I hardly ever wore skirts anymore.
I’d obsessed over what kind of girl could earn Ethan’s “suiting” compliment.
The conclusion I landed on was: Chloe was skinny, with a great waist-hip ratio and long straight black hair—she could wear anything and make it elegant.
I starved myself thin, weakening my skin and energy until I dropped under ninety-five pounds.
Maya scolded me, heartbroken. “You’re paler, your waist’s slimmer, your chest is better-shaped, you even have a swan-like neck. Some men just don’t respond. You still don’t get it?”
I understood. I just couldn’t help it.
The skirt she wore now looked a lot like the one Ethan had mocked me for—short and hugging the curve of her hips perfectly.
Ethan’s expression didn’t change at all when he saw Chloe.
So it wasn’t the skirt. It was the person.
“Thanks, but I just ate,” Ethan said, putting down his bowl.
“Oh.” Chloe looked disappointed.
I took back the thermal pot. “It’s okay. You can heat it and eat it later tonight.”
That meant I didn’t have to cook.
I opened the lid and smelled it. Happiness fluttered in my chest.
Ethan glanced at me.
They started chatting and I sat to the side, head down, fiddling with my phone.
Ethan was noticeably more attentive to Chloe—he even handed her a blanket to tuck over her legs.
I rested my head on the table and, before I knew it, fell asleep.
2.
I always knew Ethan didn’t like me.
We’d known each other too early. He’d pictured me with a buzz cut and a tank top, running in the sun, dark from outdoor play. That boyish image had been planted in his mind.
Through middle school I was still a tomboy, so in his eyes I’d always been that scrawny kid next door—gender blurry at best.
Even after I grew my hair in high school and people complimented my figure, his impression didn’t change.
The most recent sting came when I accidentally overheard him joking with Chloe about me. He said lightly, “Yaojin? Everyone knows rabbits don’t eat where they nest.”
Even so, I’d stand silently with breakfasts in my hands, waiting at the door until I’d pulled myself together enough to walk in as if nothing was wrong.
Too afraid to expose my feelings; I clung to those last scraps of contact.
A few days ago I’d walked into Ethan’s room and found Chloe wrapped in only a towel. She’d just come out of the bathroom; her hair was still dripping, her bare shoulders pale and smooth. Barefaced she looked even purer than with makeup.
We stared at each other. She looked startled, gave a short cry, and hid behind Ethan.
The master bedroom door was still open; the room was dim and suggestive.
I smelled that same sick, salty tang again.
Ethan—my ten-year secret—had slept with another girl.
Though she looked flustered, it was clear which one of us was more embarrassed.
I kept a shred of dignity. Calmly, I handed over my phone. “Your aunt couldn’t reach you and was worried. She called me.”
Ethan glanced at me without much expression, took the phone, and stepped aside. “Hey, Mom. I’m here.”
He didn’t care what I thought.
I lowered my gaze so I didn’t have to look at Chloe.
That girl had been coming to Ethan’s house every morning for an entire month, only leaving around six or seven in the evening. Sometimes she’d run into me and smile hello.
He’d never let girls come in and out of his place before—I was the exception. Now even that exception was gone.
Maybe it was jealousy, but I felt that smile was tinged with mockery and showing off.
Was I supposed to be relieved she hadn’t stayed overnight?
That’s what I thought—until reality slapped me.
After talking to his mom, Ethan handed the phone back and explained, “I didn’t realize it turned off by itself.”
“Okay.”
I kept my face neutral and said, “I’ll go then.”
Ethan watched me a moment, his expression unreadable. “Okay.”
I turned away but Chloe called after me, a little embarrassed. “I drank too much last night. My clothes smell. Can I borrow a set from you? I think our sizes are similar.”
I paused, then forced a smile. “Sure.”
Back in my dim room I sat for a long time. I didn’t want to think about how that day had gone. When you’re truly drained, you don’t feel like crying much.
I knew exactly what it meant for a girl to shower at a single man’s house. I didn’t want to imagine what had happened or how—but the images kept intruding in my head. When I came to, my palm had begun to bruise where I’d been squeezing it hard enough to leave crescent nail marks.
Looking at the layered impressions in my hand, I felt unbearably sad.
After that I decided to let go.
I even planned to leave the city.
Then, a couple days later, Ethan had an accident.
…
I woke in the evening, rubbing my aching arm. “Where’s Chloe?”
Ethan, not in a great mood, answered tersely, “She left.”
I wondered if they’d argued, then watched Ethan close his laptop and rub his forehead. “Give me the bedpan under the bed.”
I blinked. “Oh…okay.”
He pulled back the blanket, revealing blue-and-white striped hospital pajamas.
I couldn’t bring myself to look. “Do you want me to leave the room for a bit?”
He gave me an amused, ambiguous little smile. “Suit yourself.”
3.
I was staying the night to sit with him, so I kept stealing glances to see if he planned to sleep.
At eleven he finally shut his laptop. “Bring a hot towel. I’ll wipe down.”
“Wipe down?”
Okay—he hadn’t bathed for at least three days since the accident.
I fetched a towel. Ethan sat unbuttoning his shirt.
As his chest and abs were exposed, he pulled the shirt fully off. He was a bit lean but not scrawny; his muscles flowed smoothly.
If this had been before, my face would be flushed scarlet, torn between staring and looking away.
Who wouldn’t sneak a peek at the man they liked?
He took the towel and began wiping his neck and arms. His strong chest rose and fell with each breath.
I found myself drifting, watching.
After a while he handed me the towel. “Go wash it.”
“Okay.”
I obediently washed it. When I brought it back, he didn’t take it. “Your back.”
I understood and gently wiped his back.
His skin under my hands was smooth and resilient—different from a woman’s softer, more delicate feel.
Ethan hadn’t said a word until I reached his waist. Then suddenly he pressed my hand in place.
“Done?” I asked.
He glanced at me with no expression.
“Do you want your lower half wiped too?”
The question stopped me short.
Ethan stiffened slightly and looked down, something complicated flickering across his face.
Oh no. I regretted it—how could I joke around with a man who might have a girlfriend? He’d definitely misunderstand me.
“Maybe we should get a nurse,” I said, gathering my courage and being practical.
Ethan frowned. “Do you think I’m being difficult?”
"Maybe next time we should wait until Chloe gets here to handle this."
I said, "After all, she’s your girlfriend."
Ethan: "She’s not my girlfriend."
They’d slept together and she still wasn’t his girlfriend.
Ethan, when did you get so rotten?
4.
I told Maya about the time I walked in on Chloe showering at Ethan’s place.
She ground her teeth in anger. "At this point, you aren’t still hopelessly devoted to him, are you?"
I rubbed my face. "I thought I was. I planned to leave and go back to Southport.
But Ethan had that car accident.
My mom asked me to look after him for a while."
"Wait, I think my cousin works in Harbor City too. Let me ask."
Maya was generous. "Let me set you up with my cousin! He’s really handsome."
"When did you suddenly get a cousin?"
"My cousin, stupid. I’ll have him add you on WeChat."
A few minutes later someone named JL sent a friend request.
We added him, and then no one spoke.
Maybe he wasn’t interested; he just didn’t want to refuse.
I didn’t think much of it and quickly forgot.
It took about a week. After X-rays confirmed the fracture hadn’t shifted, Ethan was cleared to leave the hospital.
During that time, Chloe came every day.
She brought him fruit and food and saved me a lot of trouble.
Ethan was polite to her—actually, he was polite to everyone, just never effusive with me.
Chloe asked me with concern if I needed to go home and rest; she could stay and look after him.
"Really?"
I hadn’t been sleeping well in the hospital—Ethan would get up at night for water or to use the restroom, and I’d wake at least twice.
She smiled sweetly. "Of course."
Ethan on the bed glanced at me with heavy eyes.
I grabbed my bag. "I’ll come back tonight."
As I left, I saw Ethan’s lips pressed tight—that was how he showed he was upset.
In our freshman year he had a bad flu, a high fever that wouldn’t break. He insisted on toughing it out and refused to go to the hospital. I couldn’t carry him, so I stayed up all night in our cramped apartment trying every trick to cool him down. My eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep.
Two students far from home with no family around—I felt truly helpless that night.
Luckily his fever dropped a lot the next day and he was more lucid. He opened his eyes and looked at me without saying a word.
I couldn’t hold back the tears I’d been suppressing all night. I stammered, "Are you hungry? What do you want to eat?"
Ten Years of Loving Him in Silence
Back then, the flu was everywhere. Ethan asked, "Aren't you worried about getting sick?"
Love-brained, I said, "I'd rather be the one who gets sick."
Ethan was silent.
If it had been that version of me now, I wouldn't have trusted Ethan to another woman after his accident.
…"Be careful."
Lost in memory, I almost walked into someone in the hospital corridor. A man's index finger tapped my forehead to keep me from bumping into him—no accusation in his tone.
I looked up, a little dazed, and saw a very young doctor. Tall—at least a head taller than me—wearing a white coat. His features—eyes, nose—were especially handsome.
He smiled at me, glanced toward the room behind me, and walked past.
A thought struck me.
Apparently other guys could be that good-looking, too.
5.
That evening on my way to the hospital, Maya suddenly messaged saying her cousin had come by and thought I was adorable.
Me: ???
When was that?
Maya: He'll tell you himself. He told me not to say.
So I went into Ethan's room full of questions.
A man sat on the bed, his forehead wrapped in gauze. He beamed when he saw me. "Mia's here."
Ethan said, "This is Chloe's brother, Noah."
"Noah laughed. "You might not know me, but I've known about you for a while."
He stood up to greet me.
Ethan was expressionless. "He was in the passenger seat the night of the crash."
"You've got gall bringing that up—wasn't that your fault?"
Noah slapped Ethan's plastered leg and, looking at me with mock grievance, said, "Mia, you don't even know—"
"Okay, okay, you can leave now."
"No, if you don't want me to say it, I'll actually go."
Noah reluctantly walked out.
I pulled out the change of clothes I'd brought for Ethan. "What actually happened that night? How did the accident happen?"
He didn't answer.
Ethan's picky about cleanliness—two days without washing his hair is his limit. I filled a basin and dry-washed his hair, massaging his scalp through rich foam. Ethan closed his eyes; his features were so reliably handsome they still made my heart pound.
There was a warm undercurrent in the air; for a moment I allowed myself to think maybe he had feelings for me too.
That feeling was more about habit and trust than romance—unfortunately, not the kind of affection I wanted.
When I finished drying his hair I couldn't help but run my hands through it. His hair was glossy and thick—so enviable even I, as a woman, admired it.
Ethan took my wrist and enclosed my right hand in his palm.
I'm small-boned and look thin, but I carry weight—Maya loved to hug me and say I was soft and comfortable to hold.
Maybe because of that, Ethan liked to squeeze my palm, absentmindedly rolling and playing with my hand. My palm was sensitive; after a few touches my ears would burn, my body heat rise, my thoughts scatter.
I didn't know if he realized it. Back when I liked him, I endured the discomfort and even let myself feel a little sweetness.
This time, I pulled my hand back.
Ethan's palm was empty. He looked up at me and his eyes grew dim.
See? Not liking him doesn't feel that hard.
…The next morning, when the chief physician came with a few doctors for rounds, I saw that handsome doctor again.
He stood behind the chief and smiled briefly when he noticed me.
After the routine check, the chief nodded—progress was good—and reminded Ethan of precautions, then led the group away.
That doctor lingered at the back, glanced at Ethan's chart. "Discharge the day after tomorrow?"
I answered, "Mm."
"So soon?"
He murmured something I didn't catch. His gaze swept over my face and he smiled. "Hi, Mia. I'm Dr. Lucas Hart."
Then he left.
Something clicked.
Lucas?
JL?
Ethan asked, "Who is he?"
I blankly said, "I think he's the person Maya introduced me to."
6.
On the day Ethan was discharged, Chloe came too.
I rushed around handling the paperwork while they whispered and sat very close, Chloe's hand draped over his arm.
I sighed.
This is the tragedy of the simp.
They're falling in love while I'm figuring out how to submit the medical expense reimbursement.
In my fluster I misplaced Ethan's insurance card and panicked. Luckily I ran into Dr. Hart. He helped me search and we eventually found that a nurse had picked it up and left it at the front desk. Seeing me dazed, he personally walked me to the discharge desk to settle the bill.
Then, seeing my arms full of bags, he asked if I needed help.
I felt awkward. "Wouldn't that take up your time…?"
He curved his lips; his voice was pleasant. "If it's for you, it wouldn't."
Even his playful flirting was adorable.
Dr. Hart helped carry my luggage to the hospital garage and helped Ethan—who had trouble moving—into the car. After that he looked at the other two, then turned to me. "I'll head off now. If you have any issues during recovery, contact me. If you have questions, you can ask me."
I nodded, grateful. "Thanks, Dr. Hart."
He waved with a soft smile.
All along, Ethan said nothing.
Chloe asked brightly, "Is he your boyfriend?"
I opened the car door and paused before answering. "Not really."
Ethan and I were neighbors.
Not just as kids—we still were.
To be close to him after graduation, I scrimped and lived way out near Downtown, paying half my salary in rent and always figuring out how to save for tomorrow's meals.
My freelance writing income later improved, but at least it made it easier to look after him now.
Ethan was unusually quiet today. Even when Chloe chatted in the car he wasn't very engaged. But I'd long since gotten used to his coolness and didn't overthink it.
His bone injury wasn't severe; he could wash up on his own but needed to minimize activity.
My mom video-called and asked me to watch him so he wouldn't fall at home alone.
I brought my laptop to his place. My update schedule slipped while I was caring for him and readers had already harshly scolded me.
What could I say? I was looking after the guy I'd quietly loved.
Even if he had a girlfriend—though he refused to call her that—they probably thought I was the other woman.
Dr. Hart used patient follow-ups as an excuse to chat with me, and I used medical questions as an excuse to shoot the breeze. It was our silent understanding.
After a while I wanted to have him check my health, but he wasn't in gynecology; to see him I'd have to break something to get his attention.
Interestingly, after his concussion healed, Noah came by often with fashion designs and samples to discuss with Ethan.
They wanted to start an original-brand online shop and were in the early stages, using Ethan's place as a studio—Chloe was their model.
"Noah said, 'Actually you have a ready-made model here. My sister's look is a bit limited; some styles just don't suit her.'"
Noah stroked his chin and studied me.
Ethan closed his eyes and didn't look at me. "She won't do."
Noah shrugged helplessly at me.
I smiled faintly and said nothing.
I wasn't the same as before; I no longer allowed a casual remark from him to send me spiraling into self-doubt.
That night I sat on the balcony in the breeze while my mom and I video-called. Mid-conversation she gently brought up Ethan. "You can't force matters of the heart. After all these years, if it was meant to be you'd already be together…"
I said, "Mom, I get it. I don't think I like him the same way anymore."
My mom was surprised.
It was the first time I'd said that so calmly. Before, even at my most stubborn or heartbroken I would only cry with red-rimmed eyes and shout, "Ethan, do you really think I'd die if I left you?"
Don't worry—I won't cling to you anymore.
I had never said I didn't like him.
My mom nodded without saying more.
After we hung up, I turned and found Ethan standing right behind me, expressionless, watching.
7. Two weeks later, Dr. Lucas Hart finally asked me out.
On the day we met, I made a point of wearing a dress I thought was really pretty.
Seeing Dr. Lucas Hart outside the hospital still felt a little strange.
He'd taken off his white coat and was in a casual shirt—narrow waist, long legs, clean-cut air about him. A young, capable sort of handsome. I couldn't believe Maya had an uncle's son who looked like that.
He studied me for a moment. "Different from your usual style."
I got a little nervous. "I rarely wear dresses."
"Hmm. If you look this good, you should wear them more."
I froze, then looked up at him.
He lifted a corner of his mouth; his gaze was gentle.
I suddenly relaxed.
For the rest of the day, I finally understood what it felt like to be cared for by a boyfriend.
Lucas seemed to have endless patience with girls. At lunch it was blazing hot; I casually said I wanted a peach iced drink, and he told me to wait in my seat while he stood in line at Starbucks for ten minutes.
When I praised him to Maya on WeChat, she couldn't believe it. She insisted that whenever she says she wants milk tea or a dessert, Lucas lectures her about sugar and skin problems and never, ever goes to buy it himself.
"He never even bought me a lollipop in all these years," Maya complained.
"Heh, later ask him what if your face breaks out after drinking the milk tea," she teased.
When Lucas came back, I relayed the whole thing.
He handed me the iced drink, sat across on the bench, and said calmly, "You have neutral skin. Generally you won't break out. And even if you do, I know a bit about dermatology."
I praised him earnestly. "You're amazing."
He smiled faintly.
Lucas' smile was sunny and clear.
Most importantly, he was looking at me.
Not like Ethan Walker, who always felt so cold that I had to tiptoe around his preferences and moods, hanging my heart in midair, rising and falling with every change in his expression.
Sometimes, mid-conversation, I felt guilty for taking up Lucas' time. "Doctors must be so busy."
"They are," he said. "That's exactly why I want to talk with you."
It had been four or five days since our last date.
No sooner had I thought that than he messaged: Do you want to go to a movie tonight?
So that's what mutual affection can feel like—not just the sour, self-denying ache. When I was still too timid to try, he was trying to get closer too.
The movie let out late. Lucas drove me home.
The car stopped outside Meadowview Apartments. When we got out he naturally took my hand; my heart fluttered.
Then I froze.
"Which building do you live in?" he asked.
"Building 27," I said. "It's a minute or two walk."
He nodded. "I'll walk you down."
I checked the time—past eleven thirty. Ethan should be asleep by now.
He had just had his cast removed two days ago and was basically mobile again; he didn't need me watching him constantly.
To steal a bit more time with Lucas, I made him walk around the complex with me. I don't know if he noticed—I certainly felt a little guilty.
What had to happen happened. Five minutes later we stopped steadily in front of my building's entrance.
"Goodnight."
I said it reluctantly.
"Mia," he called.
He stopped me, moved a fraction closer, placed a hand on my waist, and kissed me.
When he let go, I gasped and nearly melted into him, only kept upright by his arm.
His voice was huskier than usual. "Mia, you’re way too sensitive."
I was mortified; my face felt like it was on fire.
And my tailbone sent sharp little thrills through me.
A shameless little pervert, but I'd never been in a relationship.
Lucas murmured into my ear, "If you act like that, I’ll want to kiss you again."
I buried my face in his shoulder and pretended I didn't understand.
Suddenly I heard a familiar male voice from behind. "Mia."
My heart jumped. I turned slowly—it was Ethan Walker.
Why was he still outside so late?
Half of Ethan's face was swallowed by shadow; I couldn't read his expression.
I felt awkward, but I didn't let go of Lucas' hand. I met Ethan's eyes for a moment and said softly, "Be careful on the way."
Lucas nodded, glanced at Ethan, then stepped around him and left.
I said nothing, swiped my keycard, opened the door, and walked in.
Ethan followed me into the elevator.
Being caught in the middle of a first-kiss moment would embarrass me with a stranger; with Ethan, who'd grown up beside me, it was worse—I didn't know how to face him.
"A kiss with a man you've only just met," Ethan said behind me, his tone thinly mocking as we stepped out of the elevator. "Mia, how come I never knew you could be so casual?"
Casual?
Who gave him the right to say that?
Anger welled up in my chest.
"Ethan, I'm an adult," I turned to him, trying to keep my voice even. "Being in a relationship is normal. And it was just… a kiss."
"A kiss after only a few days—what's next? Sleeping together?"
"So what if we did?"
I snapped, "Maybe you don't see me as a woman, but he does!"
With a slam, Ethan punched the wall behind me.
It was the first time I'd ever seen him this furious.
The normally impassive eyes had red at the rims; he glared at me, lips white with tension.
What on earth, Ethan? What are you so mad about?
Over the next two days, Ethan shut himself away.
He even turned away Noah Reed when Noah came by.
Ethan's mom came to ask me how he was. I gave her Chloe Reed's number and said, "This is your son's girlfriend."
Half an hour later there was a knock at my door. I opened it to see Ethan storming in, phone in his hand, furious. "Why did you give Chloe's number to my mom?"
I answered calmly, "I just told her to talk to the right person."
Ethan's Adam's apple bobbed.
…After that night, Lucas asked me if Ethan had done anything after he left.
I said, "He didn't do anything. He's just worried, since we grew up together—like a half sibling."
Lucas asked, "Do you really believe he only sees you as a sister?"
I fell silent.
If he doesn't—then what did all these years mean?
"You live so close to him, I’m not comfortable with that," Lucas said bluntly. "My friend has a place next door to me that’s been empty. He’s looking for a tenant."
"The rent would be much cheaper than where you are now. Want to consider it?"
A year ago another girl had been after Ethan. When she found out where he lived she tried to steal the apartment across from his. The lease hadn't been signed yet; for Ethan I bit my tongue and agreed to a twenty-percent increase the landlord asked for.
That girl kept pestering me and taunting that Ethan would never like me, telling me not to hog the place.
I thought for a moment, then messaged her: Do you still want the place?
She was surprised: Really? You used to say you’d die before you left that apartment.
No wonder she was shocked—back then I was so broke I couldn't even afford new underwear, never thought I'd move to a cheaper place.
I typed while replying by voice, "Really. It's small and overpriced. I want a change."
She hesitated, then said okay, "Don't regret it!"
"But I have to tell you, Ethan already has a girlfriend. If you’re moving in for him, it's pointless."
"Who says I'm moving in by myself," she replied with a laugh. "I know the girl you're talking about."
I paused, then realized—was it Chloe who wanted to move in?
The next day Ethan knocked on my door again.
Lately he'd been finding excuses to see me more often than he'd done in months.
The door opened; his face was clouded. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but then he saw my packed bags and froze. "You're moving out?"
I said, "Yeah."
Ethan had been quiet for a long time. I turned back to finish packing, and suddenly he grabbed my hand.
"Who are you moving in with?" his voice low. "Lucas?"
I took a steady breath. "That's none of your business."
He squeezed so hard my wrist hurt, his tone chilling. "Mia, do you know what it means to live with a man?"
I winced at the pain. "I'm twenty-four. I can take care of myself."
He stepped forward. "So you’re saying you two have already…?"
I pressed my lips together and said nothing.
"What do you like about him?" Ethan's anger grew; he stepped close, his voice almost sneering. "Just because he can get handsy with you?"
I had to take a step back. My face burned with shame and embarrassment.
I remembered that year—young and aching with a secret crush—unsure whether to confess. I finally gathered some courage, only to see Ethan under the plane trees off-campus, leaning in to kiss a girl.
My world fell apart in that instant.
His hand rested on her shoulder; his eyes closed, his expression soft and oddly casual.
I tasted jealousy for the first time. I felt ashamed of myself.
He may not have loved that girl much; maybe it was teenage curiosity. But that scene made it clear he could never treat me like that.
In his eyes, I wasn't even a woman.
So why was he furious because another man kissed me?
I looked up at him. "Yes, I like him. I'm happy to let him kiss me."
It was a hot summer. I wore an oversized T-shirt and gray shorts barely covered by the shirt.
Ethan grabbed my shoulders; his hand slid up against my back and into my shirt, sending shivers across me.
I'm very sensitive—someone pinching my palm makes me blush and my heart race. I felt my breath catch.
His hand reached the clasp of my bra. He stared into my eyes. "Mia, is this what you want?"
I shoved him away, incredulous. "Ethan, are you crazy?"
He just stood there, watching me, his gaze dimming.
Everything was nearly packed. On moving day, Lucas came over to help me.
I hurriedly hid the photo when I saw him picking up a picture from my middle school days to study.
"You showed me your junior high photos, Maya did," he said.
He tilted the corner of his mouth. "Short hair looked pretty cool on you."
"That's nonsense. If I had that haircut, would you still like me?"
He paused for a moment. "As long as your gender stays the same."
"…"
The movers kept emptying the room bit by bit. I took one last look around the empty space.
I had come to this city because of Ethan. Now I was staying because of Lucas.
Just as we were about to leave, Ethan's door opened.
There were dark circles under his eyes—he looked like he hadn't slept all night. He said my name slowly, "Mia."
He didn't seem to notice Lucas behind me. He reached out and took my wrist. "Don't move, please. Can you not move?"
It was a rare, humble plea.
I couldn't put my feelings into words.
11.
When I got into Lucas's car, he could tell I was upset and considerate enough not to say anything.
Ethan's sudden change didn't make me waver.
I just couldn't understand.
How could he be out flirting with other girls and still expect me to stay by his side like before?
What exactly did I mean to him?
We moved into the apartment next to Lucas's. We spent most of the day unpacking, then collapsed on the couch from exhaustion.
"Are you hungry?" I asked.
He replied with a soft, "Mm."
"Let's order takeout?" I was too tired to even move my fingers.
He gave me a sideways smile, hauled me up off the sofa, and went into his kitchen to make me a bowl of pasta.
"From now on we're neighbors," he said. "It's a lot more convenient for whatever we want to do."
I pretended not to understand. "What do you mean, 'do'?"
Lucas looked at me and smiled but didn't answer.
My head wandered to all kinds of nonsense until I stopped myself and focused on eating.
A few days later, Maya called to ask if her cousin was treating me well, if he was bullying me.
"How could he?" I said. "Lucas is a good man."
Maya snorted. "He's had two girlfriends before, and both relationships lasted less than a year. They complained he wasn't emotionally invested. He seems easygoing but is actually the most unfeeling. When one of them cheated, Lucas was completely calm."
"He just doesn't believe in love," Maya said. She'd recommended Lucas to me just to distract me from Ethan. She hadn't expected us to actually get together.
How much of Lucas's feelings were genuine? How much was him needing a girlfriend, or helping Maya keep an eye on me?
I didn't really mind. I just wanted a normal relationship.
So I put the same passion I had for Ethan into Lucas. I learned his tastes, watched his schedule so I could be home when he finished work, and cooked a table full of his favorite dishes.
When Lucas came home and saw the spread, he paused for a moment, then washed his hands and sat down quietly to eat.
"Is it not good? Tell me what's wrong and I'll fix it next time," I asked, puzzled.
He shook his head. "I haven't had food that suits me so well in a long time."
He was gentle and considerate of my feelings. Still, something felt off.
After we started dating, Lucas dedicated all his free time to me. He watched movies with me, played games with me, dragged my weak, out-of-shape self to the gym and doubled as my free personal trainer.
I could feel he was taking the relationship seriously.
But there was always something between us—a layer I couldn't quite identify.
One day he came home at six in the morning after working through the night. I, exhausted from staying up to update content, made a steaming bowl of dumplings and brought them to him.
"Why didn't you answer me? Why didn't you come home last night?" I yawned.
He looked at the dumplings but didn't answer. I thought he didn't want to say and sat down beside him, my heavy head propped up as I tried to eat.
"Were you that nice to him?" Lucas asked slowly.
I was taken aback.
"You didn't text me back, you didn't come home, yet you complained not at all and even worried I hadn't eaten breakfast," he said. "Just thinking that he received that kind of treatment too makes me feel something blocking my chest."
Lucas had heard bits and pieces of my history with Ethan from Maya before and had thought it funny—how could anyone be so foolishly earnest about love? It used to make him pity me; now I could sense jealousy.
He looked into my eyes. "Last night we had an emergency. A patient had five fingers mangled by a machine. We spent six hours on the surgery, and then we had to talk with the family, so I didn't get a chance to reply."
He was explaining.
I nodded. I wanted to say something—but nothing came out.
"My tolerance seems to be shrinking," he said, tugging the corner of his mouth, a little self-mocking. "I even catch myself comparing. Can I, in your heart, ever win against Ethan?"
"But I really like you," he added, trying to form the words. "I see you and I feel happy. I wait for you to come home every day. I want to spend more time with you—to the point I'd even ditch my dignity and move in with you."
I regretted that last sentence before it even finished. I bolted out of my chair.
In trying to prove my loyalty to Lucas, I had accidentally revealed my—less noble—side.
"Really?" he said, taking my hand, smiling, not letting me shrink away. "You want to move in with me?"
"…Do you want to move in?" I asked.
He slipped his arm around my waist.
"Yes."
Sigh. Time to move again.
12.
During the Dragon Boat Festival holiday I brought Lucas back to my hometown.
My mother was delighted. Lucas was handsome and well-mannered; he came bearing a few bottles of good liquor for my father, a jade bangle for my mom that must've cost at least several thousand, and a nicely carved jade Buddha. He didn't name prices, and at first I felt they were too extravagant to accept, but my mom adored them and her eyes on Lucas turned all gentle.
Lucas kept smiling; the whole family atmosphere was warm and harmonious. I swallowed my objections.
To my surprise, Ethan had returned too.
He had Noah with him. I watched for Chloe, but she didn't get out of his car.
Bringing a grown man home—was he trying to come out?
Ethan was always reserved. Even in front of elders he didn't change. He seemed heavier than usual this time, quieter, like he had something on his mind. Luckily, Noah was good at easing things, answering the elders' questions with a few jokes that had them laughing.
Our families were close. Since both of us were back from out of town, they decided to set a big table and my dad and my mom presided over the cooking.
I lingered in the kitchen for a while and then got scolded out. I ended up sulking by Lucas's side, asking for comfort. He amused me by feeding me a segment of mandarin orange.
I playfully peeled one for him and shared half.
Dishes kept coming, and when Lucas wiped the sticky juice from my palm with a wet napkin, his fingers brushed mine one by one. It felt strange—my ears warmed.
He didn't let go when he was done wiping; instead he held my hand and massaged it. His fingertips traced my palm like a feather running across the tip of my heart. I felt tingles and heat rush to my face; I quickly lowered my head.
Lucas smiled casually, but his eyes stayed on me, pleased.
Suddenly Ethan left the table, his face ashen.
"Hey? What's wrong with Ethan?" my mom asked, puzzled as she carried the soup.
In the evening, after Lucas and I finished our walk, my mom said Ethan had gone into the living room to wait for me.
He stood up from the sofa and said, "Let's go to your room and talk."
I didn't move. "Let's talk here."
Ethan pressed his lips together.
My mother, aware, told Lucas, "Let them talk. Lucas, come help me wash the grapes in the kitchen."
Lucas agreed kindly and left.
It was just the two of us in the living room. Ethan said, "Chloe is not my girlfriend."
I nodded. "I know. You've told me that."
"We also never slept together," he frowned. "Are you upset with me because you misunderstood that?"
"I'm not upset with you." I was surprised at my own calm. "I just realized that whether or not Chloe exists, you wouldn't choose me. It took me so long to face reality. I've been hung up on you for so many years—I held back from telling you because I was afraid you'd refuse. But Ethan, rest assured, I won't ever do that again."
Ethan went pale.
That night, I found a hairpin in a drawer. It was black and simple.
On my seventeenth birthday I saw Ethan walk out of a jewelry shop holding a hair clip—lilac, set with pearls. The next day, I saw that hair clip in another girl's hair.
Not long ago I had even stumbled on them kissing.
After that, I never wore hair clips again.
The three-day holiday was almost over. Before we left, Noah asked if we could talk. At a bubble tea shop, he tried to explain things for Ethan.
"You might be misunderstanding," he said. "The shop was so busy back then I was basically living at his place. When my sister took a shower, I should've been sleeping in his room."
"With me there, nothing could have happened between them."
"That night we drank to celebrate. I probably drank too much and threw up on her. She was drunk too and didn't notice. The next day she was so embarrassed she took a shower."
"Noah said, 'Ethan likes you. Otherwise he wouldn't have not dated anyone for so many years.'"
He added, "When a man likes a woman, there’s possessiveness. He didn't want you to model, didn't like you wearing those clothes, didn't like other men looking at you."
"My sister also likes Ethan, but I know even if Ethan isn't with you, your shadow's still in his heart," Noah said, wrapping his hands around the cup. "I don't want my sister living in your shadow."
I was silent for a long while.
"You say Ethan likes me, but he never cared about how I felt," I said. "When I was sad or hurting, he expected me to quietly get over it, fix myself, and then present myself again. When someone is treated badly for so long, the first bit of sweetness from someone else is enough to pull them away."
"I know it's undignified," I admitted. "But once you've felt tenderness, you don't want to go back."
Leaving the bubble tea shop, I saw Ethan. He looked at me quietly, his face a blank mask.
13. Ethan had always been a rational, self-aware person.
He'd never chased after anything. School, career, opportunities—they all came to him effortlessly, as if handed over on a silver platter.
I thought that after that day, Ethan would stop caring about me.
He'd always been proud.
So when Noah called, I was surprised. He said Ethan hadn't been himself since he returned to Southport—he'd been off for a couple of days, barely eating or drinking. One night he suddenly tried to make a bowl of seafood congee on his own, ended up scalding his hand with boiling water, and scattered the ingredients everywhere.
Noah said Ethan stood in the kitchen for a long time that night.
I knew what Noah was implying: he wanted to tell me how much Ethan had cared about me all along.
A girl kept in someone's heart for ten years—whether it's true love or not—won't leave without leaving a trace.
He just needed to adjust to a life without me in it.
That detail didn't linger with me long. I soon turned my attention back to my own life.
Dr. Lucas Hart taught me that you don't have to try so hard to be liked—that when someone truly cares about you, they'll be more afraid of you getting hurt than you are. He showed me that all my endurance and pretending could be seen through so easily.
We were walking along the river that day. The weather was gray and cold; the wind whipped my hair into a mess.
Lucas had just recovered from a cold. Worried he'd be chilly, I moved him to the outer side and took off my shawl to put it around him.
He took my hand. "Mia, you're so used to taking care of others."
He draped the shawl back over my shoulders, smoothed my hair, and tied it up again. "You're only in your early twenties. At least around me, you don't have to do this."
A few close college friends reached out and wanted to meet up. When we arrived at the noisy karaoke bar, I saw Ethan—sitting alone in a corner, drinking by himself. When he noticed me, he merely lifted his head.
By his nature, he usually didn't care for these kinds of gatherings, and none of the people there were particularly close to him.
Two female classmates—who didn't know I had a boyfriend—teased me and shoved me toward Ethan. In the jostle, I accidentally sat on his lap. Ethan steadied me by the waist.
I stood up quickly and blurted out that I had a boyfriend and that someone would be picking me up soon.
Everyone froze. Even the music seemed to stop.
Ethan lowered his head; I couldn't see his expression.
We didn't speak after that.
Near the end of the night, I went to the restroom. Ethan was standing by the door. Just as I was about to push it open, he grabbed my hand.
"How long are you going to stay mad?" His voice was soft; I couldn't tell if he was drunk. "When are you moving back?"
I didn't answer and pulled my hand free.
Later I found out that after I left, Chloe hadn't moved in—and Ethan bought that apartment.
When Lucas came to pick me up, he saw Ethan among the others and his expression tightened for a moment.
But he didn't say anything. Calmly, he put his arm around my shoulders and smiled as our classmates teased and looked us over.
"Now I really believe you have a boyfriend," my roommate whispered in my ear. "Does Ethan regret it?"
On the ride home, I weakly told Lucas I didn't even know Ethan would be there—no one had told me.
Lucas just hummed, "Mm."
When we got home, I grabbed his hand and repeated myself.
"Did he drink?" I asked.
Lucas shook his head.
He took off his coat and kissed me.
Lucas is a gentle person; I hardly ever see him angry. But when he kisses, he likes to nip. The first time he did it suddenly, I hissed and opened my eyes to ask why—and he went silent and kissed me fiercely.
Later I realized he only did that when he was either extremely happy or extremely angry. So which one was this?
Late that night, I got a call from Ethan.
"Chloe told me you liked me and asked if I'd ever thought about being with you. At the time, it felt awkward." His voice was rough. "Everyone always said you were my little sister. I got used to that relationship and never thought to change it. So now… you're someone else's girlfriend."
Noah eventually told me what caused the accident.
That day I'd told Ethan I wouldn't keep hanging around him anymore—that I'd try being with other guys.
He'd responded coldly and indifferently.
I was hurt, so I went out with friends and ended up at a bar. One of the male friends walked me to my car afterward.
I can hold my liquor; I looked sober. But halfway through the walk to the parking lot, I suddenly felt overwhelmed and crouched down, crying without caring how I looked.
My friend was awkward and helpless. Seeing me out of breath from sobbing, he hugged me out of sympathy.
Ethan tried calling me and couldn't reach me. He asked Maya, and Maya, worried something had happened to me, gave him my location.
He arrived and saw that scene.
Ethan's gaze froze. He didn't watch where he was going and didn't make the turn—he slammed straight into another parked car. Noah in the passenger seat was hurt too.
If I'd known sooner, maybe I wouldn't have been so despondent.
But by then, it was already too late.
(The End)
