A decade of secret longing—at this moment, I finally gave up.
1. Ethan got into a car accident. His right leg was fractured; he’d be bedridden for at least a month.
He couldn’t take care of himself and would need help.
After Mom nagged me again and again, I brought a pot of congee to the hospital.
Ethan really was wealthy—he had a single room.
I couldn’t help but sigh.
He was reading. When he heard me, he looked up and met my eyes.
Not long ago I’d sworn I wouldn’t bother him anymore; yet here I was, showing up at his door barely two days later. I stood awkwardly in the doorway.
I’d said the same things so many times over the years that Ethan had become immune to my “resolves.” His attitude had shifted from annoyed coldness to complete indifference. That day, after I spoke, I even caught a flash of mocking disdain in his eyes.
Actually, “so many times” was an exaggeration—really, only three times.
Every failed attempt to walk away only convinced him that I couldn’t live without him.
He didn’t know that every time I tried, I was sincerely crushed. My disappointment and hurt were real. My desire to give up was real.
This time it felt different. I think I wasn’t as in love anymore.
I hadn’t wanted to come.
But my mom said, “You’re free during the day. You can help look after Little Ethan. You’ve been neighbors for years—he’s like your brother. The kids should watch out for each other.” Before I could refuse, Ethan’s mom called and, sounding grateful, asked if I could look after her son.
I said, “But Ethan has a girlfriend.” “A girlfriend? Ethan has a girlfriend?” Her voice was shocked.
Minutes later Mom called again. “Your aunt checked—Ethan said he doesn’t have a girlfriend. You must be mistaken.” …He’s just not ready to tell you.
I poured the seafood congee from the thermos; the room filled with a savory aroma.
I handed him a bowl. He glanced at me and took it without comment.
After one spoonful he frowned. “Did you buy this?” I nodded and sat down. “I was in a rush—didn’t have time to cook.” Ethan pursed his lips.
“Just eat some for now. I’ll make you a proper meal next time.” Ethan didn’t like restaurant food—he thought it was unclean, and he disliked heavy seasonings.
Seafood congee took effort: four or five ingredients, deveining shrimp, all that. If it were the old days, I might’ve started cooking an hour or two early to have it ready.
Soon, Chloe Park arrived.
The heat had rouged her cheeks; she came in breathless, smiling, “Ethan, I brought you congee—I made it myself.” I noticed she wore a tight denim skirt.
What made me care so much was the first time I’d seen them: Ethan had smiled at her, appreciating, “You look good in skirts.” Contrast that with the many times I’d worn a skirt and other guys stared at my legs while Ethan scrunched his brow and asked, “Why would you wear something like that?” Because of that comment I’d hardly worn skirts since.
I racked my brain wondering what kind of girl got that approving “you look good” from Ethan.
Conclusion: Chloe was thin, with a great waist-to-hip ratio and long straight dark hair. Any skirt on her would read as graceful.
So I dieted hard—skin sallow from hunger, listless—until I dropped under 95 pounds.
Maya scolded me in despair: “You’re paler, slimmer waist, perkier chest, a beautiful swan neck—no matter what, if a man doesn’t like you, he just doesn’t. Why can’t you see that?”
“I know,” I told her, “but I can’t help it.”
The skirt Chloe wore now looked a lot like the one Ethan had criticized me for: short, clinging to the hip line.
When I noticed Chloe’s outfit, Ethan’s expression didn’t change at all.
So it wasn’t the skirt. It was the person.
“Thanks, but I already ate.” Ethan put his bowl down.
“Oh.” Chloe looked a little disappointed.
I took the thermos. “No worries—put it in the fridge and heat it up at night.” That way I wouldn’t need to cook.
I opened the lid and breathed in, secretly pleased.
Ethan glanced at me.
They chatted while I sat with my head down on my phone.
Ethan was clearly more attentive to Chloe—he even handed her a blanket to cover her legs.
I rested my head on the table and, without realizing it, fell asleep.
2. I always knew Ethan didn’t like me.
We’d known each other too long. My short buzz-cut and dirty tank-top, running around sun-darkened as a kid—those images stuck in his mind.
Even through middle school when I was a tomboy, to him I was that skinny neighborhood kid; my gender barely registered.
Even after I grew my hair out in high school and got compliments on my figure, his impression never changed.
The latest blow came when I overheard him joking to Chloe about me: offhand, “Yao—people know not to go for what’s nearby.” Even so, I’d still stand at his door with a bowl of breakfast, try to compose myself, and pretend everything was normal.
I was afraid that if I called him out, our last fragile ties would snap.
Pathetic. I even found myself laughing at how low I’d stooped.
A few days earlier, I bumped into Chloe wrapped in only a towel in Ethan’s room.
She had just come out of the bathroom, hair still dripping, shoulders bare and smooth. Without makeup she looked even more innocent.
We stared at each other; she was shocked, squeaked briefly, and hid behind Ethan.
The master bedroom door was open; inside the light was dim and intimate.
I smelled a faint metallic tang in the air.
Ethan, oh Ethan—my crush for ten years—was in bed with another girl today.
Although she seemed flustered, we both knew who was worse off. It was me.
I kept my composure and handed over my phone. “Aunt May couldn’t reach you and got worried—she called me.” Ethan glanced at me, expression flat, took the phone and walked away. “Hey, Mom. I’m here.” He didn’t care about what I thought.
I lowered my eyes so I wouldn’t have to meet Chloe’s gaze.
This girl had been coming to Ethan’s house every morning for a whole month and would only leave around six or seven each evening. Sometimes she’d run into me and still smile hello.
Before, he never let girls come and go from his house—except me. Now even that exception was gone.
Jealousy nagged me. Her smile seemed threaded with irony and showiness.
Shouldn’t I be relieved that she hadn’t stayed the night? I convinced myself of that—until I got slapped in the face.
After Mom finished talking on the phone, Ethan handed it back and explained, “I didn’t notice my phone turned off.” “Okay.” I kept my face neutral. “I’ll go.”
Ethan stared at me a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Fine.” I turned, but Chloe called after me.
A little embarrassed, she said, “I drank too much last night—my clothes smell. Can I borrow something of yours?” She tilted her mouth into a smile. “I think our sizes are similar.” I paused then turned back with a small smile. “Sure.” Later I sat in the dim room for a long time. I don’t want to remember how that night went; when you’re truly helpless, you rarely cry much.
I knew what a woman showering at a single man’s place implied. I didn’t want to imagine what had happened between them or how, but those images invaded my head anyway. By the time I realized, my own nails had dug into my palm until it was purple.
Staring at the ringed nail marks, 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 the accident.
When he woke, it was already night. I rubbed my sore arm and asked, groggy, “Where’s Chloe?” Ethan, terse, “She left.”
I wondered if they’d fought. He closed his laptop, rubbed his forehead. “Bring me the chamber pot under the bed.” I blinked. “Oh…okay.” He lifted the covers and I saw the blue-and-white striped hospital pajamas.
I couldn’t look. “Do you want me to look away?” He half-smiled.
“Suit yourself.”
3. I was staying overnight to keep watch, so I kept glancing toward Ethan to see if he was planning to sleep.
Around eleven he finally shut his computer. “Bring a hot towel. I want to wipe up.” “Wipe up?” Well, he hadn’t showered since the crash—a good three days.
I brought the towel. Ethan was unbuttoning his shirt.
As he pulled it off, his chest and abs appeared—lean but not scrawny, muscles smooth and defined.
If it had been before, my face would have flushed and I’d be too embarrassed to look.
Who among us isn’t a little bit lecherous with the one we like?
He took the towel and wiped his neck and arms.
His chest rose and fell with each breath.
I found myself distracted.
After a while he handed the towel to me. “Go wash it.” “Okay.” I went like a dutiful little wife.
I rinsed the towel, but he didn’t take it back. “Your back.” I understood and carefully wiped his back.
His skin under my hands was smooth and resilient—different from a woman’s softer skin.
Ethan didn’t speak until I reached his waist, when he suddenly pressed my hand down.
“Done?” I asked.
He glanced at me without showing much.
“Do I need to wipe below—too?”
I froze after asking.
Ethan stiffened too, lowering his eyes with a complex look.
Oh no.
I regretted it. How could I have flirted with a man who might have a girlfriend? He would surely misunderstand.
“Maybe we should get a nurse?” I suggested after finishing, trying to be earnest.
Ethan frowned. “Do you think I’m a nuisance?” “Or next time wait until Chloe’s here?” I said. “After all, she’s your girlfriend.” Ethan replied, “She’s not my girlfriend.” They’d slept together and she wasn’t his girlfriend?
Ethan, when did you get so awful?
4.
I told Maya about the night I accidentally walked in on Chloe showering at Ethan’s house.
She ground her teeth. “At this point you’re not still head-over-heels for him, are you?” I rubbed my face. “I was over it. I was actually planning to leave and go back to Riverside.
But didn’t Ethan get into a car accident?
My mom asked me to stay and take care of him for a while.”
“Wait, I think my brother works in Arbor City. Let me ask.” Maya said magnanimously. “I’ll introduce him to you! He’s really handsome.” “When did you get a brother?” “Cousin—older cousin. I’ll have him add you on WeChat.” A few minutes later, someone named JL sent a friend request.
We added him and didn’t say anything.
He probably wasn’t interested in me, just didn’t want to be rude.
I didn’t care much and forgot about it.
It took about a week—after X-rays confirmed his fracture hadn’t shifted—before Ethan could be discharged.
During that time, Chloe came to visit him every day.
She brought fruit, meals—saved me a lot of trouble.
Ethan was polite to her. In fact he was polite to everyone, except with me he never put on a pretense.
Chloe asked me, concerned, if I needed to go home and rest, that she could stay and watch over him.
“Really?” I hadn’t been sleeping well in the hospital—Ethan sometimes had to get up at night, sometimes needed water. I woke at least twice every night.
She smiled sweetly. “Of course.” From the bed Ethan glanced over at us, his look heavy.
I picked up my bag. “I’ll come back tonight.” As I left, I saw Ethan press his lips together—his sign he was mad.
In freshman year he’d had a bad flu—high fever that wouldn’t break—and refused to go to the hospital. I couldn’t carry him, so I stayed up all night in our rented room, doing everything I could to cool him down, my eyes burning from lack of sleep.
Two students alone in a new town, with nowhere to turn. That night I felt helpless.
Luckily the fever broke the next day and he came to, opening his eyes and looking at me without a word.
I had held in my tears all night and finally let them fall. I stammered, asking if he was hungry, what he wanted to eat.
It was flu season. Ethan asked if I wasn’t afraid of getting sick.
I, being hopelessly romantic, said, “I’d rather it be me who gets sick.” Ethan was silent.
If it had been back then, I wouldn’t have trusted Ethan—fresh from an accident—to another woman.
… “Careful.” Lost in the memory, I almost walked into someone in the hospital corridor. A man’s index finger tapped my forehead, stopping me before I bumped into him. His tone held no blame.
I looked up, a little stunned. It was a very young doctor, tall—at least a head taller than me—in a white coat, with especially sharp brows and a sculpted nose.
He smiled at me, glanced at the room behind me, then walked past.
A thought crossed my mind.
So other guys can be that handsome too.
5.
That night, on the bus to the hospital, Maya texted me: Her “brother” had stopped by to see me, thought I was cute.
Me: ???
When?
Maya: He’ll tell you himself. He said I couldn’t say.
So I went into Ethan’s room full of questions.
A man sat on the edge of the bed, a bandage across his forehead. He beamed when he saw me. “Claire’s here.” Ethan said. “This is Chloe’s brother, Lucas.” “Haha, you might not know me yet, but I’ve known about you for a while.” Lucas stood and greeted me.
The Night I Found Him With Her
Ethan expressionless: “He was the driver that night.” “Hey, I didn’t mean it. I got hurt too—hurt my face,” Lucas thumped Ethan’s plastered leg and then looked at me nervously. “Claire, please don’t blame me.” “Okay, you can leave now.” “You won’t tell me and I’ll really go.” Lucas mumbled as he left.
I took out the clean clothes I’d picked up at Ethan’s place. “So what happened that night? How did the accident happen?” He didn’t answer.
Ethan’s fastidious—two days without washing his hair is his limit. I filled a basin and dry-washed his hair, rubbing his scalp through the suds. Ethan closed his eyes; even in repose his features were hauntingly handsome.
The air filled with a small, tender warmth. Only in moments like this did I allow myself to believe maybe he felt something for me too.
That feeling was stitched with habit and trust—but not the love I wanted.
As I blow-dried his hair I couldn’t help running my fingers through it. His hair was glossy black, silky—something even I envied.
Ethan took my wrist and curled my right hand into his palm.
I look small-boned and lean, but I actually hold a lot of hidden softness. Maya always hugged me, saying I was squishy and warm and easy to hold.
Maybe because of that, Ethan liked to pinch my palm—casually gripping my hand, rubbing and fiddling. My palm is sensitive; his touch always made my ears heat and my temperature climb. It pulled my thoughts away.
I didn’t know if he noticed. I used to love him and suffered for it; I always put up with it and sometimes felt a little sweetness too.
This time I pulled my hand back.
Ethan’s palm was empty. He looked up at me; his gaze dimmed.
See? Not loving him anymore wasn’t that hard.
… The next morning, the chief physician came round with a few doctors and I saw that handsome doctor again.
He stood behind the chief and gave me a small smile.
After the routine checkup the chief nodded, said the recovery was good and gave some instructions before they left.
That doctor hung back, glanced at Ethan’s chart. “Discharge the day after tomorrow?” I answered “Mm.”
“So soon?” He said something I didn’t catch.
His eyes swept across my face and he smiled. “Hi, Claire, I’m Dr. Ryan Wells.” And he left.
Suddenly it clicked.
Ryan? JL?
Ethan asked, “Who is he?” I blankly said, “I think he’s the one Maya introduced me to.”
6.
On the day Ethan was discharged, Chloe came again.
I hustled through the paperwork while she whispered to Ethan, sitting very close with her hand on his arm.
I sighed.
This is the tragedy of the simp.
They were romantically involved, and I was trying to figure out how to get reimbursed for medical bills.
In a panic I lost Ethan’s insurance card and nearly had a meltdown. Luckily I ran into Dr. Ryan; he helped me look all over and we found the card at the front desk—one of the nurses had picked it up. Seeing me scattered, he personally walked me to the discharge window to settle the bill.
He looked at my many bags and asked if I wanted help.
I felt awkward. “Won’t it take up your time…?” He smiled, and his voice was pleasant. “If it’s you, it won’t.” Even his teasing was adorable.
Dr. Ryan carried my luggage down to the hospital garage and helped Ethan—stiff and awkward—into the car. When that was done he glanced at the other two and then back at me. “I’ll be going. If anything comes up during recovery contact me. If you have any questions, reach out.” I nodded, full of gratitude. “Thank you, Dr. Wells.” He smiled and waved.
Ethan never spoke the whole time.
Chloe, all bright-eyed, asked me in the car, “Boyfriend?” I opened the car door and hesitated. “Not really.”
Ethan has been my neighbor—for years as kids, and now again.
To stay close to him right after graduation I scrimped and lived in a tiny place twenty miles from my office, devoting half my salary to rent and always budgeting for tomorrow’s meals.
Only when my freelance writing paid better did things ease.
It made caring for him convenient now.
Ethan was unusually quiet today. Even Chloe’s chatter on the drive didn’t interest him much. I was used to his coldness and didn’t read into it.
His orthopedic injury wasn’t severe; he could wash himself but was supposed to minimize movement.
My mom FaceTimed and told me to watch him so he didn’t fall alone.
I moved my laptop to his apartment—my content output slipped while I was taking care of him and I got slammed by readers for missing updates.
What could I say? I was taking care of my crush.
He already had someone, even if he didn’t want to call her his girlfriend.
The readers probably thought I was the other woman.
Dr. Ryan used patient check-ins as a reason to chat, and I used follow-up questions as an excuse to banter. We both knew it.
After a while I wanted to go see him for an exam—but he wasn’t a gynecologist, so I’d actually have to hurt myself to find a reason to see him.
Interestingly, since his concussion cleared, Lucas came by often with his fashion sketches and finished pieces to discuss with Ethan.
They wanted to start an online shop focused on original designs and turned Ethan’s place into their studio. Chloe modeled for them.
“There’s already a ready-made model here. My sister’s look is too one-note for some of these pieces.” Lucas stroked his chin and appraised me.
Ethan closed his eyes and didn’t look my way. “She’s not right,” he said. Lucas shrugged helplessly.
I smiled faintly, said nothing.
I no longer crumbled at every offhand critique from him.
That night I sat on the balcony, talking to my mom on video. Halfway through she brought Ethan up with a gentle tone. “You can’t force love. If it was meant to be, it would’ve happened by now…” I said, “Mom, I think I don’t like him that much anymore.” She paused.
It was the first time I said it so calmly. Back when I was most upset I would have cried and shouted, Ethan, you think I’ll die if I’m not with you? Don’t worry, I won’t cling to you anymore.
I’d never once said, I don’t like him.
Mom nodded and said nothing.
When I ended the call and turned around, Ethan stood behind me, expressionless, watching.
7.
Two weeks later, Dr. Ryan finally asked me out.
For our date I wore a dress I thought was really pretty.
Seeing Dr. Ryan outside the hospital felt strange at first.
He took off his white coat and wore a more casual shirt—narrow waist, long legs, clean-cut. He gave off the air of a talented young man. I had no idea Maya had such a handsome older cousin.
He studied me for a moment. "That's not your usual style."
I got nervous. "I hardly ever wear dresses."
"Hmm. Looking this good means you should wear them less often," he said.
I blinked and looked up at him.
He smiled, his eyes gentle.
Suddenly I relaxed.
The rest of the day I finally understood what it's like for a girl to be doted on by a boyfriend.
Dr. Ryan seemed especially patient with girls. At lunch it was sweltering, and I casually said I wanted a peach Frappuccino. He told me to wait at the table and went to stand in line at Starbucks for over ten minutes.
When I bragged to Maya about him on WeChat, she was incredulous. Every time she wanted bubble tea or dessert, Dr. Ryan would warn her about the sugar and how it could mess up her skin—he'd never gone out of his way to buy anything for her.
"He hasn't even bought me a lollipop my whole life," Maya complained. "Hey, ask him what he'd do if you broke out after drinking that milk tea."
When Dr. Ryan came back, I relayed her question word for word.
He handed me the Frappuccino and sat across from me without a fuss. "You have neutral skin. You're not prone to acne. And even if you do get some, I know a bit about dermatology."
I praised him sincerely. "You're amazing."
He curved his lips in a small smile.
When he smiled, he looked like sunshine—clean, refreshing.
Most important, his eyes were on me.
Not like Ethan, who was always cold. With Ethan I had to tiptoe, anticipate his likes and mood swings, keep my heart dangling in the air, rising and falling with him.
Sometimes when we talked I'd apologize for wasting his time. "Doctors must be very busy."
"They are," he said, "which is why I wanted to talk to you." It had been four or five days since our last date.
I was just thinking about him when his message came through: Want to go see a movie tonight?
So this is what mutual attraction feels like. It wasn't all sour compromise and insecurity. While I was timid and afraid to make a move, he was trying to get closer, too.
The movie ended late and Dr. Ryan drove me home.
The car stopped outside my complex. When I got out, he naturally took my hand and it made my small heart leap.
I even surprised myself.
"Which building do you live in?" he asked.
"Building 27," I said. "It's only a minute or two walk."
He nodded. "I'll walk you to the lobby." I checked the time—after eleven-thirty. Ethan should've been asleep.
He'd just had his cast removed two days ago and could move around more. He didn't need me watching over him every moment anymore.
So I asked him to take a little detour around the complex so we could have a few more minutes together. I don't know if he noticed my nerves—I certainly felt guilty.
Fate did what it was going to do. Five minutes later we stopped steady in front of my building's entrance.
"Good night," I said reluctantly.
"Yao—" He called my name, then closed the distance, placed his hand at my waist, and kissed me.
When he let go I gasped, almost collapsing against him; I only stayed upright because his arm supported me.
His voice was low and slightly hoarse. "Claire, you're too sensitive." I was mortified; my whole face felt like it was burning.
At the same time, a thrilling numbness kept starting at my tailbone and traveling up.
I was a little pervert and yet I'd never had a boyfriend.
Dr. Ryan whispered near my ear, "If you act like that, I'll want to kiss you again."
I buried my face against his shoulder and pretended not to understand.
Then a familiar male voice came from behind us: "Claire." My heart dropped. I slowly turned—it was Ethan.
Why was he still outside so late?
Half his face vanished into the darkness; I couldn't read his expression.
I felt awkward, but I didn't let go of Dr. Ryan's hand. I held his gaze for a beat, then said softly, "Be careful on your way." He nodded, glanced at Ethan, and slipped past him to leave.
I said nothing and swiped my card to open the building door, then went inside.
Ethan followed and got into the elevator with me.
Being caught in the middle of your first kiss would make me embarrassed by a stranger—let alone Ethan, who'd grown up with me. I didn't know how to face him.
"To kiss someone you've only met a few times." As we stepped out of the elevator, Ethan's voice was cool and cutting. "Claire, when did you get so casual?"
Casual?
Who did he think he was to say that?
A rush of anger filled my chest.
"Ethan, I'm an adult." I turned to him and tried to keep my tone calm. "Dating is normal. And we just—kissed once."
"So a few days of knowing someone is enough to kiss them? What's next—sleeping with them?" he snapped.
"And so what if I did?" I answered hotly. "Maybe to you I don't count as a woman, but to him I do!" With a thud Ethan punched the wall behind me.
I'd never seen him so angry.
The eyes that were usually indifferent were bloodshot now. He glared at me, his thin lips going white.
Ethan—what are you even mad about?
9.
The next two days, Ethan shut himself away.
He even turned his cousin Lucas away at the door.
Ethan's mother came by to ask about him. I gave her Chloe Park's number and told her it was her son's girlfriend.
Half an hour later there was a knock. I opened the door to see Ethan dark-faced, holding up his phone and accusing me, "Why did you give my mom Chloe's number?"
I replied calmly, "I just told her to contact the right person." Ethan's Adam's apple bobbed.
…After that night, Dr. Ryan asked if Ethan had done anything to me after he left.
I said, "He wouldn't do anything. He's just worried—after all, we grew up together. I'm sort of like a half-sister." Dr. Ryan asked, "Do you really believe he only sees you as a sister?" I fell silent.
But if he didn't—what did all those years of mine mean?
"You're living so close to him. I'm not comfortable with that," Dr. Ryan said plainly. "The apartment next to mine is owned by a friend and it's been vacant. I'm looking for renters. The rent would be much cheaper than what you're paying now. Do you want to consider it?"
A year ago another girl had liked Ethan. When she found out where he lived she tried everything to steal the apartment across from me. The lease hadn't been signed yet; for Ethan I had gritted my teeth and agreed to pay twenty percent more.
That girl kept hounding me afterward—harassing me, mocking that Ethan would never like me and telling me not to hog what I didn't deserve.
I thought for a moment, then texted: Do you still want the place?
She was surprised. Are you serious? You said you'd never leave that apartment.
No wonder she was stunned. Back then I was so broke I couldn't even afford new underwear. I hadn't thought about moving somewhere cheaper.
I typed on my computer and sent a voice message, "Yes. The place is tiny and expensive. I want a change." She hesitated forever before saying okay. "Don't regret it," she warned.
"But I need to tell you something—Ethan already has a girlfriend. If you're moving in because of him, it might not matter."
"Who says I'm moving in alone?" she laughed. "I also know the girl you mentioned." I froze, then realized what she meant.
Was Chloe planning to move in?
The next day Ethan knocked on my door again.
Lately he'd been coming over more in two days than he used to in a month.
When I opened the door his expression was tight and dark, like he wanted to say something. He stopped when he saw the packed boxes in my room. "You're moving?"
I said, "Mm."
He hadn't spoken for a long time. I turned to keep packing, but his hand grabbed mine.
"Who are you moving in with?" His voice was low. "Dr. Ryan?"
I took a breath. "That's none of your business." Ethan nearly crushed my wrist; his tone was frighteningly cold. "Claire, do you know what it means to live with a man?"
I winced from the pain. "I'm twenty-four. I can take care of myself."
He stepped forward. "So you two are that far along?" I pursed my lips and said nothing.
"What do you even like about him?" Ethan sounded angrier than before. He closed in on me, his words sharp and almost mocking. "Just because he touches you?"
I backed up a few steps, my face hot with shame.
My mind flashed back to sophomore year. I had nursed a bitter secret crush and couldn't decide whether to confess. I finally mustered courage only to see Ethan—unconcerned and unbothered—under the plane trees outside school, kissing another girl.
My world had shattered. His hand rested on that girl's shoulder; he had his eyes closed, relaxed and gentle.
I tasted jealousy for the first time and felt ashamed.
He might not have loved that girl deeply; maybe it was teenage curiosity. But that scene made me realize he'd never look at me that way.
In his eyes I wasn't even a woman.
So why was he angry when another man kissed me?
I looked up at him. "Yes, I like him. I'm willing to kiss him." It was a sticky summer; I wore an oversized T-shirt and gray shorts. The hem of the shirt barely covered my shorts.
Ethan's fingers dug into my shoulders. His hand slid down my back under my shirt and sent a thrill through me.
I'm extremely sensitive—someone just squeezing my palm can make me blush. My breath stopped entirely.
His hand found the clasp of my bra; he stared into my eyes. "Claire, is this what you want?"
I couldn't believe it. I pushed him away. "Ethan, are you crazy?"
He watched me in silence, his gaze slowly dimming.
…I had most of my stuff packed. On moving day, Dr. Ryan came to help.
When he picked up a photo from my high school years to study, I quickly hid it.
“You showed me your middle school photos, Maya did,” he said with a crooked smile. “Short hair looked sharp on you.”
“Nonsense. If I’d looked like that, would you still like me?” I teased.
He thought for a beat. “As long as you don’t change genders, I’m good.”
“…” The movers were finishing up, hauling the last boxes out. I stood in the middle of the empty apartment and took one last look around.
I came to Riverside because of Ethan, and now I was staying for Dr. Ryan.
As we were about to leave, Ethan’s door opened.
There were dark circles under his eyes—he must’ve been up all night—and he said my name slowly, “Claire.” He didn’t seem to notice Dr. Ryan behind me. He reached out and took my wrist. “Don’t move. Please.”
It was such a rare, vulnerable plea.
I couldn’t put my feelings into words.
11. Riding in Dr. Ryan’s car, he noticed I was quiet and didn’t press me—just kind.
Ethan’s sudden change didn’t make me waver.
I just didn’t understand.
How could he be dating someone else and still expect me to be there like before?
What did I actually mean to him?
We moved into the apartment next to Dr. Ryan’s and spent half the day unpacking. By the time we finished, we collapsed onto the couch.
“Hungry?” I asked.
He hummed.
“Let’s order takeout?” I was too tired to lift a finger.
He shot me a playful look, tugged me up off the couch, and took me inside to make a bowl of pasta.
“From now on, we’re neighbors,” he said. “A lot easier to do stuff.”
I pretended not to get it. “Like what?”
Dr. Ryan smiled without answering.
My brain started filling with silly possibilities, so I forced myself to focus and eat.
A few days later, Maya called and asked if her cousin treated me well—whether he bullied me.
I told her no way; Dr. Ryan was a good man.
Maya huffed and told me about his past relationships—two girlfriends, both relationships ending within a year. Both complained that his mind was never really in it. He seemed easygoing but could be strangely distant.
Once, when he was caught cheating, he’d stayed calm. He didn’t seem to believe in love.
Maya said she only introduced him to me to distract me and help me move on from Ethan. She never imagined we’d actually get together.
How much of Dr. Ryan’s attention was genuine, and how much was him wanting a girlfriend or doing Maya a favor? I didn’t know. Frankly, I didn’t care.
I just wanted a normal relationship.
I funneled all the energy I’d given Ethan into this one—paying attention to what Dr. Ryan liked, timing his walks home, cooking a spread of his favorite dishes.
He came home, saw the food, hesitated for a moment, then washed his hands and sat down quietly.
“You don’t like it?” I asked, puzzled. “If something’s wrong, I’ll fix it next time.”
He shook his head. “I haven’t had a meal this suited to my taste in a long time.” He was gentle, considerate of my feelings.
But something still felt off.
After we started dating, Dr. Ryan gave me all his free time.
He watched movies with me, played games with me, dragged my usually sedentary self to the gym and acted as my unpaid personal trainer. I could feel him taking the relationship seriously.
And yet there always seemed to be a layer between us.
I couldn’t figure out why.
Then one day he came home at six in the morning, having been gone all night. I’d been up late working on updates and, exhausted, I made him a hot bowl of dumplings.
“Why didn’t you reply to my messages?” I yawned. “Why didn’t you come home last night?”
He didn’t answer at first; he just looked at the dumplings.
I thought he didn’t want to talk and didn’t push. I pulled out a chair and sat down, heavy with sleep, trying to at least eat with him.
“Are you that nice to him too?” Dr. Ryan asked quietly.
I froze.
“He doesn’t answer your messages, doesn’t come home, and you don’t complain—still worried he might’ve missed breakfast,” he said. “Just thinking that someone else once got treated that way makes my chest feel tight.” He’d heard about me and Ethan from Maya a few times and had laughed. Who would be that foolish? He used to pity me. Now he sounded…jealous.
He met my eyes. “Last night we had an emergency—the patient’s five fingers were mangled by a machine. We did six hours of surgery, then had to talk to the family. That’s why I couldn’t reply.” He was explaining.
I nodded, opened my mouth to say something, and closed it.
“My patience seems to be shrinking,” he said with a wry twist of his mouth. A touch of self-mockery. “I even find myself comparing. Can I beat Ethan in your heart?” He paused. “But I really like you.” He tried to pick his words carefully. “Seeing you makes me happy. I wait for you to come home. I even…thought about losing my pride and moving in with you.”
The last sentence popped out and I immediately regretted it, jumping up from the chair.
Trying to prove my loyalty had accidentally revealed my shameless side.
“Really?” He took my hand, smiling, refusing to let me hide. “You want to move in with me?”
“…Do we move in together?” He wrapped his arm around my waist.
“Yes.” Sigh. Moving again.
—I’m such a hopeless fangirl. Boohoo. If we reach 11k likes I’ll let Dr. Ryan take the lead
