He said it with a blank face, but the disappointment and blame in his voice were impossible to miss.
In that instant, I felt like I didn’t know this man anymore.
Half asleep and half awake, I heard a door open and someone moving slowly toward the bed.
Familiar scent hit me. I sat up and reached out to loop my arm around Ethan’s neck.
My lips were a few inches from his when he suddenly turned his head away, avoiding my kiss.
That reflexive movement froze us both and completely killed any chance of sleep.
Maybe to avoid awkwardness, Ethan straightened his tie and went into the bathroom.
Soon the soft patter of running water came from inside.
Lately he’d been working crazy hours, often coming home late.
Thinking he might be so busy he hadn’t even eaten yet, half of my irritation melted away.
I searched for my phone—then remembered it was charging in the living room.
Ethan’s phone was tossed casually on the pillow. Without thinking I picked it up, ordered from one of his usual places, a bowl of broth noodles.
Just as I was about to lock the screen, QuickEats sent a notification: the errand service order had been delivered.
The order showed a package of brown sugar and a box of relief capsules.
Then a WeChat message popped up on the screen: “The pain relievers helped a lot, thanks.”
I froze, my finger hovering before I finally tapped to open the chat.
The most recent messages were from half an hour ago.
Ethan: “Your face didn’t look good when you left earlier.”
She replied with a pitiful sticker.
Ethan: “I finished the proposal.”
She quickly replied, “Great, that means I can sleep in a bit tomorrow and come in later.”
Ethan: “Mm.”
Not long after, he asked again: “You okay?”
No reply.
Five minutes later he sent: “I bought you something, keep warm these days.”
He hadn’t put a contact name for her, but from the avatar and the messages it was obvious.
She was Zoe Hart.
I’d first heard the name Zoe a month ago.
That day Ethan had come to the movies with me. Halfway through, I noticed him distracted.
When I looked back, he was staring at his phone with a small smile, his whole face relaxed.
I hesitated before asking, “What are you looking at?”
He kept his head down, voice soft with amusement: “Zoe.”
The air seemed to freeze for a second.
It was the first time I’d heard him say her name.
He said it slowly, the name rolling off his tongue like something pleasant.
He seemed to realize and jerked his head up to look at me.
After two seconds of eye contact he handed me his phone, explaining earnestly, “Zoe’s a new coworker. She’s dedicated at work. I just see her as someone to mentor.”
I stared at the video on his screen.
The girl in it seemed to be at a birthday—someone smeared cake on her face and she laughed, totally unbothered and radiant.
She looked like a genuinely sweet person.
“The video was posted in the group chat. I just clicked it casually,” Ethan said, taking my hand and holding it tight. His touch was warm; his voice gentle like always. “Nina, trust me.”
I studied him for a long time. His expression seemed honest, not like a liar.
But somehow his smile from earlier kept flashing across my mind.
We didn’t speak again for the rest of the movie.
Who knew everything was already foreshadowed.
About ten minutes later the bathroom door opened.
Ethan changed into pajamas, water still dripping from his hair.
When our eyes met, he clearly looked taken aback. “You went through my phone?”
I was about to answer when a tickle rose in my throat; I covered my mouth and coughed quietly.
He watched me for a while before asking hesitantly, “Are you sick?”
I murmured yes.
It was already autumn. I’d had weak immunity since childhood; I’d get awful colds and fevers if I didn’t take care.
For five years together, Ethan always treated seasonal changes like enemy territory—watching forecasts, reminding me to bring an umbrella, dragging me to the gym—anything to prevent me from getting sick.
When I teased him for being overprotective, he’d wrap his arms around my waist from behind, bury his head in my shoulder and mutter, “I don’t want you to get sick. Not even a cold.”
But in these past few days, we’d been in some inexplicable cold war, and he seemed completely oblivious to the shift.
“Work’s been crazy. I didn’t notice.” His voice drew me out of my thoughts.
He must have sat at the foot of the bed; he tucked the blanket around me, eyes clouded with a little guilt. “Won’t happen again.”
Still holding his phone, I asked, unable to help it, “Was it really just work?”
“I swear there’s nothing between me and Zoe.” He pulled a cigarette from the drawer and lit it, exhaustion in his tone.
I didn’t say anything. Instead I handed him the chat I’d found.
Three days earlier Zoe, apparently drunk, messaged at midnight: “If you didn’t have a girlfriend, would you like me?”
Ethan replied with one word: “Would.”
He froze when he saw it.
He was quiet for a minute, then stubbed out the cigarette and looked up at me. “I told you she’s just a coworker. I even promised nothing would happen between us. Isn’t that enough?”
He said it with no expression, but the disappointment and accusation in his voice were clear.
In that moment I felt like I didn’t know him at all.
During our argument, Ethan’s phone rang again at the worst possible time.
A message from Zoe popped up asking if he’d eaten.
Then another: “I guessed you probably haven’t eaten, so I ordered you a bowl of broth noodles—the place I took you to last time.”
I stared at that text, my chest tightening like a hand squeezing until I could hardly breathe.
Ethan never used to like noodles.
His family had been poor when he was little—his father left early, his mother worked far away—and he was often left alone, sometimes without enough to eat.
He became withdrawn; no one in the neighborhood wanted to play with him except me.
Once I brought him something to eat and found him on a bench, head bowed, quietly eating plain soup noodles—no greens, nothing.
He looked stunned for a second when he saw me, then quickly composed himself and kept eating like nothing happened.
I looked at his thin profile and felt awful—maybe a sympathy born of shared loneliness.
My mom wanted a son, and my birth hurt her womb; the doctors said she’d have trouble having children after that. She resented me for years.
Those bleak lonely years, Ethan and I kept each other company and got through them.
When Ethan’s mom started a business and made the Financial Times once, she took him away after middle school. We lost touch until college when we ran into each other again.
After we got together I realized Ethan had never really eaten noodles—probably because he didn’t want to remember those hungry days. So when he started bringing broth noodles from the little place at the corner home lately, I joked and asked why he suddenly liked them.
He’d answered casually, “No reason. Just felt like it.”
I’d been relieved then—thought it meant he was past it.
Turns out it was because of her.
I told Ethan I wanted to break up.
As I zipped my suitcase he grabbed my wrist. “Nina, are you really leaving?”
I was forced to look at him.
I used to love the way Ethan looked at me—gentle, attentive, like I mattered.
In sophomore year my roommate canceled a planned trip to Dali last minute. Since the tickets and plans were set, I went alone.
On the second day I went hiking, and when the sunrise peeked through the mist I saw a familiar face.
It was Ethan.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in Beijing for the competition?” I asked, stunned.
He rubbed his hands, took off the scarf from his neck and looped it around me again and again. His cheeks and ears were raw from the cold, his voice shaking.
“I saw on Moments you came alone to Dali, I couldn’t stand it. I came back early. I wanted to watch it with you.”
He stared at me without blinking. The pale golden light caught in his eyes and warmed me right through.
After Dali it shifted between us; not long after, we were together.
But now something had changed.
I hadn’t changed. I still loved only him. But he looked at me with impatience and irritation—maybe he didn’t even notice it himself.
“Finish packing. Move out tomorrow morning.” I pulled my hand free and avoided his gaze. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”
Around midnight I finished packing and lay down, exhausted. I opened my phone and found a friend request: “I’m Zoe.”
I accepted, and she didn’t say anything. On impulse I checked her Moments.
Her latest post was just uploaded: two photos.
The first, a selfie with a steaming bowl of broth noodles on the table behind her.
The second, a close-up of a bowl of broth noodles, the background frighteningly familiar.
The table had a diagonal plaid pattern and a bouquet of vivid roses sat on it.
The vase holding those roses was the same one Ethan and I bought together at the supermarket.
Her caption read, “hhhh, virtual noodle date with someone! (this post visible to only someone).”
Below it, Ethan had liked the post.
I slept restlessly that night.
In my dream I was a child again, carefully dabbing medicine with a cotton swab to the bruise at Ethan’s lip.
He didn’t react much—my heart broke first and I started crying.
A moment later I dreamed we were on the mountain watching the sunrise with Ethan, the wind brutal. His hand was cool as he covered mine and slipped both into his pocket.
But in the end the dream switched—Ethan was holding Zoe, walking past me with that same indifferent calm, not so much as a spare expression for me.
The dream felt so real that when I woke up the next day and saw Zoe downstairs, I froze.
Before today I’d only ever seen her in videos on Ethan’s phone.
Thinking back, this was probably our first real meeting.
Honestly, Zoe was pretty—pale skin, a long, graceful neck.
She sat on the couch, her face tilted up slightly. There was a split on her forehead, a little dried blood around it.
Ethan was dabbing at the cut.
He held her jaw gently with one hand while the other pressed lightly against the wound on her brow.
His movements were careful.
Zoe hissed.
Ethan’s hands visibly slowed.
Light sliced through the blinds, exposing every anxious line in his face.
From the stairwell I could see it all as if on a stage.
I tightened my grip on the suitcase and, without meaning to, it slipped and made a small clatter.
Hearing the sound, Ethan turned and frowned at me—but said nothing.
Zoe was the first to speak. She introduced herself gracefully and explained Ethan had to meet a client today; she was just dropping off paperwork.
"The elevator in your building’s broken. I tripped on the stairs earlier—so sorry for the trouble," she said.
I didn’t answer. I pulled my suitcase toward the door.
Just as I was opening it, Ethan grabbed my hand.
He looked down on me, tone edged with impatience. "Haven’t you made enough of a scene?"
He gripped hard; my wrist hurt. I pulled with all my strength and he tightened his hold.
In the tug his wrist shifted and a grey watch peeked into view.
I froze.
On his birthday last month I’d bought a silver watch to give him—but Ethan already had a grey one on his wrist then. No brand visible, but the style screamed expensive.
He’d said a friend had given it to him.
Ethan’s family was far better off than mine, but he’d always been considerate of my feelings. That was the first time I’d felt humiliated by the financial gap between us.
I hadn’t shown it then, but he’d noticed.
He’d sighed softly, wrapped his arms around me from behind, and pressed warm words into my ear, voice low and tender: "What watch you give me doesn’t matter. What matters is you gave it."
After that he put away the expensive grey watch and wore the one I gave him every day.
Now, on the first day of our breakup, he had the grey watch back on.
A weird little laugh bubbled up in me. Calmly I said, "Let go."
He seemed to realize something and jerked his hand back, awkward. "The client I’m meeting is important to the company…"
His sentence was cut off when Zoe chimed in, reminding him he should leave.
I glanced at her and suddenly asked Ethan, "That watch—did she give it to you?"
He was silent.
Long minutes passed before he said, "Nina, it’s just a watch."
I didn’t want to argue. I picked up my phone to call for help, but before I could dial Ryan arrived.
Ryan is my little brother—five years younger than me.
Mom never gave up trying for a son—she chased cures, remedies, acupuncture; she wasted a lot of money. Finally, when I was five, she got pregnant again.
Since then, Mom showered her affection on Ryan and stayed distant with me, but Ryan and I got along okay.
"Just one suitcase?" he asked, scratching his head, uncertain.
"Yes."
"Huh…" He hesitated. "I thought girls usually brought, like, piles of stuff. I can’t move it alone—I’m bringing Caleb."
"Caleb?" I said, surprised.
"Yeah, Caleb just got back from Shanghai—I’ll drag him over—"
Ryan’s phone buzzed suddenly. A low voice asked, "Are you on your way?"
"Yes, yes. Don’t come up. We’re heading down now," Ryan said, hoisting my suitcase. "Come on, sis."
I didn’t hesitate. I picked up my bag and followed him out. Ethan called my name from behind, but I kept walking—no pause, no look back.
Caleb’s car was parked on the curb. He sat inside, fingers drumming the wheel, lost in thought.
I stared at the clean line of his profile for a beat.
Caleb and I had been high school classmates; he was the school’s genius. Cold, detached, while I was shy—we were desk-mates but never really spoke.
After graduation I thought we’d never cross paths again. Then two months ago Ryan interned at a securities firm and I learned Caleb was his boss.
"Caleb!" Ryan called.
The man turned. Our eyes met. I gave a polite hello and then moved to open the rear door, but Caleb said, "Sit up front."
"It helps if you get car sick," he added casually.
I blinked, didn’t ask how he knew, and took the passenger seat.
We rode in silence.
It was already two in the afternoon when we got home. Caleb dropped us at the building and drove back to the office.
Mom came out with two dishes, glared at me—her face colder than usual—then softened when she saw Ryan. "Food’s warm. Come eat."
Dinner was a heavy silence.
I didn’t plan to stay home long; as soon as I found a place I’d move.
In the evening Mom sat knitting on the couch. Maybe her eyesight was failing—she hadn’t noticed a grey ball of yarn fall to the floor. I picked it up and set it on the table.
As I turned to leave, she asked, voice threaded with irritation, "Why did you break up with Ethan?"
He Bought Her Medicine, I Saw the Truth
I rose slowly and stayed quiet.
"Ethan told me. Isn’t it just because a coworker gave him a watch? You didn’t actually do anything—why make a fuss?"
My throat went dry. This was always how she was.
When I was little and classmates tripped me on purpose, I came home and told her. She was feeding Ryan at the time; she barely reacted and lectured me: "Why tell me? Why do they pick on you and not others? Can't you look inside yourself for what's wrong?"
I’d stood there stunned. Ryan, taking advantage of my daze, yanked my hair and I pushed him. Mom slapped me hard and comforted Ryan with the other hand, glaring at me the whole time.
Red-eyed, I ran until I had no strength left and curled on the ground with my face in my knees.
It was Ethan who found me.
He patted my back slowly, wordlessly undoing my anger piece by piece. I thought perhaps Mom would never be on my side—but Ethan would be.
"Alright, watch your manners and keep it simple. When he comes tomorrow you let him save face and we’ll move on," Mom said, scolding me back to reality.
She lowered her head to her knitting. "Even if you don’t care about yourself, think about your brother. Ethan’s mother has connections—resources. For your brother’s future…"
I don't remember how I got back to my dark room. Voices were shouting outside. I sat frozen on the bed, staring at the window.
After a while the door opened and someone put an arm around me, forehead to my shoulder. Quiet sobs leaked through the dark.
"Sis, I'm sorry," Ryan whispered. "I don't know why she’s like that—aren’t we both her kids…?"
I turned. He looked so much like me, his face streaked with tears, eyes red.
I used to try to hate Ryan, to channel anger at Mom into hatred at him—anything to feel better. But he grew up kind, and he was too good to hate.
"I rented a place. I just signed the lease. It was going to be mine—go there first," he said, voice steady. "Your future is yours. I’ll handle mine. You don't owe anyone—me or anyone—anything you don't want."
"Tomorrow I'll help you move," he added.
That night, before bed, I got a message from Zoe: "If that watch caused a misunderstanding, I can explain."
I ignored it.
Ten minutes later she sent more: "Mom brought back two watches from abroad last month. I kept one—feminine. Ethan’s birthday was around then and I didn’t think much of it—I gave the other to him."
She added: "Ethan knows too."
I paused, then typed: "Do you mean you have the same model as his, the woman's version?"
Zoe didn’t reply.
Early the next morning I packed the old suitcase and Ryan and I requested a ride. Through the rearview mirror I saw Mom standing at the door, staring after us. Her lips moved, but I couldn't hear what she said.
Ethan called me dozens of times and flooded me with messages asking where I was. I replied simply: "We're done."
A long time passed before he answered: "Nina, I didn't agree."
I blocked every way he could contact me.
Ryan’s apartment was a modest two-bedroom, decorated in a clean, modern minimalist style. It was tidy, and conveniently close to my office.
It took an entire afternoon to get everything sorted.
Ryan flopped onto the couch, exhausted, and said lazily, “Sis, you owe me dinner tonight.”
I smiled and said okay.
While booking the restaurant on my phone, I decided to have Ryan invite Caleb too—consider it a thank-you for helping me move yesterday.
Traffic was bad. It took the two of us over an hour to get to the restaurant.
Caleb was already waiting at the table.
He looked slightly downcast, one hand braced on his bent knee, the other stirring his coffee. The noisy world around him seemed at odds with his calm.
For a moment I remembered a high school nap break—woken by a nightmare, steadying my breath, stealing a glance at Caleb.
He was doing homework.
Sitting upright, pen in hand, calculating on scrap paper. His nails were neatly trimmed.
When he caught my eye, he tilted his head and then handed me a tissue before turning back to his work.
It took me a while to process; I wiped my forehead with the tissue and saw it was soaked with sweat.
Just as I was regaining my composure, I heard Ryan beside me clutching his head and muttering, “Oh no, being late for work is one thing, but I asked him out to dinner and now we’re late—Caleb’s gonna kill me.”
I pulled Ryan over and said earnestly, “Sorry we’re late. Order whatever you want—don’t worry about saving me money.”
Caleb looked at me for a moment and then smiled, “It’s fine, I just got here.”
He waved over a server and, naturally, handed the menu to me. “You pick.”
Halfway through the meal, the restaurant was suddenly filled with piano music.
I realized there was a large stage in the center of the dining room with a white piano on it.
A girl was playing with her back to the audience.
Behind her, many love locks hung on the wall.
Ryan cleared his throat quietly. “This is the restaurant’s signature marketing. Couples who go up and play get a love lock with their names on it. So a lot of couples come here to check in.”
I absentmindedly said “oh” while eating—and choked.
As I bent over coughing softly, someone gently patted my back.
When I finally recovered, a bowl of soup had been slid in front of me.
Following the long, slender hand upward with my eyes, I met Caleb’s dark ones.
I froze.
Caleb hesitated for a beat, then quickly took Ryan’s bowl and ladled him a serving too.
Ryan looked baffled. “I didn’t choke.”
Caleb: “……”
The air turned oddly taut. Ryan glanced between Caleb and me, then quietly went to the restroom.
The piano piece ended just then; I looked up out of habit.
The girl had turned around.
It was Zoe.
She smiled as she accepted a love lock from a staff member, bent over to write on it, then stepped down and returned to her table.
Unsurprisingly, Ethan Walker was sitting across from her.
He held the love lock in his hand; from across the room I couldn’t tell what expression he wore.
Zoe leaned in and whispered something. He suddenly laughed.
Maybe because he felt someone staring, he looked up—and our eyes met.
In that instant, his astonishment was obvious. His face hardened.
The next second he strode over to our table.
His gaze lingered on Caleb, then swung to me. “What’s your relationship with him?”
The accusatory tone sent a flare of anger through me.
My eyes dropped to the thing he gripped so tightly, and I asked coolly, “Do you think that love lock is pretty?”
Ethan’s expression shifted. After a long moment he said, “It’s not what you think.”
I stared at him.
I couldn’t understand why, even now, he still looked so self-righteous.
The naive, earnest boy who used to watch me with quiet tenderness was growing fuzzier in my memory.
“It’s like this—”
Zoe came over, all openness and bravado. “Ethan and I made a bet earlier: if I could get a love lock, he’d pay for dinner. He probably didn’t expect me to actually play the piano.”
I watched her without expression. “So this is another misunderstanding?”
She offered a small smile. “Of course.”
Ethan seemed relieved; the last trace of discomfort faded from his eyes and was replaced by that familiar, silent reproach—as if to say, Nina, look, you’re making an issue out of nothing.
For all the irony, I suddenly felt very tired.
After a long silence I asked softly, “Do you still love me?”
Ethan blinked and, without thinking, glanced at Zoe. Then he shifted his eyes back and looked at me, each word heavy and deliberate. “Nina, I love you.”
My chest tightened.
I knew Ethan didn’t necessarily care about Zoe that much. I believed he loved me.
But when he loved me with all his heart, it was intense—so intense that when that intensity cooled, even someone as careless as me could see it.
I’d heard people say destruction is always easiest.
Like now—my feelings for him fell apart the moment he glanced at Zoe, the moment he faltered.
Ethan seemed to notice the shift. He reached as if to touch my cheek, and I quietly stepped away.
His hand froze; panic and helplessness flashed in his eyes.
“Nina, I admit I made a lot of mistakes before. I’m sorry. But the love lock thing really is a misunderstanding. I never meant to be with her. Will you forgive me?”
I watched him calmly, catching a glimpse of Zoe’s ashen face beside him.
A snort—soft but dripping with sarcasm—cut through my ears.
“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt. I have a question for you two.”
Caleb rose slowly and looked at Ethan and Zoe with the detached curiosity of someone watching a play.
“Do you know what a love lock symbolizes?”
Ethan glared, not answering.
“Seems like you do,” Caleb said with a faint, scornful smile. “You call yourselves friends but act like lovers—playing games behind each other’s backs.”
Ethan went pale.
We rode back in Caleb’s car.
Traffic was thin on the late-night highway. Caleb drove steadily.
Maybe he was exhausted—Ryan was asleep on the back seat wrapped in a blanket.
Calm music played in the car. I yawned and then heard Caleb’s low voice. “About half an hour left. Do you want to sleep?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Silence fell again.
My gaze drifted to Caleb. He focused on the road; his profile looked especially cool and distant in the dim light.
I remembered what he’d said to Ethan earlier.
“I want to ask you something.”
“Hmm,” Caleb replied.
“If you had a girlfriend and then started to like another girl, what would you do?”
Caleb glanced at me. His tone was soft and slow. “I’ve always been faithful. I don’t have that hypothetical.”
I avoided his eyes. “What if you did?”
He was silent for a moment. “A fleeting crush might be normal, but you need clear boundaries. If you fall for someone else and cross the line because you can’t control yourself, while refusing to break up with your current partner—whether man or woman—you’re garbage.”
I listened quietly, then remembered something and teased, “So you’ll swear at people.”
Caleb’s voice was steady. “I only call garbage garbage.”
I: “……”
Even when I got out of the car and walked away, I couldn’t quite shake it off.
Caleb seemed different from the image I’d carried—more real, easier to approach.
For the next month I threw myself into work.
Ethan came to find me many times—waiting outside my office building, voice soft, apologies earnest.
I didn’t give him the time of day, but he didn’t give up. Every day, relentless, waiting downstairs.
One evening I stayed late. A coworker brought up some bread and handed me a piece.
She hesitated. “It’s raining really hard outside. Your—ex has been standing out there. He won’t come in.”
My heart skipped. I grabbed an umbrella from my drawer and rushed down.
When I swiped my card and stepped out, the rain was brutal.
Ethan stood in it, water dripping from his short hair down his jaw. He was soaked through.
I silently held the umbrella over him and led him back into the building.
“Come inside with me.”
Under the curious eyes of passersby, I handed him a packet of tissues to dry his face.
He sat down slowly, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Nina, you still care about me.”
Seeing the smug little curl at his mouth made me irritated. “When the rain eases, leave.”
Ethan blinked, then his tone softened. “I didn’t handle the Zoe thing well, but I didn’t—”
The name alone made something twist in me. I cut him off coldly. “I don’t want to hear your explanations. Let’s just be done.”
Maybe my tone was too harsh; Ethan’s face hardened.
“What do you want, then? Are you seriously breaking up with me over this?”
I stared up at him, stunned, cold all over.
Ethan seemed to realize what he’d said and hurried to apologize. “Sorry… I don’t understand. Nothing happened between me and her—how did it come to this…?”
He frowned, genuinely baffled. “What more do you want from me, Nina? Nothing happened. For a bit of irrelevant gossip, you want to break up?”
After he finished, impatience crossed his face.
Maybe he truly didn’t get it—he’d already humbled himself to beg, but he couldn’t fathom why I wouldn’t relent.
But did he really not understand?
He’d allowed Zoe’s closeness so many times, enjoyed the thrill beneath that fake calm—did he think I’d never discover it?
Still, knowing full well you’d crossed my line, you’d gamble on my mercy—hoping I might soften?
I reached up, touched my face—cold and wet.
Ethan flailed for a tissue, trying to wipe my tears.
“Ethan, you said nothing happened between you two, right?”
He hesitated a few seconds, then nodded.
I pulled out my phone and showed him screenshots—the Moments post she’d set to “only visible to him” and her previous explanation about the “watch.”
“And now?”
“You said nothing happened—so why do you keep doing things that only couples do?”
Ethan’s face drained of color slowly. In the end I heard my own pathetic, small voice ask, “Ethan, you’ve hardly ever eaten noodles before—why have you suddenly been loving broth noodles lately?”
The rain that night fell harder than usual, the drizzle seemed to muffle everything around us.
Ethan didn’t speak for a long time. Then, without a sound, he slowly disappeared into the downpour.
…Another month passed.
Ethan didn’t come looking for me that month.
Ryan tried to cheer me up and dragged me on a few hikes, but he always brought Caleb along.
So lately my relationship with Caleb was decent—at least friends.
In a few days it would be Mid-Autumn Festival. Work was busier than ever; I was staying late almost every night, not getting home until nine or ten.
My dad rarely called unless there was something important. Today he sent a WeChat: “Nina, coming home for Mid-Autumn? Your mom bought a lot of hairy crabs.”
I thought for a moment and typed, “Work’s crazy right now. Probably working late.”
He replied after a long time: “Take care of yourself.”
The day before the holiday a stranger number called me—it was Zoe.
She asked if I had time and wanted to meet for coffee.
I thought about it for a long time, then sent “Okay.”
Zoe picked a café not far from my office. After work I took a cab straight there.
Her first sentence after we sat down was: “I don’t want Ethan anymore.”
I stared at her, bewildered.
I suddenly wondered if she was sick in the head.
“After that night at the restaurant, I confessed to Ethan.”
She paused briefly; her tone seemed casual, but there was bitterness under it you couldn’t miss. “This time he clearly rejected me.”
This time?
I pulled a half-smile and took a sip of coffee.
“I didn’t give up—I’ve been by his side these days. But he got colder and colder, his refusals more and more resolute.”
“There was a company dinner. Some colleagues teased they should set us up—he immediately went cold, warned them not to joke, said he had a girlfriend.”
Zoe sneered. “But everyone knew he’d already broken up with you.”
My hand on the cup stilled. I couldn’t understand Ethan’s point in acting like that.
“The thing that made me give up was…” Zoe suddenly looked up; her eyes were slightly red. “After the dinner he drank a lot and called a rideshare. I followed because I was worried and saw him go downstairs to your building.”
She paused a long while, then added, “I saw you go up to your apartment with another man.”
I blinked.
A long string of memories flashed—must have been last weekend, when Ryan and the others took me hiking.
On the way down Caleb and I were joking about weird high school nicknames. Ryan cut in: “Last time I saw Caleb video-chat with his mom—she called him ‘C.J.’ and kept nagging him to find someone!”
I looked at Caleb. “C.J.?”
Caleb’s ears flushed but he played it cool. He murmured “Uh-huh,” then mock-serious, “Don’t call me that again.”
I tried not to laugh but suddenly burst out, and Caleb clammed up. I kept laughing and then—happily—rolled my ankle.
They helped me home. I realized we were out of iodine and cotton swabs, so I asked Ryan—who knew the area—to run to the pharmacy.
It was Caleb who helped me up the stairs.
Ethan must have misunderstood that.
No point explaining now.
“I’d never seen Ethan like that,” Zoe said, lowering her voice, as if hiding something. “He’s usually so clean and meticulous—he curled up on the floor crying, shoulders shaking hard.”
“I heard him crying.”
Zoe gave a bitter little laugh. “That moment I realized he really regretted it.”
She wiped her eyes, then stared straight at me like nothing had happened. “Too bad it was already too late. You won’t forgive him, will you?”
I looked into her eyes.
The nervousness and probing were obvious.
Suddenly I understood why she’d asked me to meet and why she’d said all this.
She never intended to give up Ethan. She only wanted to test me.
She wanted to know if Ethan’s devotion, his regret, could win me back.
I put on a neutral face, picked up my bag, and stood. I glanced at her. “You don’t have to bother. It’s over between Ethan and me—completely.”
Zoe froze, a look of exposure flickering across her face. Then she relaxed.
…During Mid-Autumn I didn’t have to work and I didn’t go home. I holed up in my rented room writing the quarterly pitch.
Ryan sent me something—a handcrafted scarf. A soft, warm dove-gray—perfect for the season.
I didn’t wear it; I tucked it in a drawer.
After several all-nighters the pitch still hadn’t progressed and my head started to throb.
Soon I felt weak, my limbs heavy.
With the last of my strength I opened my phone, searched contacts, intending to call Ryan.
When the call connected, Caleb’s voice came through: “Nina?”
I realized I’d dialed the wrong number.
Before I could speak, everything went black and I fell into darkness.
I woke on a hospital bed.
An IV in my wrist. The room smelled sharply of disinfectant.
People were gathered around nearby, murmuring.
Caleb sat at the bedside with his laptop, typing intently. The dim light picked out the pale skin of his forearm and the tiny hairs that glowed faintly.
“My—” My voice was hoarse.
“You’re awake?” Caleb closed his laptop and brought the thermos cup from the bedside table, poured me a drink.
He stood watching me drink, then said slowly, “You didn’t say a word on the phone this morning, you didn’t hang up—I guessed something was wrong. I messaged Ryan. He’s farther away, so he told me where your spare key was and asked me to go.”
Still foggy, I absorbed it all. He continued, “The doctor said you passed out from exhaustion—lack of sleep dropped your blood sugar.”
I rubbed my nose, feeling a guilty sting. “Work’s been insane lately.”
Caleb watched me for a moment, then smiled. “Still as hard-working as in high school.”
I blinked, a bit uncomfortable. “Where’s Ryan?”
Caleb grinned and turned away briefly, voice soft, “He went to pick up food. Do you want to sleep more?”
I nodded before I realized. After a pause I asked, “When I fainted—did anyone else come?”
Caleb was quiet for a long time, then said softly, “Your mom came by this morning.”
I lowered my head, gripping the sheet.
I’d seen my mother—eyes red, frantic—asking the doctor, “Is my daughter okay?”
It was the first time I’d ever seen her cry because of me.
Because it felt so unreal, I thought I was dreaming.
Suddenly someone gently patted my head.
The hand was warm and dry—comforting and tender.
I looked up and our eyes met—Caleb’s.
The mood shifted, suddenly delicate.
Then he noticed something and froze.
Following his gaze I turned my head slowly.
Ethan stood in the doorway; I couldn’t tell how long he’d been there. The corners of his eyes were red.
Just a month had passed, and Ethan looked like a different man.
He looked exhausted—shirt wrinkled, a faint stubble at his jaw, dark circles under his eyes. Clearly he hadn’t been resting.
As a child Ethan had been meticulous about details—always buttoned up, neat, like a breath of fresh air. After being with him, this was the first time I’d seen him so worn and disheveled.
A feeling I couldn’t name rose in me.
Was it pain? Maybe a little.
More than anything, it was the ache of not being able to go back.
He had genuinely developed feelings for Zoe—whether it was a passing infatuation or a real crush—and without realizing it his heart had tilted toward someone else.
I wanted to believe he was truly regretful—but what did that change?
The thorn in my chest had sunk too deep. Each time I saw him it drove deeper and hurt more.
I had had a life where he was all mine—how could I continue with the man he’d become?
I was still dazed when Ethan came over holding a thermos, speaking carefully, “Nina, I heard you were sick. I made your favorite—crab and rice porridge.”
I snapped back, noticing a bandage on his finger—he must’ve cut himself while cooking.
When Ethan was a kid, no one was around much and he learned to cook for himself, eating alone. Once he had better conditions, he hardly ever went near a stove.
I hadn’t expected him to make porridge.
“I realized we were out of soy sauce while cooking. By the time I went and bought some, the porridge nearly burned.”
Ethan opened the thermos and smiled sheepishly. “I had to try a few times before it turned out okay.”
I watched him in silence.
For some reason I thought of him taking Zoe out for broth noodles again and again, giving her exceptions he never gave me.
So, Ethan—are you trying to make amends?
My eyes burned.
“Ethan, we’re broken up. You don’t have to do this.”
He stiffened, staring at me like he didn’t know what to do.
“Please go,” I said.
“Nina, I really talked it out with Zoe. I promise—she won’t bother us anymore.”
Ethan’s lips trembled; his voice shook, almost incoherent. “It was always my fault before… I don’t even know what came over me. I was—like I was possessed. I knew how she felt, but I still let myself get close to her.”
I let out a small laugh—couldn’t tell if it was scorn or something else.
Ethan’s eyes went red. He reached out to grab my hand.
I instinctively pulled away.
His hand froze in the air, rigid for a few seconds, then withdrew.
“When did you start liking her?” I asked calmly.
Ethan furrowed his brow, as if wanting to argue but at a loss for how. Finally he muttered, “We happened to be on the same project back then. She worked so hard—so damn hard.
With her, I… I thought I saw the way you used to be.”
“I knew I loved you, but I still did so many things that hurt you. Nina, I— I really know I was wrong…”
He cut off mid-sentence; his eyes deepened.
A breeze drifted in outside. Caleb instinctively leaned forward and tucked the few strands of hair the wind had blown from my forehead behind my ear.
He smelled faintly of something clean—not sharp, not overwhelming. It was pleasant.
My body stiffened slightly. I murmured, “Thank you.”
Caleb tucked the blanket up around me and smoothed the edge with deliberate care. “Of course,” he said.
Before I could puzzle over what he meant, Caleb met Ethan’s gaze and said coolly, “You can continue.”
Ethan went silent.
A long time passed before he slowly looked up at me, eyes rimmed red.
“No matter what I do, it’s useless, right?” he asked.
I met his eyes evenly. “There are some things I can’t pretend never happened.”
Ethan lowered his lashes, set the thermos he’d been holding on the table very gently, voice thick and low. “I’m sorry.”
He left slowly, shoulders slightly hunched. He took only a few steps to the door, but it felt like he walked forever.
The hospital lights stretched his shadow long and lonely. When he was gone, the room felt empty again—just Caleb and me.
He twisted open the thermos, glanced inside, and considered. “Was it you who always cooked when you two were together?”
I nodded.
“No wonder.” He closed the lid, his eyes soft with something like pity for the food.
Then he looked back at me. “I cook pretty well.”
I blinked.
The door opened as a nurse came in to change my IV.
Caleb casually took his eyes off me and resumed typing in his notebook. After the nurse left and I pulled the blanket higher to sleep, I heard Caleb say, “Nina.”
I half-closed my eyes. “Mm?”
“Did what he said just now not move you at all?”
His voice was low, but in the quiet room it was clear.
I was silent for a long moment. “No.”
Caleb seemed to smile. “Good.”
I opened my eyes and sat up to look at him.
He met my gaze without flinching.
I remembered how he had leaned in earlier to tuck my hair—and the expression in his eyes then. There had been so much in it. My instinct told me I wasn’t imagining things.
On some impulse I blurted, “Are you—”
“Yes.”
He answered plainly, like he’d been waiting for me to ask.
I was stunned.
He held my eyes calmly, his face soft, the emotion in his look wholly unhidden.
“So, Nina, how do you feel?” he asked.
I stayed in the hospital two days. Caleb drove to pick me up the day I was discharged.
He opened the passenger door for me, one hand steady on the frame until I was seated, then walked to the driver’s side.
I felt nervous and stole a glance at him. I’d turned him down in the ward. Caleb had helped me so much lately—I was grateful, moved even—but that wasn’t the same as being in love. I didn’t want to start something new without finishing the old. That wouldn’t be fair to either of us.
Caleb seemed to have expected as much; a flicker of disappointment crossed his face and then was gone. He nodded. “I understand.”
Maybe my look was complicated, because he smiled faintly. “You have the right to refuse. You don’t have to be responsible for how I feel.” He reached up and ruffled my hair, his voice lowering into a calm, steady timbre. “Don’t carry any guilt.”
A car behind us honked and yanked my thoughts back. I was about to buckle my seatbelt when a long, warm hand reached over.
Even though it was cool to the touch, I recoiled like I’d been burned. Caleb, totally natural, took the seatbelt strap and buckled it for me from the side.
My face warmed. I couldn’t help but glance past him toward the window. “Wasn’t Ryan supposed to pick me up today…?”
We hadn’t seen each other since I’d said no.
“He had a last-minute issue with a client in Shanghai and put in for a business trip,” Caleb said, starting the engine with a steady hand on the wheel. “He told me if you needed anything the next few days, come to me.”
I nodded and pulled my phone out—there were a few messages from Ryan from about thirty minutes ago: a crying emoji, a complaint about being sent away on a sudden trip, and a joking sticker calling someone “that person.”
On the screen I saw a weirdly-angled photo of Caleb that still made him look good. I fell into thought.
The night air drifted cool and soft through the half-open window. I realized he always opened the window halfway—enough to keep me from getting motion sick but not enough for a chill.
I asked, “Did Ryan tell you I get car sick?”
He said quietly, “No.”
“Then—?”
We hit a red light and he braked smoothly. He turned to me, unreadable. I felt awkward under his steady gaze and looked away.
He smiled. “You probably don’t remember.”
I blinked, puzzled.
“In high school, once during a break, you and I were on the same bus. It was packed; you were by the window and an aunt with a kid sat beside you.” He paused. “The kid fell asleep, and I think you were worried he’d catch a chill, so you shut the window.”
I frowned—no memory.
“You got paler and paler. Sweat on your forehead, your lips trembling. You were clearly miserable but said nothing. You pretended to sleep with your hand half-closed on the window.”
He glanced at me. “I remember thinking you looked fragile but stubborn.”
A fuzzy memory surfaced: high school, when my motion sickness had been worst. I remembered someone next to me offering a tissue, the window opening… but I hadn’t paid much attention to who. Later, after I’d gotten off the bus, I felt better.
I asked, “Was it you who sat beside me after that?”
He answered simply, “Yes.”
I felt a strange swell in my chest.
The light turned green and he drove on. He laughed softly. “Since then I started noticing you.”
My heart jumped. “At first I wasn’t sure if it was like or curiosity, but I kept looking your way.”
He sighed, a little rueful. “I was slow.”
“Me too,” I admitted.
I hadn’t noticed anything either.
I remembered the hallway lights in school that sometimes went out, and how I always left late from evening study. Caleb left late too—almost always right after me. Looking back, he probably wanted to walk me down that dark hallway.
“In college, I came to see you once,” Caleb said, voice thick. “It was raining. I saw you under one umbrella with a guy. He had his arm around your waist, and you buried your head on his chest.”
I fell silent.
“A hollow feeling hit me then, and I realized what I felt for you.”
We glanced at each other, and after that, neither of us spoke.
When he dropped me at my building, I murmured, “Thanks for walking me back.”
I started up the stairs, then felt a hand gently grip my wrist, careful to avoid the place where I’d been injected.
I was startled.
“Actually, I lied to you.” Caleb was close now; his low voice and cool breath brushed my ear. I nearly forgot to pull away. “About being indifferent.”
“What—” I began, thinking of him sending Ryan away.
“I’m not as unbothered as I pretend.” He held my gaze, direct and burning. “When you rejected me that day, I didn’t sleep. I ran forty laps around the complex.”
“You rejecting me—it hurt more than I expected.”
I stared at him, suddenly at a loss.
“Nina, if you’re not ready for another relationship right now,” his dark eyes watched me quietly, “it’s okay. I can wait.”
When he left, I stood downstairs for a long time.
On the way up I saw a familiar figure not far off. Moonlight and swaying shadows; Ethan stood there, quiet.
“Nina.” He called my name low, pleading.
I walked up slowly. He brightened when I neared and called my name again, as if surprised and relieved to see me.
Then I said, clearly, “Ethan, don’t come looking for me anymore.”
My head was bowed; my voice was barely there. “I’m going to start a new life. I might have a new relationship.”
“Nina…” he repeated my name over and over, helpless and flustered.
Maybe until this moment he’d still been clinging to hope—that we were just having a temporary fight.
I didn't want to give him any more false hope. Finally, I forced the words out, "But that person will never be you again."
Ethan and I had known each other for over twenty years, and we'd been together for five.
We'd seen each other at our worst, shared the most embarrassing, helpless moments, and done what we could to comfort one another.
I used to think we'd be together forever.
Then everything changed overnight.
He fell for someone else.
During those sleepless nights, one thought haunted me: He was the one who had chased me so eagerly at first—so why was I the only one fighting so hard to keep this relationship now?
Turning back felt wrong. Moving forward felt wrong.
I knew some people fade away over time, but I never imagined it would happen like this, with this kind of ending.
Maybe one day I'd forgive him, but I couldn't be with him anymore.
…After that day, Ethan never showed up again.
As for Zoe… she once sent me a message saying she was planning to leave the city. She didn't say much else.
I didn't understand why she told me that out of the blue, but it didn't matter. I had no feelings left for her. Whether she gave up Ethan or whether she was doing well or badly—none of it concerned me.
Unnoticed, a year went by.
A lot seemed to happen in that year.
I went home twice, both times wearing that soft gray scarf.
Later I learned the truth: that scarf wasn't what I thought—my mom had actually knitted it for my brother, who then passed it to me.
But from the beginning, my mom had meant it for me.
That year I also made a breakthrough at work.
After breaking up with Ethan, I forced myself to forget. But we'd been together so long that traces of him were everywhere in my life. Letting go turned out to be far more complicated than I thought.
To distract myself, I volunteered for a new project, running between the office and clients until my days were full. The unexpected payoff was that besides overperforming on the project, I got promoted twice within a year.
Those frantic days blurred together, and one day when I finally had time to breathe, I realized it had been a long time since I'd been pulled back into the past.
Instead, my relationship with Caleb started to shift.
When I got home late from work, he would drive over to pick me up.
On weekends we saw movies, played games together. I could feel us growing closer.
Caleb's company and understanding gave me a new, comfortable steadiness.
I realized I was slowly accepting him.
The day we officially became a couple happened to be after a company team-building event.
Because I'd stood out and got a reassignment and a promotion, my coworkers fed me drinks. Caleb brought my drunk self home.
When he laid me down on the bed, I don't know why, but I started to cry.
He held me, voice a little hoarse. "Why are you crying?"
Looking into his eyes, that strange, indescribable feeling rose up again.
I rested my head on his chest, arms around his waist, and I talked—about my mom, Ethan, Ryan… the people I'd loved, hated, resented. I peeled those things open layer by layer and showed them to him.
I'm usually so controlled. I rarely let emotions spill out like that, let alone confess so plainly.
But Caleb always made me feel safe.
At the end, he sighed, rested his chin on my head, and said softly but firmly, "Some hurts can never be forgiven. But even with hate, we still have the right to love and be loved."
He didn't leave that night.
…
Time flew. It was my birthday.
Caleb was cooking in the kitchen, and Ryan was helping him. Watching the two of them bustling around, I felt something strange and warm.
My mom favored sons, but Ryan had always been good to me.
Over the years, Ryan was like a steady beam of light that warmed me.
By chance, when he joined a new company, I ran into Caleb again.
Caleb was like the moon after rain—calm and gentle, quietly respectful, a presence that made me comfortable and fit.
Now both of them had become indispensable parts of my life—steady and safe.
They were still busy in the kitchen while I opened an anonymous delivery in the living room.
It was a ring.
As I turned it, I saw two initials engraved inside: J & C.
There was a little note in the box: Happy birthday. Wishing you safety year after year.
For a moment I froze.
I'd actually seen that ring a year before.
That day I had just finished a shower and was looking for the hairdryer when, by chance, I found it in the second drawer of Ethan's bedside table.
I waited for him to bring it up, even hinted at it.
But he never said a word.
I couldn't understand it. He'd bought the ring—so why hadn't he proposed?
Later, we went to the movies together. Right at the climax, the male lead dropped to one knee to propose.
I finally mustered the courage, eyes half-closed, and whispered, "Ethan, you bought a ring too, didn't you?"
He didn't answer.
A bad feeling rose in my chest.
I turned stiffly and saw him smiling down at his phone. A video played—Zoe, smiling.
In that moment I understood why he'd hesitated.
