A familiar scent hit me. I sat up and reached out to wrap my arms around Ethan Rivers’ neck.
My lips were still a few centimeters from his when he suddenly turned his head and avoided my kiss.
The reflex left both of us frozen for a beat, and it completely chased away my drowsiness.
Maybe to avoid awkwardness, Ethan tugged at his tie and went straight into the bathroom.
Soon the soft patter of water came from inside.
Lately Ethan had been working crazy hours, often getting home very late.
Thinking he might be so busy he hadn’t even eaten, half the embarrassment I’d felt just now evaporated.
I looked for my phone. Right — I should order him some takeout first.
Then I remembered my phone was charging in the living room.
I glanced over and saw Ethan’s phone tossed carelessly on the pillow.
Without much thought, I picked it up, chose a place he’d been ordering from recently, and put in an order for a bowl of broth noodles.
Just as I was about to lock the screen, QuickEats sent a notification saying a errands order I’d arranged had been delivered.
The order details showed a bag of brown sugar and a box of pain relief capsules.
Then a WeChat message popped up on the screen: “Pain meds really help, thanks.”
I froze, my finger hovering over the screen. It took me a long moment to tap it open.
The latest chat was from half an hour ago.
Ethan: “You looked a little off when you left earlier.”
She replied with a pitiful sticker.
Ethan: “I finished the proposal.”
She quickly answered: “Great. Then I can sleep in tomorrow and come in later.”
Ethan: “Mm.”
A little while later he asked, “You okay?”
No reply.
Five minutes later he sent: “Got you something. Keep warm these days.”
Ethan hadn’t set a contact name for her, but from the avatar and the conversation it was obvious.
She was Sophie Lane.
The first time I heard Sophie’s name was a month ago.
That day Ethan had gone with me to the movies. Halfway through, I noticed he seemed distracted.
When I looked back at him, he was staring at his phone with a small smile, his features relaxed.
I hesitated, then asked, “What are you looking at?”
He kept his head down, smiling in his voice: “Sophie Lane.”
The air seemed to freeze for a second.
That was the first time I’d heard “Sophie Lane” spoken by Ethan.
He said her name slowly, like something pleasant on his tongue.
Then he seemed to realize and looked up at me sharply.
After holding my gaze for two seconds, he handed me his phone and explained earnestly, “Sophie’s a new colleague at work. She’s diligent. I just see her as someone to mentor.”
I stared at the screen.
The video showed a girl at what looked like a birthday — someone had smeared cake on her face and she didn’t mind at all, laughing wide. She seemed like a sweet, easygoing person.
“It was posted in a group chat. I just clicked it casually,” Ethan said, pulling my hand into his. His touch was warm and his voice, as always, gentle. “Nina, trust me.”
I looked at him for a long time. He looked calm, not like someone lying.
But I couldn’t stop replaying the smile I’d seen earlier in my head.
We didn’t speak again for the rest of the movie.
Turns out, everything had been warning signs all along.
About fifteen minutes later, the bathroom door opened.
Ethan had changed into pajamas; water still dripped from his hair.
When our eyes met he clearly froze. “You went through my phone?”
I was about to speak but a tickle rose in my throat and I covered my mouth, coughing quietly.
He watched me for a moment before asking hesitantly, “You got a cold?”
I answered with a small, “Mm.”
It was already fall. I’d always had a weaker immune system; if I wasn’t careful I’d get sick easily.
In the five years we’d been together, every seasonal change made Ethan act like he was bracing for war.
He tracked the weather daily, told me to bring an umbrella, dragged me to the gym — constantly trying to prevent anything.
I used to tease him for worrying too much. He’d wrap his arms around my waist from behind, bury his face in my neck and grumble, “I don’t want you to get sick. No colds.”
But these past few days we’d been in a strange cold silence, and he seemed oblivious to the change.
“Work’s been really busy. I didn’t notice,” Ethan’s voice pulled me back to the moment.
I didn’t realize when he had sat on the edge of the bed. He straightened my blanket and there was a thin trace of guilt in his eyes. “It won’t happen again.”
I still had his phone in my hand and couldn’t help asking, “Is it just work?”
“I really don’t have anything with Sophie,” he said, lighting a cigarette from a drawer, his tone exhausted.
I said nothing and slid him the chat I’d found.
Three days ago Sophie — maybe drunk — had messaged Ethan, “If you didn’t have a girlfriend, would you like me?”
Ethan had replied with a single word: “Would.”
He froze when he saw it.
After a long silence he crushed out the cigarette, looked up at me and said, “I told you she’s just a colleague. I promised nothing would happen with her — isn’t that enough?”
His face showed no expression, but the disappointment and accusation in his voice were unmistakable.
In that instant, I felt like I didn’t know him anymore.
Ethan’s phone, inconveniently, buzzed again mid-argument.
A message popped up from Sophie asking if he’d eaten.
Then: “I bet you haven’t eaten. I got you a bowl of broth noodles — the place I took you to last time.”
I stared at that line like someone had squeezed my heart with a great hand. It hurt so much I could hardly breathe.
Ethan hadn’t liked noodles when we were younger.
His family had been poor. His father left early and his mother worked far away; he was often left alone and sometimes didn’t even have enough to eat.
He became withdrawn and solitary. The other kids avoided him; I used to go find him.
One time I brought him food and found him sitting on a bench, head down, eating a bland bowl of noodles with barely any broth, no greens at all.
He seemed at a loss when he noticed me watching. Then he quickly hid it and kept eating like nothing had happened.
Looking at his thin profile then, I’d felt a sudden ache.
Maybe part of our bond was shared hardship.
My mom had wanted a son and had health problems after giving birth to me. The doctor said more children would be difficult. My mother resented me.
Those hopeless, lonely days were when Ethan and I kept each other company and got through things together.
After his middle school graduation, his mother’s business took off — it was even on the business news — and she took him away.
We didn’t see each other for a long time until college.
After we got together, I learned Ethan had rarely eaten noodles since childhood. I guessed he avoided them so he wouldn’t revisit that embarrassment.
But lately, I kept seeing him bring home broth noodles from the place on the corner.
At first I joked and asked why he suddenly liked noodles. He shrugged, “No reason. Just wanted it.”
I felt relieved — maybe he’d finally let it go.
Turns out it was because of her.
I broke up with Ethan.
When I zipped my suitcase, he suddenly grabbed my wrist, “Nina, you really going?”
I was forced to look up at him.
I’d always loved the way Ethan looked at me — gentle, attentive, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.
In sophomore year, my roommate bailed on our trip to Sunset Ridge at the last minute. My tickets were already bought and the itinerary planned, so I went alone.
On the second day, I went up a mountain. When the hazy dawn light spilled through the mist, I saw a familiar face.
It was Ethan.
“Aren’t you in New York for the competition?” I asked, surprised.
He rubbed his hands together, took the scarf from his neck, and wrapped it around me again and again. His face and ears were red from the cold; his voice trembled, “I saw on Moments that you came to Sunset Ridge alone. I worried and came back early.”
“I wanted to watch it with you.”
Ethan stared at me. The gold light in his eyes warmed me like a fever.
After that trip our relationship shifted and we started dating soon after.
But now everything felt different.
I hadn’t changed. My heart was still his, but he looked at me with irritation and impatience.
Maybe he didn’t even notice himself.
“Finish packing. Move out tomorrow morning,” I said, pulling my hand free and averting my eyes. “I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight.”
Past midnight, I finished packing and collapsed into bed, exhausted.
I opened my phone and saw a friend request: “I’m Sophie Lane.”
After accepting, Sophie didn’t say anything. On a whim I opened her Moments.
Her latest post was just now.
Two photos: the first, a selfie with a steaming bowl of broth noodles on the table behind her.
The second was another bowl of broth noodles, the background painfully familiar.
The tabletop had a diamond check pattern and a vase of vivid roses on it.
That vase — Ethan and I had bought it together when we’d gone grocery shopping.
Her caption read, “hhhh, eating noodles in spirit with someone! (this Moments post visible to only a certain someone)”
Below, Ethan had liked it.
That night I slept badly.
In my dream I was a child again, holding a swab soaked with medicine, carefully dabbing at the bruise on Ethan’s lip. I cried from worry while he barely reacted.
Then it shifted to the mountain sunrise — the wind was strong and his cool hand slipped into mine, then tucked us both into his pocket.
Finally it turned into Ethan holding Sophie, walking past me without a single expression left for me.
The dream felt so real that when I woke and went downstairs and saw Sophie, I just stood there stunned.
Before this, I had only seen her in videos on Ethan’s phone.
Come to think of it, this might actually be the first time we were meeting in person.
Honestly, Sophie was pretty—pale skin, long, graceful neck.
She was sitting on the couch, head slightly tilted back, as if there was a split in her hair with a faint trickle of blood.
Ethan was cleaning her wound.
He kept his head down, one hand holding her chin steady while the other gently pressed on the cut at her hairline.
His movements were careful.
Sophie couldn’t help but hiss.
Ethan’s hands visibly slowed.
Light streamed through the blinds just right, laying bare the tension and worry in his eyes.
It made the whole scene crystal clear to me standing at the top of the stairs.
I was holding my suitcase, and my grip loosened without me meaning to, making a small noise.
Hearing it, Ethan turned and frowned at me, but didn’t say a word.
Sophie, however, spoke first—openly introducing herself and explaining that Ethan had to meet a client today and she was just there to drop off some documents.
“The elevator in your building is broken. I tripped a bit walking up the stairs—sorry to cause trouble.”
I said nothing and went straight to open the door with my suitcase.
The instant I touched the doorknob, Ethan grabbed my hand.
He looked down at me, a condescending expression, impatience in his voice. “Still not done making a scene?”
He was strong—his grip at my wrist hurt. I pulled with everything I had, but he tightened his hold.
In the scuffle, a gray watch showed at his wrist.
I froze.
For his birthday last month I’d bought a silver watch to give him, and I’d been surprised to find a gray one on his wrist already—obviously expensive from the style, though I couldn’t see the brand.
Ethan casually said a friend had given it to him.
His family was far better off than mine, yet he’d always been careful about my feelings. It was the first time I’d felt ashamed of the gap between us—ashamed and pressured.
I hadn’t shown it then, but Ethan noticed.
He sighed low, wrapped his arms around me from behind, warm lips at my ear, voice low and gentle: “What watch you wear isn’t important. What matters is the one you gave me.”
After that day he put the expensive watch away and wore the one I’d given him every day.
Now, on the very first day of our breakup, he’d put the gray watch back on.
I felt a strange, small laugh bubble up and said calmly, “Let go.”
Ethan seemed to realize something and yanked his hand back, sounding awkward. “The client I have to see today is important to the company—”
Before he could finish, Sophie cut in, reminding him he needed to leave.
I glanced at her, an idea forming, and asked Ethan, “Did she give you that watch?”
He was silent a long time before replying, “Nina, it’s just a watch.”
I didn’t want to argue. I picked up my phone to call for a ride, and before I could dial, Ryan showed up.
Ryan is my younger brother, five years younger than me.
Mom never gave up trying for a son—she spent years on treatments and remedies, got conned out of money, and finally got pregnant with him when I was five.
Since then, all her attention has gone to Ryan. She’s always been cold with me, but Ryan and I actually get along pretty well.
“Only one suitcase?” Ryan scratched his head, looking unsure.
“Yeah.”
“I thought girls moved with tons of stuff. I can’t handle it alone—so I brought Caleb too.”
I blinked. “Caleb Jones?”
“Yeah—he just got back from a trip to San Francisco, so I dragged him over—”
Ryan’s phone buzzed mid-sentence. A slightly deep voice came through: “Are you ready?”
“Ready, ready. You don’t have to come up. We’re heading down now.” Ryan picked up my suitcase. “Come on, sis.”
I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my bag and followed him out.
Ethan called my name behind us, but I kept walking, not stopping once, not looking back.
Caleb’s car was parked on the curb. He sat inside, long fingers tapping the steering wheel like he was thinking.
I found myself staring at his clean profile. He was my high school classmate—top of our year, the kind everyone knew as the genius.
He was distant, and I was shy, so though we’d sat together we barely spoke.
After graduation I assumed we’d never cross paths again.
Two months ago, Ryan started an internship at Sterling Securities. I went to find him and that’s when I discovered Caleb was his boss.
“Caleb!” Ryan called suddenly.
The man turned and our eyes met.
I gave a polite nod, then went to open the back door—only for Caleb to say, “Sit up front.”
“Gets less carsick up front,” he added, casually.
I was surprised but didn’t ask how he knew I got carsick. I quietly closed the back door and took the passenger seat.
The ride was silent.
We arrived home around two in the afternoon. Caleb dropped us off but didn’t come upstairs—he drove back to work.
Mom appeared from the kitchen with two bowls and gave me a cold look. Her face softened the instant she saw Ryan. “Food’s hot—come eat.”
The meal was unbearably quiet.
Mom doesn’t like me, so I wasn’t planning to stay long. Once I found a place, I intended to move out.
In the evening Mom sat knitting on the sofa. Maybe it’s her age—her eyes aren’t great. A ball of gray yarn fell to the floor and she didn’t notice.
I picked it up without a word and put it on the coffee table. Just as I turned to go to my room, she snapped, a little angrily, “Why did you break up with Ethan?”
I stood slowly and said nothing.
“Ethan told me everything. It was just a watch some female colleague gave him—he didn’t actually do anything. Why are you making such a fuss?”
I stared at her, throat suddenly dry.
It’s always been like this. When I came home from school with a scraped knee because a classmate tripped me on purpose, I told Mom and she was busy feeding Ryan. She didn’t flinch. Instead she scolded me: “Why tell me? Why do they pick on you and not someone else? Maybe it’s you—look at yourself.”
I couldn’t believe she could be so cold. I froze.
Ryan grabbed my hair to be mean while I was stunned, so I shoved him. Before I knew it, Mom had slapped me hard.
She soothed the crying Ryan and glared at me with hateful eyes.
I ran out red-eyed, not sure how far. I finally stopped, exhausted, and buried my face in my knees.
Ethan found me. He patted my back softly, over and over, saying nothing, as if he could dissolve my hurt.
Then I thought: maybe Mom never would be on my side, but Ethan would.
“Okay, be sensible. Don’t make a scene. When he comes tomorrow, give him a way out and let it be,” Mom told me, snapping me back to reality.
She looked at me, then down at her knitting. “If not for yourself, think about your brother. Ethan’s mother—she has resources. Your brother’s future…”
When I Dumped Him, I Rose
I don’t remember how I got back to my room. It was dark—no lights on. Voices were raised in the hall and I sat on the bed, staring out the window.
After a while the door opened. Someone wrapped an arm around me, forehead against my shoulder. The restrained sob was painfully clear in the dark. “Sis, I’m sorry…”
“I don’t know why she’s like that. We’re both her kids…”
I turned. Ryan’s face, so much like mine, had tear tracks. His eyes were red.
There was a time I tried to hate him—turning all my anger at Mom and my unmet needs into hate for my brother. But after he grew up he was so good to me that I couldn’t even bring myself to hold onto that hate.
“I rented a place. Just signed the lease. I was planning to live there alone—go stay there for now.”
He was firm. “Your future is yours. I’ll handle my own. Don’t do things you don’t want to do for me or anyone else.”
“Tomorrow I’ll help you move.”
Before bed I got a WeChat from Sophie: “If the watch made you misunderstand, I can explain.”
I didn’t reply.
Ten minutes later she sent another message: “My mom brought back two watches from abroad last month. I kept a feminine one for myself and gave the other to Ethan for his birthday. I didn’t think much of it.”
She added, “Ethan knew.”
I paused, then typed, “You mean you have the same style watch—a women’s one?”
Sophie didn’t answer.
Early the next morning I packed a little, grabbed my old suitcase, and Ryan called a RideNow we’d reserved.
Through the rearview mirror I saw Mom standing in the doorway—staring blankly. Her lips moved but I didn’t catch what she said.
Ethan called and texted dozens of times asking where I was. I answered simply, “We’re broken up.”
After a long time he replied, “Nina, I didn’t agree to this.”
I blocked him everywhere.
Ryan’s new place was a small two-bedroom with a modern, minimalist style—clean and close to my office.
We spent the whole afternoon moving and unpacking. Ryan flopped on the couch, exhausted, and said lazily, “Sis, you owe me a big dinner tonight.”
I laughed and said okay.
When I booked the restaurant on my phone, I thought for a moment and asked Ryan to invite Caleb too—consider it a thank-you for helping me move yesterday.
Traffic was bad. Ryan and I didn’t reach the restaurant until over an hour later.
Caleb was already seated.
He kept his head slightly bent, one hand draped over a bent knee, the other stirring his coffee. The noisy restaurant seemed at odds with him.
For a moment I flashed back to a high school lunch break. I’d been jolted awake by a nightmare, breathing hard, when my eyes casually drifted to Caleb’s direction.
He was doing problems.
Sitting perfectly upright, pen between his fingers, working out equations on scrap paper. His nails were neatly trimmed.
When he noticed me watching, he tilted his head, glanced my way, then handed me a napkin before turning back to his work.
It took me a while to register it. I used the napkin to dab my forehead—by then it was soaked through.
No sooner had I collected myself than I heard Ryan by my side clutching his head and muttering, “Oh man, this is bad. I can be late for work, but if I take him out to dinner and I’m late for that too, Caleb is going to roast me.”
I pulled Ryan forward and said sincerely, “Sorry we’re late. Order whatever you want—don’t worry about me.”
Caleb looked at me a long beat, then smiled, “It’s fine, I just got here.”
He flagged a server and slid the menu toward me like it was the most natural thing, “You pick.”
Halfway through the meal, a piano started playing in the restaurant.
Only then did I notice 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 room.
The wall behind her was hung with lots of love tokens.
Ryan coughed quietly, “This place has a special marketing gimmick. Couples who come up to play get a love token with their names on it. A lot of couples come just for that.”
I absentmindedly said “Oh,” and promptly choked on my food.
While bent over coughing quietly, I felt someone pat my back. When I’d caught my breath, a bowl of soup had been pushed in front of me.
I followed the direction of the long hand and looked up—and my eyes met Caleb’s dark ones.
I froze.
Caleb hesitated for a fraction of a second, then quickly took Ryan’s bowl and ladled him some soup too.
Ryan looked bewildered. “But I didn’t choke.”
Caleb: “……”
The mood went oddly weird. Ryan glanced between Caleb and me, then excuses himself to the restroom.
The pianist finished just then. I looked up automatically.
The girl turned—and it was Sophie Lane.
She smiled as she took the love token from the attendant, bent over to write something on it, and then walked down to her table.
Not surprisingly, I saw Ethan Rivers sitting across from her.
He was holding the love token in his hand; from across the room I couldn’t read his expression.
Sophie leaned in and whispered something. Ethan suddenly laughed.
Maybe because he sensed someone staring, he looked up—and our eyes met.
For a split second, surprise flashed across his face. Then his expression hardened.
The next second he was striding over to our table.
His gaze paused on Caleb, then turned to me. “What’s your relationship with him?”
The accusatory tone hit me with a rush of anger.
My eyes dropped to the thing clenched in his hand and I asked coolly, “Do you like the love token?”
Ethan’s face shifted. After a long beat he said, “It’s not what you think.”
I continued to stare at him.
I didn’t understand why, even now, he still wore that look of righteous certainty. The youthful, earnest kid who used to watch me with gentle eyes felt like a fading memory.
“It’s like this—”
Sophie stepped up, all innocent and open. “Ethan and I made a bet earlier. If I could get the love token, then dinner’s on him. He probably didn’t expect me to actually play the piano.”
I looked at her blankly. “Are you saying this is another misunderstanding?”
She smiled a little, “Of course.”
Ethan seemed to relax; the last thread of discomfort fled his eyes. In its place was the familiar, silent reproach—as if to say, Nina, see? You’re making a fuss for nothing.
Instead of feeling anything, I suddenly felt exhausted.
I stayed quiet for a long moment, then asked softly, “Do you still love me?”
Ethan blinked and glanced at Sophie, then shifted back to me and said with absolute conviction, each word deliberate, “Nina, I love you.”
His words tightened something in my chest.
I knew Ethan might not be head-over-heels for Sophie. I also believed he loved me. But when he loved me with everything he had, it was so intense; when he didn’t, his affection faded so quietly that even someone as inattentive as me could see it.
I’d heard that destruction is always the easiest thing. Just like now—my feelings unraveled in the instant he looked at Sophie, in that moment of hesitation.
Realizing something, Ethan reached out to touch my cheek. I subtly turned away.
His hand stopped midair. Panic and helplessness flickered in his eyes.
“Nina, I admit I’ve messed up in a lot of ways before, and I’m sorry. But the love token thing was really a misunderstanding. I never wanted to be with her. Please forgive me?”
I watched him, calm. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Sophie’s face go white.
A soft snort sounded—small, but heavily laced with irony.
“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt. I have a question for you two.”
Caleb stood slowly, looking at Ethan and Sophie like an outsider watching a play.
“Do you know what a love token means?”
Ethan glared but didn’t answer.
“Then you do know.”
Caleb smiled, voice threaded with disdain, “You call yourselves friends, yet you behave like lovers. You both know what you’re doing.”
Ethan went pale.
…Caleb drove me home.
The late-night highway was nearly empty; Caleb drove smoothly. Maybe from the day’s exhaustion, Ryan dozed in the backseat wrapped in a blanket.
Soft music played in the car. I yawned, and Caleb’s low voice came: “About half an hour left. Want to sleep a bit?”
I shook my head, “No.”
Quiet settled again.
I stared ahead, my eyes drifting to Caleb. He was focused on driving; his profile looked sharp and cool in the dim light.
I thought about what he’d said to Ethan earlier.
“I want to ask you something.”
“Mm?” he answered.
“If you’re in a relationship and you start liking someone else, what would you do?”
Caleb glanced at me, tone soft and slow. “I’ve always been devoted. I don’t really have that ‘if’.”
I avert my eyes, “What if you did?”
He was silent a moment. “A fleeting crush might be normal, but you need clear boundaries. If you fall for someone else and can’t control yourself, if you won’t leave your current partner—that kind of person is garbage, whether man or woman.”
I listened, then a grin tugged out of me. “So you curse people.”
Caleb answered calmly, “Only call them garbage.”
We both fell silent.
Even after I stepped out of the car, I was half-spinning from the conversation. Caleb seemed… different from my impression of him. Real. Not hard to approach.
For the next month I threw myself into work.
Ethan came by to find me many times, stationing himself outside my office building, his voice low and pleading. I never once responded, but he didn’t give up—like clockwork he waited downstairs every day.
One night I stayed late. A coworker brought up bread and saved me a piece. She hesitated, “It’s raining hard out. Your ex is still standing out there. He won’t come in.”
My heart jumped. I grabbed an umbrella from my drawer and rushed downstairs.
When I swiped my card and stepped outside, the rain was pouring. Ethan stood out there, drenched. Water ran off his short hair down his jaw; he was soaked.
I silently opened my umbrella and walked to him.
“Come with me.”
Under the curious eyes of passersby I escorted Ethan inside and handed him a pack of tissues to dry his face.
He sat down, smiling, “Nina, you still care about me.”
I saw the small smugness in his expression and felt a flash of irritation.
“Wait until the rain eases, then leave.”
Ethan blinked; his tone softened immediately, “I didn’t handle the Sophie thing well, but I didn’t—”
Hearing that name made something sour rise in me. I cut him off cold, “I don’t want to hear your explanations. Let’s leave it at this.”
Maybe my tone was too cold. Ethan’s face hardened.
“What do you even want? Are you really breaking up with me over this little thing?”
I looked up in shock; a chill ran through me.
Ethan seemed to realize what he’d said and scrambled to apologize, “I’m sorry… I just don’t get it. We didn’t do anything—how did it come to this…”
He knotted his brow, genuinely confused. “What do you want from me, Nina? We didn’t do anything. You’re breaking up with me over a meaningless bit of news?”
When he finished, a flicker of impatience crossed his face. He really didn’t understand why I wouldn’t relent when he was finally humbled and trying to make amends.
Did he not know? Hadn’t he seen how he let Sophie inch closer time and again, how he indulged it, enjoyed the secret thrill under a calm surface? Had he never considered the day I’d find out? Or did he just gamble that I’d give in?
I reached up and wiped my face. It was cold and wet.
Ethan fumbled for a tissue to wipe my tears.
“Ethan—you said you didn’t do anything with her. Is that true?”
He hesitated for a few seconds, then nodded.
I pulled out my phone and showed him screenshots: the Moments post of Sophie that was visible to only one person, and her earlier “explanation” about the watch.
“So now?” I asked.
“You said you two hadn’t done anything, so why does everything you actually did look like couple stuff?” I said.
Ethan’s face went pale. In the end, I heard my voice, small and pitiful, ask, “Ethan, you hardly ever ate noodles before. Why have you suddenly taken to broth noodles?”
That night the rain came down extra hard, the steady patter muffling the noises around us.
Ethan didn’t speak for a long time. Then, silently, he just faded into the rain.
……A month passed.
In that month, Ethan didn’t come looking for me.
Ryan tried to cheer me up and took me hiking a few times, and Caleb came along each time.
So lately Caleb and I got along pretty well—at least we were friends.
Mid-Autumn Festival was just a few days away and work got busier; I was pulling nine-to-ten-hour days and often didn’t get home until late.
My dad normally only contacted me for big things, so I was surprised when he sent a WeChat message out of the blue:
“Nina, coming home for Mid-Autumn? Your mom bought lots of crabs.”
I thought a moment and typed, “Work’s busy lately. I might be working late.”
After a long pause he replied, “Take care of your health.”
The day before the holiday, I got a call from an unknown number. It was Sophie.
She asked if I had time and wanted to grab a coffee.
After thinking it over, I said, “Okay.”
The café she picked was close to my office. After work I grabbed a RideNow and headed there.
The first thing she said after we sat down was, “I don’t want Ethan anymore.”
I blinked, confused.
For a second I wondered if something was seriously wrong with her.
“She confessed to him the night after we left the restaurant,” Sophie went on.
She paused, casually, but the bitterness in her voice was obvious. “He rejected me—this time he rejected me outright.”
“This time?”
I twisted my mouth and took a sip of coffee.
“I didn’t give up. I stayed by him these past few days, but he got colder and more resolute each time he pushed me away.”
“There was a company dinner once and some coworkers teased about matching us. His face went icy and he warned them off—said he had a girlfriend.” Sophie snorted. “But everyone there already knew you two had broken up.”
My grip on the coffee cup tightened. I didn’t understand why Ethan would act that way.
“What made me give up,” Sophie said, looking up with eyes slightly red, “was after the dinner. He drank a lot and called a driver. I was worried, so I followed him and saw him go to your building.”
She stopped for a long moment, then added, “I saw you go inside with a man.”
I was stunned.
A rush of memories hit me.
That day must have been last weekend—when Ryan, Caleb and I went hiking. On the way down we were talking about the weird nicknames classmates had in high school. Ryan added, “I saw Caleb video-chatting with his mom at work. She called him ‘Cale-Cale’ and kept pushing him to find someone!”
I looked at Caleb, surprised. “Cale-Cale?”
His ears flushed but he tried to act unfazed. He muttered, “Don’t call me that again.” I tried not to laugh, but something struck me as funny and I giggled the rest of the hike. In my laughter I twisted my ankle.
They brought me home. I remembered we were out of iodine and cotton swabs, so I asked Ryan, who knew the area, to run to the pharmacy. Caleb had helped me upstairs.
Apparently Ethan saw that and misunderstood.
There was no point explaining it now.
“I’d never seen Ethan like that before,” Sophie lowered her voice, as if trying to hide something. “He’s always been painfully neat, and that day he curled up on the ground and shook—shoulders trembling. He was crying.”
She gave a bitter laugh. “At that moment I realized he really did regret it.”
She wiped her eyes, then looked at me as if nothing had happened. “Too bad it’s too late. You won’t forgive him, will you?”
I looked into her eyes. Her nerves and testing question were plain as day.
Suddenly it was clear why she’d called me: she wasn’t giving up on Ethan—she was checking my stance. She wanted to know if his affection, his regret, could win me back.
I stood, expressionless, picked up my bag and said, “You don’t need to worry about that. Ethan and I are finished.”
Sophie froze, a flicker of embarrassment crossing her face—then relief.
……I didn’t go home over Mid-Autumn. I had no time off, so I stayed in my apartment writing a quarterly marketing plan.
Ryan sent me something: a hand-knitted scarf—soft dove-gray, warm, perfect for this weather. I didn’t wear it; I put it in a drawer.
After several sleepless nights the plan still wasn’t taking shape and my head started to throb. My body grew weak. Using my last energy, I opened my phone to call Ryan.
But the voice on the line at first was Caleb’s: “Nina?” I realized I’d dialed the wrong number. Before I could say anything, everything went black and I fell into total darkness.
I woke up in a hospital bed. An IV in my wrist; the room smelled sharply of disinfectant. A few people were nearby, talking softly.
Caleb sat next to me typing on his laptop. The pale light caught the fine fuzz on his skin and made it glow.
“My—” My voice was hoarse.
“You’re awake?” Caleb closed his laptop and handed me a thermos cup filled with water.
He stood at the bedside and watched me drink, then said slowly, “This morning on the phone you didn’t say a word and didn’t hang up. I had a feeling something was wrong. I messaged Ryan—he was farther away—he told me where your spare key was and asked me to come over.”
My head was foggy. Once I processed that, Caleb continued: “The doctor said you collapsed from fatigue and low blood sugar from lack of sleep.”
I touched my nose and felt a twinge of guilt. “Work’s been killing me lately.”
Caleb studied me a moment then smiled. “Still grinding like in high school.”
I blinked, a little embarrassed, and asked, “Where’s Ryan?”
Caleb looked away and chuckled softly. “He went to get you food. Want to sleep a bit more?”
I nodded without thinking, then hesitated. “When I passed out, did anyone else come by?”
Caleb was quiet a long moment. Finally he said, “Your mom came this morning.”
My fingers twisted the blanket. I vaguely remembered seeing my mother’s red, worried eyes and her asking the doctor, “Is my daughter okay?” It was the first time I’d seen her cry for me. For a second it felt unreal.
A few light pats touched the top of my head—warm, dry, soothing. I looked up and met Caleb’s eyes. The air between us was suddenly a little charged.
He seemed to notice something and froze. Following his gaze, I turned my head slowly.
Ethan had been standing in the doorway for who-knows-how-long; the outer corners of his eyes were pink.
Only a month apart and he looked unrecognizable. He looked terrible—his shirt wrinkled, a faint stubble on his jaw, deep dark circles. You could tell he hadn’t been sleeping.
As a child, Ethan had been obsessive about small details—buttons always done up to the top, a tidy, pleasant presence. Seeing him slovenly and worn like this felt foreign.
I felt something I couldn’t name. Pity? Maybe a little. Mostly it was the ache of knowing we could never go back.
He’d clearly fallen for Sophie—whether a brief fling or genuine feeling, his inner scale had shifted to someone else. I could believe he regretted it, but what did that change? The wound was lodged too deep; every time I saw him it drove the pain in further.
I was still drifting when Ethan came over with a thermos. His voice was tentative. “Nina, I heard you were in the hospital. I made your favorite—crab porridge.”
I noticed a Band-Aid on his finger—probably cut while cooking. Ethan had taught himself to cook as a lonely kid, but once his family’s situation improved he hadn’t been in the kitchen since. He’d made porridge for me.
“I realized we were out of soy sauce halfway through,” Ethan said sheepishly as he opened the thermos. “By the time I went to buy some, the porridge nearly burned. I had to try a few times before I got it right.”
I watched him silently. For some reason I thought about how many times he’d gone with Sophie for broth noodles, offering her exceptions I’d never had.
Ethan—were you trying to make up for something?
My eyes stung.
“We’re broken up,” I said. “You don’t have to do this.”
He froze, looking dazed and helpless. “Please go.”
“Nina, I really talked it through with Sophie. I promise—she won’t bother us again.” His lips trembled and his voice shook. “I was wrong before… I don’t even know what came over me. I let myself get carried away even though I knew how she felt, and I kept letting it happen.”
I let out a soft laugh—couldn’t tell if it was scorn or something else.
Ethan’s eyes suddenly went red and he reached for my hand.
I flinched away.
His hand froze midair for a few seconds, then pulled back.
"When did you start liking her?" I asked calmly.
Ethan frowned again and again, like he wanted to argue but couldn’t find the words. In the end he muttered, "We happened to be on the same project then. She worked so hard, fought so much.
When I looked at her, it was like I could see the you you used to be…"
"I know I love you, but I still did so many things that hurt you. Nina, I know I was wrong…" He stopped suddenly, his gaze going deep and terrible.
A breeze blew outside. Caleb naturally leaned in and tucked the stray hairs that the wind had mussed behind my ear.
He smelled faintly of something clean and subtle—not sharp, just pleasant.
My body tensed and I blurted, "Thank you."
Caleb straightened my blanket a little and smoothed the edge, answering slowly, "You're welcome."
Before I could puzzle over what he meant by that, Caleb looked up to meet Ethan’s eyes and said in a flat voice, "Continue."
Ethan fell silent.
A long time passed before he slowly looked up at me, his eyes rimmed with red.
"No matter what I do, it’s useless, right?"
I met his gaze calmly. "Some things I just can't pretend never happened."
Ethan lowered his eyelids and set the thermos on the table as if in slow motion. His voice was low and tangled. "I'm sorry."
He walked slowly, shoulders slightly stooped. He was only a few steps from the door but seemed to take forever. The bright hospital lights stretched his shadow long and lonely as he left.
It was just Caleb and me again.
He twisted open the thermos, glanced inside, and mused, "Did he always cook for you when you were together?"
I nodded.
"No wonder."
Caleb snapped the lid back on and there was a look in his eyes—an odd, tender pity for ingredients.
Then he said, "I'm a decent cook."
I blinked.
The door opened; a nurse came in to change my IV.
Caleb smoothly withdrew his gaze and picked up his notebook to type.
After the nurse left, I pulled the blanket up and was about to go back to sleep when I heard Caleb say, "Nina."
I half-closed my eyes and murmured back.
"Did none of what he said stir anything at all in you?"
His voice was low but in the quiet room it reached me clearly.
I stayed silent for a long moment. "No."
Caleb seemed to smile. "Good."
I opened my eyes and sat up, looking at him.
He met my gaze without averting it.
The memory of him leaning in earlier to tuck my hair behind my ear flashed through my mind—there had been something in his look. So much unspoken.
My instinct told me I wasn't imagining it.
On a whim I asked, "Are you—"
"Yes."
He seemed to know what I was about to say and answered plainly and honestly.
I was stunned.
He held my eyes, his features soft, whatever emotion he felt clear in his gaze.
"So, Nina, what do you think?"
…I stayed in the hospital two days. When I was discharged, Caleb drove to pick me up.
He opened the passenger door for me, one hand on the frame, waiting until I was settled before he went around to the driver’s seat.
I felt a little nervous and turned to look at him.
I’d turned him down in that room. Caleb had helped me a lot; I felt grateful and touched—but gratitude and being moved aren’t the same as being in love.
I didn’t want to accept someone new before I’d really let go of the past. It would be irresponsible to myself and unfair to Caleb.
He seemed to expect as much; a flicker of disappointment crossed his eyes and then was gone.
He nodded. "I understand."
Maybe my look was too complicated, because he smiled lightly. "You have the right to refuse. You don't owe me your feelings."
He reached up and ruffled my hair, his low voice steady and calming. "Don't feel guilty."
A horn from the car behind snapped me back.
I was about to buckle my seat belt when a long, warm hand reached for me.
Though it felt cool and pleasant, I pulled my hand back like I’d been burned.
Caleb, casual as always, took the seat belt from me and buckled it for me from the side.
My face warmed. I found myself glancing past him at the window. "Wasn't Ryan supposed to pick me up today…?"
We hadn’t seen each other since I’d turned him down.
"He had an emergency with a client in San Francisco," Caleb said, starting the engine, his hand on the wheel. "He asked that if you needed anything these next few days, come to me."
I gave a quiet "mm" and pulled my phone from my pocket. Sure enough, there were WeChat messages from Ryan from forty minutes earlier—one crying emoji and a complaint that he’d been sent on a sudden business trip. He even sent a funny sticker of a person-made emoji and typed, "Someone."
I stared at the screen, at a photo someone had taken of Caleb from a weird angle—still, he looked good—and I drifted into thought.
The night wind was cool and soft, slipping in through the half-open window. Caleb always rolled his window down halfway when I rode with him—enough to keep me from getting car sick but not so much that I'd freeze.
I couldn't help asking, "Did Ryan tell you I get car sick?"
Caleb's voice was low. "No."
"Then—?"
At that moment the light turned red and Caleb braked calmly, stopping neatly at the line.
He turned to look at me as if trying to guess what I was thinking.
I felt awkward under his steady gaze and looked away.
He smiled. "You probably don't remember."
I tilted my head, puzzled.
"There was one holiday in high school when we rode the same bus. It was crowded. You sat by the window and next to you was a woman with a kid."
I frowned. I had no memory.
"The kid fell asleep soon after. You probably worried he'd catch a cold and closed the window."
He paused, then continued, "I noticed your face getting paler and paler. Sweat on your brow, your lips trembling."
"You were clearly miserable but didn't say a word. You shut your eyes, half-clenched your fist on the window and pretended to sleep."
Caleb gave me a sidelong look. "I remember thinking—this desk mate seems fragile but stubborn."
A faint memory surfaced. In high school my motion sickness was at its worst. I remembered feeling dizzy, someone changing places beside me and offering a tissue, the window being opened. I hadn't paid attention to who it was until I felt better after getting off.
I asked, "Was it you who sat beside me?"
"Yes," he said simply.
A strange feeling blossomed in my chest.
The light turned green and Caleb drove on.
He chuckled softly. "That’s when I started noticing you."
My heart skipped.
"I couldn't tell if it was curiosity or something else, but I kept finding myself watching you more."
He sighed, a little regretful. "I was too slow."
"I was slow too," I whispered.
I really hadn't noticed.
I remembered the corridor light in school being broken for a while and that I was always the last to leave night study. Caleb used to leave late then too—almost right after me. Maybe he was trying to walk me down that hallway.
"In college, I once went to find you."
His voice grew hoarse. "It was raining. I saw you sharing an umbrella with a guy. He held you close; you rested your head on his chest."
I fell silent.
"A hollowness hit me—I realized what I felt for you."
I looked up and just then he turned his head too. After a brief look we said nothing more.
When he walked me to my door, I murmured, "Thanks for walking me back."
I was about to step inside when his hand gripped my wrist—not too hard, and avoiding the spot where I’d been poked by the IV earlier.
I startled.
"Actually, I lied to you."
He was close now; his voice was low and cool at my ear.
I almost forgot to breathe. "W-what?"
My mind flashed to Ryan's sudden trip.
"I’m not as indifferent as I seem."
He fixed me with a burning stare. "After you turned me down that night, I couldn't sleep. I ran around the neighborhood forty times."
"You hurt me when you said no."
I stared at him, dazed, unsure how to respond.
"Nina, if you're not ready to start something new right away," his dark eyes held me steady, "it's okay. I can wait."
After he left, I stood downstairs for a long time.
On my way upstairs I saw a familiar figure not far off.
Under the moonlight and swaying trees, Ethan stood there quietly.
"Nina," he called softly, a plea in his voice.
I walked over slowly.
When I drew near, he looked relieved and called my name again.
I said clearly, "Ethan, don’t come looking for me anymore."
I kept my head down, my voice barely a whisper. "I'm going to start a new life. There may be someone else."
"Ethan…" he repeated my name, helpless and panicked.
Maybe up until now he'd still been holding out hope that we were just having a rough patch.
I didn't want to give him any false hope. I forced the last words out, "But that person will never be you."
Ethan and I had known each other for more than twenty years, been together for five. We’d seen each other at our lowest, shared the most humiliating and helpless moments, and warmed each other with what we could.
I thought I would spend my life with him.
But everything changed all of a sudden.
He fell for someone else.
Those sleepless nights, I couldn’t stop thinking about one question.
He chased me so passionately at first—so why was I the only one left desperately trying to keep us together now?
Turning back was wrong. Moving forward felt wrong too.
I knew some people vanish from your life little by little as time strips things away, but I never imagined it would happen like this, that this would be the ending.
Maybe someday I could forgive him, but I could never be with him again.
…After that day, Ethan Rivers never showed up again.
As for Sophie Lane… she once sent me a WeChat message saying she was planning to leave the city. Nothing else.
I didn’t understand why she suddenly told me that, but it didn’t matter anymore.
I had no feelings for her left. Whether she gave up Ethan, whether she lived well or poorly—none of it was my business.
Unnoticed, a year passed.
It seemed like a lot happened that year.
I went home twice, wearing that creamy gray scarf.
Later I learned the scarf wasn’t what I’d thought—that Mom had knitted it for my brother and he’d given it to me. From the beginning, Mom had actually knit it for me.
That year I also made a breakthrough at work.
After breaking up with Ethan, I forced myself to forget. But after so many years together, traces of him were everywhere in my life. Letting go wasn’t that simple.
To distract myself I volunteered for a new project, running between the office and clients, my days filled with work.
An unexpected reward was that besides doing exceptionally well on the new project, I got promoted twice within the year.
Days of nonstop busyness blurred into routine, and one day when I finally had a quiet moment, I realized I hadn’t thought about the past in a long time.
Instead, my relationship with Caleb Jones had quietly shifted.
I often got off work late; he started driving to pick me up. On weekends we’d catch a movie, play video games together.
I could feel us growing closer.
Caleb’s company and understanding settled me into a comfortable place. I realized I was slowly accepting him.
The day we officially got together happened to be during a company retreat.
Because I’d performed well and got a reassignment and promotion, coworkers plied me with drinks; Caleb took the tipsy me home.
When he laid me on the bed, I don’t know why, I suddenly started crying.
Caleb held me, voice a little rough, “Why are you crying?”
Looking into his eyes, that subtle, indescribable feeling rose up again.
I lay with my head on his chest, my arms around his waist, and talked—about my mom, Ethan, Ryan Chen… the people I’d loved, hated, resented. I peeled back the layers of things I couldn’t let go of and laid them out before him.
I’m usually restrained; I rarely let emotions show, let alone pour out like that.
But Caleb always gave me a sense of safety.
At the end he sighed, rested his chin on the top of my head, and said gently and firmly, “Some hurts can’t be forgiven. But even if there’s hate, we still have the right to love and be loved.”
Caleb didn’t leave that night.
…Time flew. This day was my birthday.
Caleb cooked in the kitchen, and Ryan Chen helped him—watching them busy together, a strange warm feeling rose in me.
My mother favored sons, but Ryan had always been good to me.
Over the years Ryan had been like a strong beam of light, steady and warm.
By chance he’d joined a new company, and through that twist Caleb and I met again.
Caleb is like the moon after rain—calm, quietly gentle, respectful. He made me comfortable; he fit.
Now both of them were indispensable in my life—solid, reassuring.
They were still fussing in the kitchen while I opened an anonymous package in the living room.
It was a ring.
I turned the band slowly and saw two letters engraved on the inside: J&C.
There was a small note in the box: Happy birthday. Wishing you peace every year.
For a moment I was stunned.
I’d actually seen this ring a year earlier.
That day I’d just gotten out of the shower and was looking for the hair dryer when I’d found it in the second drawer of Ethan’s nightstand.
I’d waited for Ethan to speak, even dropped hints.
He’d given me no sign.
I couldn’t understand—if he’d already bought a ring, why hadn’t he proposed?
Later, when he took me to see a movie, right at the climax where the male lead drops to one knee to propose to the heroine, I finally mustered the nerve and whispered, eyes half-closed, “Ethan, you bought a ring too, didn’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
A bad feeling hit me.
I turned my head stiffly and found him looking down at his phone, smiling. The video was from that girl, Sophie Lane.
Suddenly I understood why he’d been hesitating.
