Unlike the other girls yelling and cheering, I sat quietly, clutching the bottle, my heart pounding with a secret, dizzying joy.
He moved like the wind. His shooting form was clean and sharp — but that wasn’t what caught me.
On him I saw, somehow, a clumsy boy who couldn’t even play ball.
When he finished and walked past me, he turned his head, paused, and looked at me for a few seconds.
I smiled and held the bottle out. “Here.”
He didn’t refuse. He took it, twisted off the cap, and drank.
I watched him with a small smile, tracing his face with my eyes from his brows to his nose to his mouth, drinking him in greedily.
Then I noticed the angry red scrape on his elbow. It made my eyes sting.
I fumbled him over to the water fountain, washed the wound, patted it dry, and stuck on a bandage.
Still not satisfied, I almost pulled him all the way to the Student Health Center.
My anxious fussing made him laugh.
“Why are you so worried about me? We…don’t even know each other, do we?”
Right — we didn’t.
I pressed my lips shut.
“I’m Ethan Walker. What’s your name?”
“Chloe Reed.”
And that was how we met.
After that, wherever Ethan was, I was there too.
His friends teased him when they saw me. He just smiled and said nothing.
After a lot of stubborn pestering, we were together.
“Let’s be together.”
When he said it, his eyes were sincere, but they looked like they were seeing someone else through me.
I hesitated. It felt unfair to him — I’d approached him with a purpose. Still, I wanted to see him more than from a distance. I wanted to be closer. If this was the way, then fine.
At first, Ethan’s friends looked at him with envy. “Ethan did well — such a pretty girl who’s good to you.”
Now when they looked at me all I saw was pity. Because Ethan wasn’t good to me.
He didn’t like me. He even seemed to dislike me.
So what? I didn’t care. As long as I liked him, that was enough.
I had almost no friends at school and didn’t fit in with my class.
I was at the bottom of the grade rankings.
To avoid failing, I asked the class rep to help me study. He agreed readily.
Not only because he was smart and kind, but because of his voice.
Daniel Hayes had a beautiful voice — clear and gentle.
I stared at his lips moving and, before I knew it, blurted, “Can you…call me ‘Chlo-Chlo’?”
He froze, his pen pausing.
I repeated it. He said, “Okay.”
His face flushed as he said, carefully, “Chlo-Chlo.”
It wasn’t — not the right feeling, not the right tone.
My eyes filled; I turned my face to the corner of the desk and said nothing.
No one could be him…no one…
“You okay?”
He looked flustered and fished for a tissue.
“Nothing. I’m going to wash my face.”
The faucet gushed. My tears finally spilled. I missed you so much, Jason Moore.
Freshman summer was blistering; Jason was irresistible.
“Jase, I don’t get this problem. Help me,” I poked Jason’s arm with my pen.
“Not now.” He didn’t even look up, buried in his book.
“Please, Jase, help me. It’s hard—”
He glanced at me and shifted slightly.
His voice was so pleasing — a low, husky softness tinged with an inexplicable charm.
I watched him and didn’t hear the words. He set his pen down with a small sigh. “Do you want to fail?”
I felt guilty. “I’m paying attention.”
I muttered, “It’s your fault for being too good-looking.”
Jason laughed, then tapped the pen on my head.
“Ow, ow — that hurts!”
I clutched my skull and feigned pain. He believed my lousy acting, puckered up, and leaned in.
I kissed him suddenly — misjudged the angle and hit his teeth.
Jason pressed his hand to his mouth, embarrassed and angry. “You—”
Red-faced, I mumbled, awkwardly, “Your mouth’s so soft. My tooth hurt.”
No one said anything for a few breaths. I didn’t know if he’d heard me.
Unable to focus on my book, I peeked sideways and saw Jason’s face flushed to his neck. I lay my head on the desk and smiled — grinning wider than a summer day.
“Don’t smile!”
He snapped through his teeth.
Pulling myself out of that memory left me exhausted.
02. Passing the stairwell, I saw Ethan pressed against a wall, kissing a girl in the corner.
I could even hear them. I watched until the girl opened her eyes and screamed when she saw me, then Ethan turned.
He looked surprised, brows knitting — like I’d interrupted something.
He leaned down and whispered something to the girl. She smiled, kissed him once, and shot me a mocking look.
She left. I stayed frozen while Ethan climbed the stairs.
“Are you crying?”
He was leaning on the railing, just level with me. The corner of his mouth curled with a teasing smile. “Jealous?”
Should I be?
“No.”
He didn’t like that answer. He frowned and stared at me for a long time, then let out a short self-mocking smile. “Right, why would you be jealous? I want wontons from Waverly Noodles.”
I paused, then said okay.
Waverly Noodles was by the school gate, a bit far. I practically ran and arrived exhausted fifteen minutes later.
Ethan and his friends were playing cards, and there was a girl sitting with them. They saw me and smirked under their breath, “She’s so obedient.”
Ethan frowned. “Took you that long to buy something?”
My cheeks were red, hair sticking to my face with sweat. I set the food down and turned to leave.
He called after me. “Give me your portion.”
He pointed to the cold noodles in my hands.
I pressed my cracked lips together and put them down in front of him.
Ethan pushed them toward the girl. “Eat.”
“This isn’t right.” She tittered and glanced at me, then cheerfully tore it open and started eating.
I watched without a ripple, exhausted and beat from running.
Suddenly Ethan’s face changed. He flicked his hand. I didn’t react fast enough: the container hit my leg, boiling broth splashed down, and my thigh flamed red.
Patrons gasped and looked our way.
Ethan’s friends and that girl snickered at my mess.
“I told you I hate scallions! How many times do I have to say it?”
Ethan’s voice was controlled fury; his eyes were full of disgust.
I looked down at the wontons scattered on the floor. Tears pricked my eyes — maybe from the burn, maybe not.
I know you don’t like scallions, but Jason does. I wanted you to be Jason, but you’re not. Your tastes are different. Everything about you is different.
All of this should’ve been obvious.
“You okay, sweetheart?” Mr. Barnes hurried over.
I shook my head, grabbed a broom, swept the mess, then managed a soft “I’m sorry” to Ethan before turning away.
As I walked, the tears came uncontrolled.
I still couldn’t accept it. Everything reminded me that Jason was gone and no one, no matter how much they resembled him, could replace him.
I noticed Ethan because his brows and eyes mirrored Jason’s.
At first he was okay with me, even smiling sometimes. Then he changed. It seemed like everything I did was wrong.
I tried to make him smile, but my efforts were a joke to him.
Ridiculous. Other people would’ve broken up ages ago; I clung on like a desperate fool.
But fine — I brought this on myself. Even if he was mean and people whispered that I was pathetic, I didn’t care. Inside I was steady as stone. I just wanted him to smile. Once. Just once.
Ethan had many admirers at school. Since I’d hooked his attention, I owed a price.
I’d just left Harrison Library when a group of girls blocked me on Willow Bridge.
They probably thought I was easy to bully. They grabbed what I was carrying. I reached to snatch it back.
One girl raised her hand high. She was one who always chased Ethan, though he never looked her way. So she took it out on me.
“You’re unbelievable. He treats you like garbage and you still won’t break up,” she said, tall and haughty. I had to look up at her; the sun hurt my eyes.
I smiled and squinted. “Even if we broke up, that wouldn’t be your business. Do you really think Ethan would like you? Get some self-awareness — he’s with me. And move.”
She took a breath, tamped down her anger, and tossed my things into the lake, then motioned to her friends: “Pull her over.”
My fists clenched. I glared, then slapped her hard. There was a chorus of shocked gasps. Without hesitation I dove into the water.
“Holy—she jumped in!”
“Is she crazy? For a few books…”
“What if she drowns? It’s deep.”
The water was murky. I couldn’t open my eyes and held my breath while I felt around: rocks, glass bottles, weeds, books — everything but what I wanted.
Panic and urgency churned inside. I lost track of time until I couldn’t hold my breath and surfaced.
A voice yelled from the shore. A figure moved.
“Chloe!”
It was Ethan.
“Get out here, Chloe! Are you trying to kill yourself?”
I ignored him and sank back into the water, searching some more.
Less than two minutes later, someone grabbed my arm and hauled me up.
I had no strength to struggle; I let them pull me, water streaming into my mouth and nose.
Once I was on shore, a coat was wrapped around me.
“My—my things…”
I spat out a mouthful of water and opened my eyes. Under a ring of harsh light I saw a blurry, familiar profile.
Jason Moore…
A rush of hurt swelled from my chest and tears fell like beads with the sound choked from my throat. My voice came out rough. “They… they threw away the little toy you gave me…”
“You’d risk your life over a toy?!”
The hand clutching his jacket froze… that wasn’t his voice.
I wiped my tears with my other hand and realized who was holding me—Ethan Walker.
He was staring at me, furious. His stare was sharp, his hair plastered to his head, water droplets tracing down his jaw.
Summoning what little strength I had, I shoved him away.
While he stood there stunned, I got to my feet, tightened the coat around me, and walked out of the crowd.
For a moment I’d mistaken Ethan for Jason.
He called after me; I ignored him and walked faster.
That night I sat alone by the lake, watching the glittering surface.
I couldn’t find it… I’d never find it again… I rubbed my stinging eyes, my chest tight, overwhelmed by a helpless, heavy sadness.
Sorry, Jason…I can never keep your things safe.
My nails dug into the dirt; grief and gloom crowded me without release.
The wind off the lake was strong, stirring ripples and making my eyes dry.
I must have been there for a long time because I started to feel dizzy and chilled. I pushed up on my knees and stood.
My legs were numb from sitting; I slipped and suddenly pitched forward.
Just as I was about to fall into the water, an arm wrapped tight around me and lifted me up.
“Chloe, are you out of your mind? Going to do something reckless in the middle of the night? Do you want to die?”
Standing in the moonlight, I saw Ethan’s face drawn tight, his eyes wide.
“If I hadn’t grabbed you, would you have jumped?”
I opened my mouth to say something but didn’t know what to say.
You’ve got it wrong — how could I ever be that desperate?
I lowered my head and whispered, “No.”
“For a few books?” he scoffed. “I’ll get you new ones tomorrow. Tell me how many. Don’t act like you’re going to die over something so small.”
I cut him off, clenching my fists. Trying to keep my face steady, I said coldly, “What do you know?”
You know nothing!
Then I tore my arm free from his grip, pushed through the pain in my feet, and walked away without looking back.
03. That night I was so thirsty I could barely stand it.
I stumbled up half-asleep, groped for a glass, drank, then crawled back under the covers. I tossed and turned for hours, unable to fall asleep.
My head was spinning.
I picked up my phone: 2:30 a.m.
My finger accidentally tapped dial and a number I knew by heart flashed on the screen, stabbing at my eyes.
I knew it wouldn’t connect, but I dialed anyway.
A cold automated voice answered: “The number you have dialed is not in service.”
I kept redialing, stubborn, until tears slid down into my hair.
I buried my face in the pillow and cried silently.
When Jason and I first got close, I always found excuses to make him do my homework.
“Jason, I’m not feeling well,” I’d push my notebook toward him, “my hands are weak—take notes for me.”
He’d look at me like he had no choice but to oblige.
“Why are you so nice?” I’d rest my head on the desk and look up at him. “You’re handsome and you’re so good to me—how are you so good?”
Jason would curl the corner of his mouth. “Brown-noser.”
“Ugh, my head hurts—can you rub it?”
I’d tug on his sleeve. He’d lift a hand without a word.
Warm fingertips would press to my temple, the pressure just right.
I’d squint at him. The soft light through the window made him glow somehow.
My gaze dropped to his slightly parted lips and I thought if I weren’t sick, I’d kiss him again.
Somehow I fell asleep.
When I woke, Jason was watching me, smiling, his jacket draped over me. He looked away quickly when I opened my eyes.
“It’s almost dark and everyone’s gone. Why didn’t you call me?” my voice was nasal.
My things were packed.
We walked back to the dorm side by side. Jason was much taller than me.
I noticed he kept glancing my way.
“Why do you keep looking at me?” I snapped.
His face softened into a smile, eyes crinkling. I stood there a few seconds, then smiled back for no reason.
If I’d known then what Jason had done to my face, I would have socked him on the spot.
When I washed my face and lifted my bangs, two thick dark eyebrows stared back at me from the mirror. I was shocked and annoyed.
So that’s why Jason looked awkward—he felt guilty because he’d done something mischievous.
He was so dead meat!
The next morning, ready to confront him, I saw cold medicine on the desk and Jason quietly writing beside it; my anger dissolved.
The dream had been so real.
I woke up at 7:30, hurried through my routine, and walked into class to the bell.
I saw Ethan in the back row waving at me. I was surprised—and noticed books and breakfast on my desk.
He pointed and said, “For you.”
“Thanks.”
My voice was hoarse.
He noticed and asked, “Are you sick?”
“Yeah.”
Ethan didn’t say more and left. Watching him go, I couldn’t understand him—he’d never been this gentle, never brought me breakfast. Usually I was the one standing at his door waiting with food.
During break he came back with cold medicine.
“Why aren’t you taking it?” he asked, looking at the food.
“Not hungry yet.”
“Eat the breakfast first, then take the medicine.”
“Okay, thanks.”
Maybe my distant attitude that day made him uneasy; he kept glancing my way.
“Come have lunch with me,” he said.
I hesitated, then nodded.
At lunch Ethan ordered a lot of dishes—all things I didn’t like. Mid-meal his phone rang; he frowned and sounded annoyed. I could hear a woman’s voice on the other end. I guessed a girl was sulking and he was calming her.
Sure enough, after he hung up he told me to take my time eating and left.
I lost my appetite and put down my chopsticks once he walked out.
04. I didn’t understand why Ethan’s attitude had flipped 180 degrees, but his behavior afterward made me wonder if he’d become a different person.
He started joining me for meals, walking me back to the dorm, standing up for me in front of his friends, even bringing me milk tea, clothes, and bags.
His sudden kindness caught me off guard.
Honestly, I’d rather he be the old Ethan—bossy and indifferent—so I could feel safe being my old self.
I tied my hair in a messy bun and tugged at the white puff-sleeve dress he’d bought for me. Ethan’s gifts were mostly white, and I didn’t like white.
This outfit was his preference.
Ethan was already waiting downstairs. When he saw me, he froze.
He snapped back to himself as I walked up and smiled. “Let’s go.”
He reached for my hand and I instinctively pulled away. “I’m still not used to this,” I said.
Ethan quickly recovered and smiled. “I’ll take you somewhere.”
But we never made it—he got a call in the middle of the walk. He looked anxious, then spoke in a surprisingly gentle voice: “Wait for me there, don’t go anywhere…I’ll be there soon.”
He left without hesitation, forgetting me. I’d never seen him rush like that and felt a little curious.
I didn’t overthink it and went to the arcade nearby, played for two hours, and came out after dark.
On my way back to campus I ran into Ethan and another girl.
I stood by the road waiting for a bus and watched Ethan carefully help her into a cab. It was too dark to see her face clearly, but she seemed drunk.
The taxi passed by me and, through the window, I saw Ethan holding her close, tender in a way I’d never seen.
Back at school, he called and asked where I was. I gripped my phone and after a moment told him my location.
“Wait for me,” he said.
After about ten minutes Ethan arrived with a milk tea. “Sorry, I said I’d take you out but something came up.”
“It’s okay,” I lied, and smiled understandingly while hiding my skewer of barbecue behind my back.
We looked at each other for a beat before he awkwardly looked away. His gaze landed on my skirt. “What’s that?”
I followed his eyes and saw a conspicuous white stain—grease from the barbecue had dripped there. Ethan frowned.
See? White gets dirty so easily. I really shouldn’t wear white.
He shifted his gaze to my loose hair and I could feel that he was in a bad mood.
After that night Ethan seemed to vanish—he didn’t seek me out and I didn’t reach out to him either.
From one of his friends I learned he had a childhood friend he liked. I guessed it was the drunk girl from that night.
I thought about it a long time. If he already liked someone else, he didn’t like me; I shouldn’t hold him back. After all, I only got close because of Jason. Even if I looked like someone else—what did it matter?
I was just lying to myself. If he didn’t love me, no one could replace him.
Although I didn’t know why Ethan had been with me while liking someone else, I decided I couldn’t keep accepting his kindness while feeling guilty and uneasy.
I wrote a breakup message to him, edited it carefully, and sent it.
When it went through I felt like I’d been released.
Knowing Ethan, he’d probably scold me first before agreeing. Given how strange he’d been lately, I didn’t know how he would react.
But my message got no reply for days—as if it had sunk with a stone.
Waiting for the bus at the school gate, I saw Ethan after a long time. He’d just gotten out of a taxi and looked exhausted.
I called out, “Ethan.”
He paused. “What are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to you.”
He ran a hand through his hair, irritation flickering across his face. "Fine."
"Did you see the message I sent you?"
He narrowed his eyes, as if thinking. "I thought you were just being moody."
So in his eyes, I was the same as those girls who orbited him and threw little tantrums now and then.
I took a deep breath and forced myself to be serious. "Okay. I’m saying this officially, Ethan — we’re breaking up."
Only then did Ethan lift his lids, smiling with that half-smirk. "Because I ignored you these past few days? Chloe, can’t you be more reasonable? I really—"
"No."
I cut him off.
It wasn’t for that. I didn’t want to break up because I’d feel guilty about using him.
"Because of Lily?"
Lily was the class rep in my class. There was no way Ethan would be so ridiculous as to think I wanted to break up because of him.
"None of that. I’m serious."
Ethan was silent for a moment; a complicated look passed through his eyes.
He said, "Fine, do as you wish."
Then he brushed past me.
On his face was the certainty of a winner, like he was sure I’d come crawling back in a few days, bawling for a second chance.
But I didn’t. No need to deal with Ethan, no need to look at that face. I lived the two-point life of dorm and Harrison Library — productive, but with a hollow heart.
Every so often my thoughts drifted to Jason — everything about him.
05. Ever since Jason was gone, I dared not touch anything related to him, not even his family.
But today, at Maple Café, I ran into Laura.
Jason’s sister.
I hadn’t seen her in ages, not since the Moores moved away.
"Chloe."
Laura called me over.
I stood there with my coffee, at a loss.
She glanced at the seat across and motioned for me to sit.
She asked about how I’d been; I answered, and most of the time she talked.
Suddenly Laura’s phone vibrated. She glanced at me and answered.
I held my breath and moved as quietly as possible.
A gentle voice came through the receiver. I froze, my heart stuttering, breath held.
That voice… "Don’t come over. Wait for me there."
Laura hung up quickly.
"Sis, is it—"
My voice trembled despite my effort.
Laura sighed and shook her head. "Chloe, forget him."
I gripped my cup so tight my knuckles hurt and managed a crooked smile. "Who are you talking about?"
Laura was silent a long moment, then turned her head to look out the floor-to-ceiling window. "Other than Jason, what topics do we even have in common?"
"Sis, can you tell me… where is Jason’s grave?"
I lowered my eyes and stared at the latte art. "There are so many things I want to tell him."
Laura said nothing.
"Sis, why won’t you tell me? Do you still hate me?"
Laura didn’t deny it. She frowned at her watch. "I have to go. I’m sorry."
Sister, what are you avoiding? What are you hiding?
I put on an obedient smile. "Okay. Bye, then."
As she left, Laura said, "I know you can’t accept it, but it’s over. We have to move forward. I don’t think Jason would want you to be like this."
Outside the window dusk had fallen and her figure stretched long. She hurried away.
Hearing that voice identical to Jason’s had frozen my blood.
I couldn’t accept that he was gone. But if he were alive, why wouldn’t he contact me? Could he really abandon me?
I followed Laura, keeping my distance.
A red light held me on the curb and traffic surged between us. Laura crossed and turned left.
Through the crowd and cars I saw her link arms with a man.
Tall, broad-shouldered, his gestures and bearing familiar. Even from a distance I knew — that was Jason.
It had to be him. It had to!
They were about to disappear from sight and I bolted forward.
One step out and someone yanked me back. Off balance, I fell onto the pavement.
"Child, did you hurt yourself?" A woman helped me up. "It’s still a red light. What are you rushing for?"
"I’m fine."
My voice sounded hoarse. I looked up and saw they were already gone.
"Oh my, why are you crying?"
"I—"
I wiped my face; my palm came away wet.
Maybe she sensed I wasn’t all right. Her face filled with worry. "Look at the traffic, dear. If something happens, your parents will worry."
"I’m okay, thank you."
I forced a smile though tears streamed down. I must have looked a mess.
The walk back to campus felt endless and hollow.
I flipped through my contacts and stopped at a name.
Daniel Hayes — Laura’s ex.
Sister, why did you lie to me? Why?
Daniel didn’t know where the Moores had moved. He only knew Laura’s work address in the neighboring town.
I took a leave, went overnight to that town, and waited outside her office from dawn until the neon lit the night. Watching people come and go, none of them Jason. My hope faded into numb despair.
I rubbed my dry lips and my sore legs, looked up at the night sky. The stars blinked faintly; the cool breeze soothed me little by little.
Then a tall figure appeared at the building entrance and the spark I had buried flared anew.
Laura got into a cab.
I hailed one after her. "Driver, follow that car."
The taxi pulled into a residential complex.
The elevator number stopped at 28 and I took the other elevator up.
I sat in a dim stairwell, unsure which door was hers.
When I was about to come back the next morning, the door to 2802 opened… and a slender hand reached out. A mole at the base of the thumb was obvious. A peach-wood bracelet was tied to the wrist.
I jumped up; my heart thudded. If I wasn’t imagining things, Jason had a mole at the base of his left thumb and wore that peach-wood bracelet — the one I’d given him.
Before I could move forward, the hand set down a trash bag and the door shut.
I suppressed the wild joy and leaned close to the wall, trying to hear anything inside. But there was nothing.
I stood there a long time before leaving.
The wind on my face carried some of my exhaustion away. My steps grew lively and I smiled without meaning to.
Jason — I’ll see you tomorrow.
06. The next morning I woke early and only went once I was sure Laura had left for work.
I still didn’t know why Laura had lied or hidden things, but I knew she didn’t want me to see Jason.
He Begged, I Chose Someone Else
Standing before the closed door, I lifted my hand several times and then put it down.
Pressing the doorbell felt like expending my last ounce of strength.
Each second of waiting was torture.
What should I say? "Jason, long time no see"? Or "I miss you"? Yes — I missed him so much.
The door opened and there was that familiar face, the one I thought about morning and night and wished would visit me in my dreams.
Jason looked at me for a long moment before saying, "Hello."
"Jason."
My voice trembled. I held back a sob.
"Jason, I—"
Emotions surged and I grabbed his arm instinctively. There were so many things I wanted to say, I didn't know where to start.
Then a woman's voice cut through and choked off everything I wanted to say.
"Jason, who's that?"
I glanced around and saw the girl behind him, and my mind went blank.
Jason tore my hand from his arm and said coolly, "A high school classmate."
It felt like falling into ice water. I stood at the threshold, frozen, not sure what to do. A high school classmate?
The girl blinked at me, sized me up, then smiled sweetly. "Oh, a high school classmate. Are you here to see Jason?"
"I—" I looked at Jason. He only stepped aside and motioned for me to come in.
Her name was Lena Kim.
At the table she sat very close to Jason.
I gripped my chopsticks and said nothing, unable to ask the question burning in my chest: who is she?
But inexplicably, I disliked her.
"I saw your photo in Jason's yearbook," Lena chattered, warm and talkative. "Small world, huh?"
"Is that so?"
I stirred my porridge in silence, my thoughts in chaos. I had imagined a thousand ways this meeting could go, but not like this. A wave of helplessness spread through me.
His attitude was so cold, as if he didn't know me. I wanted to ask him what was wrong, but the words wouldn't come.
"Don't eat so much!" A clack of chopsticks.
I looked up to see Lena cooing at Jason. "Then give me an egg, you shell it for me."
Jason set down his chopsticks and wordlessly peeled an egg.
No one needed to ask — their closeness made everything obvious.
Tears brimmed and I lowered my head to hide the sting and humiliation.
I scooped a spoonful of porridge into my mouth without realizing it was still piping hot. My lips and tongue went numb from the burn; pain stabbed my chest too.
I swallowed hard through the burn, my throat like it was on fire.
Jason used to be strict about me eating too much fried food because it upset my stomach. Whenever I snuck a bite and he found out, he'd scold me.
"Jason, will you come shopping with me this afternoon?"
"Mm."
I couldn't help stealing another look at them. Their ease made me feel like an outsider. It felt like someone had gouged out a chunk of me.
I forced myself to stand, jaw clenched. "Sorry— I'm full. Since sis isn't here, I'll come another time."
Before they could react, I turned and left. In my rush I knocked over a trash can and made a scene.
The moment the door closed, the tears fell like a flood.
Why was this happening? Why was Jason so indifferent, acting like he didn't know me?
One casual "high school classmate" had stretched the distance between us into an ocean.
We were more than just classmates…
Waiting by the curb for a ride, Jason ran up to me.
"Chloe."
He was out of breath. "You forgot your phone."
He handed it to me.
I stared at his hand, silent, then took the phone. He stiffened and pulled his hand back.
I watched him quietly — his gentle brows, sharp nose, the shape of his mouth — he still looked the same as in my memory.
Tears pooled at the corners of my eyes. "Jace, did I do something wrong? Why won't you talk to me?
You promised you'd come back…"
"I already have a girlfriend."
He took a small step back. Hearing those words, everything I'd been holding in finally broke. Tears spilled over, one after another.
"If she's your girlfriend, then what am I?
Jace!"
Jason frowned. "Sorry. I forgot a lot of things."
My mind spun. "Forgot a lot of things."
Forgot?
Forgot what?
Even me— "You even forgot me?
You forgot what we had?"
I felt wronged and crushed, my chest aching until I couldn't breathe.
Jason didn't answer. His expression was complicated. After a hesitation, he reached out and wiped the corner of my eye. "I'm sorry."
His touch was so gentle it made me cry harder.
"I don't believe you!
You're lying, aren't you?
Did something happen to you?"
How else could he have randomly forgotten so many things, including me?
"When my sister told me you died in a car accident, I was so devastated—I wanted to go with you. I couldn't be happy for days.
When I found out you were alive I couldn't sleep all night with joy, but you told me you remember nothing. I wish you were lying.
Is there something you're ashamed to tell me?"
My voice broke as I cried, sniffling. "It's okay if you don't tell me, but don't ignore me. Don't be so cold. I can't stand it."
Jason just listened quietly.
After a long moment he sighed and stroked my hair. "Stop crying. I'm sorry."
"Jace, are you done? Reunion chit-chat shouldn't take this long."
Lena stood a few meters away, smiling but guarded.
Jason pulled his hand back. "My phone was delivered. I should go."
"Don't go…"
I grabbed the hem of his jacket, pleading.
He let the fabric slip from my fingers and gave me a small smile. "See you next time."
"When's next time?
Will you even see me again?
You forgot me."
I sobbed and said stubbornly, "I won't come looking for you again."
He paused for a few seconds, then kept walking.
I watched him and Lena walk away toward the gate and lost it, screaming the way you do when something breaks inside.
He doesn't want me anymore…07.
I went back to school.
That morning, I ran into Ethan.
He blocked my way and stared at my puffy, red eyes before finally saying, "Where have you been these past few days? You haven't answered my messages."
"We broke up."
My voice was calm.
Looking back, I can't believe I put up with Ethan's bad temper before—maybe it was the halo people like Jace have.
"Are you serious?"
Ethan sneered, a curl at the corner of his mouth.
"After class, wait for me."
A command.
When I ignored him, he awkwardly rubbed his nose and tossed, "Don't stay up late."
I: "…"
I didn't want to see Ethan. As soon as class ended, I packed up and went downstairs with the flow of students.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out. It was a WeChat friend request.
Display name: Jace.
My heart skipped. Blinking to make sure I wasn't imagining it, I hurriedly accepted.
Jason messaged quickly: It's Jace.
I fought the urge to squeal and sent a question mark.
He replied: Are you free tomorrow? Want to meet?
My hand tightened around the phone; I stared blankly until the screen dimmed and I snapped back to reality.
I typed: Any time after 1 PM tomorrow works.
Then I deleted it and changed it to: I'm free anytime tomorrow.
Jason: If you have class, take class—afternoon at 1 then.
I bit my lip, trying to keep my heart from racing, and sent a single "Okay."
No sooner had I replied than someone grabbed my arm.
Ethan's face was dark. "Didn't I tell you to wait for me?"
"Do I have to wait just because you said so?"
I frowned, annoyed.
"Stop it."
"Are you kidding? Do you think I'm like the other girls clinging to you? Am I some pathetic follower?"
Ethan's eyes narrowed; he pressed his lips together and said nothing.
When his grip loosened I shook him off.
He followed and, when I finished my meal, he slammed his tray down across from me like it was a challenge.
I ignored him.
But then someone oblivious to boundaries came over.
"Ethan!" A long-haired, big-eyed girl hurried up with a tray. "Can I sit here?"
Ethan glanced at me, then nodded. "Sure."
"Aren't you two broken up?" she asked in a low voice.
"Yeah."
A hint of glee flashed in her eyes. When she looked at me, she provocatively dropped some chicken into Ethan's bowl.
They leaned close, whispering and laughing like they were the only two people in the world.
I didn't want to be in the way. I ate fast and stood up, but Ethan called me back.
"Chloe!"
His face was cold. "Last chance."
A chance to get back together?
Who does he think he is—why assume I'd beg to reconcile?
"No thanks. I won't cling to you. You'll have peace, right?"
08. The next day after class I went straight to the dorm.
I rifled through my wardrobe and realized I hadn't bothered to dress up in a long time—there were so few clothes that actually fit how I wanted to look.
I gave my hair a quick curl at the ends, applied light makeup, checked the time—12:40—and hurried to the gate.
Jason was already waiting. He stood out in the crowd the way he always did; you couldn't miss him.
After the rollercoaster of losing him and then finding him again, I felt oddly calm.
Whether he remembered or not didn't matter as long as he was here—as long as this wasn't a dream.
Really, it didn't matter, right?
I asked myself that and swore I believed it. But when I saw him, everything fell apart.
I still couldn't let him go.
I hugged my bag, took a breath, and jogged over.
"Jace."
I offered a bright smile and waved.
"Have you eaten?"
He asked.
I shook my head.
"What do you want?"
"Tripe chicken?" I suggested. "Let's go to that place we used to go."
I stopped for a second—he should've forgotten that.
"Okay."
I looked up. Our eyes met, then he looked away first. I didn't miss the flash of softness in his gaze.
Steam rose from the steamy dishes as I studied him.
He kept his head down, hair softly falling over his forehead, seriously reading the menu.
"What should we order?"
He looked up suddenly.
"Anything," I said, licking my lips, my heart inexplicably speeding up.
How could I ever forget him?
He says he forgot, but what if the car accident hadn't happened?
I sipped water, unsure what to say. Finally I asked slowly, "Was the accident bad? How's your recovery? Any lasting damage?"
He paused, tearing open a packet of utensils. "Other than not remembering a lot, my body's fine."
I nodded.
Jason disinfected our utensils—mine, too.
There was an awkward silence. I kept looking at his hands.
They were pale with defined knuckles, long fingers curling prettily around the cutlery. A red string bracelet sat above his wrist.
About five centimeters from the bracelet I noticed a scar, just barely hidden by the string.
I grabbed his hand and moved the bracelet aside. There, a jagged scar like a centipede crawled along his wrist, marring the beauty.
"What is that?"
He jerked his hand back. "I cut it by accident."
He looked uncomfortably away, fingers at his eye, gaze fixed on the lower left.
I know Jace too well—he was obviously lying. The scar looked more like something made by a sharp weapon.
I sighed and looked out the window at the bright, blinding sun.
"Yesterday I thought a lot. As long as you're alive, nothing else matters. So…what does it matter if you forgot us? At least you remember my name, right?"
My chest burned with bitterness. I kept fiddling with my palm to look casual and unaffected.
"We can still be friends."
I was so unwilling to accept it.
"Chloe."
He said my name.
I couldn't look at him; I was afraid he'd see my reddened eyes.
"Yesterday I went back to our old high school and met Mr. Park. He told me some things about you."
I was surprised—he'd gone to see my dad.
Jason smiled. "If my sister found out I'd gone back to my old school, she'd be mad. She doesn't like me poking into the past.
But for some reason, after I saw you I really wanted to know what happened before. Can you tell me about us?"
"Our past…" I lowered my eyes and, remembering, couldn't help but lift one corner of my mouth.
My thoughts drifted.
In high school Jace and I really didn't have much contact—he transferred to our class in the second half of senior year.
Back then he was untouchable—he didn't hang out with the guys and kept his distance from the girls.
All I thought then was: pretty, cold, and smart.
Then we ended up at the same university. My dad, worried, asked Jason to look out for me.
Through getting to know him, I realized that behind that aloofness he was actually gentle and considerate—he would indulge my little temper tantrums and remember all my likes.
He was the kind of person you fell for easily.
I remembered sophomore year when my club was decorating the auditorium late into the night. Jace called.
"Jace, you don't have to wait. I'm not done for a while."
I said into the phone, "I'm setting up at the performance center."
Near the end, he called again and said he was at the door.
When I stepped out, there he was leaning on the rail with things in his hands. I hadn't expected him to bring food. I was so surprised and happy.
One sip of that milk tea and the sweetness spread through me, wiping away my exhaustion. I grinned and teased, "Is today's milk tea only half sweet? Why is it as sweet as you?"
He ruffled my hair, the look in his eyes full of affection. "Because it's for you."
I opened the lunchbox and, pretending to be picky, poked at the greasy pieces with my chopsticks. "I don't want the fatty meat."
Jason smiled at that and picked up a clean pair of chopsticks to grab a piece of fatty pork, brow slightly furrowed but pretending it tasted amazing.
There was that time in P.E. when I sat under a tree watching Jason play basketball.
"Jason, you're so clumsy playing ball, it's hilarious."
He was tall and broad, the kind who looks like he'd be great on the court—handsome and athletic—but the whole game he didn't sink a single shot; opponents always stole the ball from him.
"We suit each other," he said when he saw my puzzled face, chuckling low. "One of us is all thumbs, the other's limbs all wrong—perfect match, right?"
I caught the tease—he was laughing about how I marched in lockstep during boot camp.
"What are you saying? I was terrified back then."
The drill sergeant in charge of us was terrifying; at any sign of a mistake he'd threaten to make the whole class stand in the sun for thirty minutes. Even though he never actually punished us, I was still scared.
So many memories pressed down on me, I could barely breathe.
Those were my happiest days. As long as Jason was there, I felt like I had everything. But now it was all gone.
When I looked up, a soft gaze landed on my face and my heart jolted. I quickly looked away.
Jason—don't look at me like that, or I'll never want to let you go.
After a long moment, his voice came from above my head. "Did we… break up later?"
Break up?
The question lodged in my throat. I couldn't speak. My hand trembled when I reached for water; the cup slipped from my palm, rolled off the table and hit the floor with a clear sound.
It shattered.
I flinched, stunned, and then my eyes burned. Tears spilled before I could stop them. "We did. You were the one who broke up with me…"
In sophomore year Jason applied to study abroad. He told me to wait for him to come back.
Even while he was overseas, he made me feel safe.
Then six months ago there was a week I didn't hear from him. When he finally messaged, it was three sentences.
"Sorry."
"Don't wait for me."
"We're not right for each other. Let's break up."
He handed me a tissue with an apologetic look.
I took it and wiped my face messily, reaching for chopsticks to pick up a piece of tripe. "This place is actually really good."
Jason said nothing, his eyes dark.
Steam filled my eyes again; tears welled up and I laughed to hide my humiliation. "I can't handle spicy—it's really too hot. If I'd known they'd put so much chili paste in it I wouldn't have ordered it."
That night at ten I left Harrison Library and saw Ethan Walker sprawled on a stone bench under the dorms.
He was drunk, leaning against the bench.
"You came," he said, lifting his eyelids, half asleep.
"Why didn't you answer my messages?" he asked.
Drunk Ethan had lost his usual edge; his tone was softer, less hostile.
"Wasn't I good enough for you? Why did you leave me?"
"What am I lacking compared to him? Tell me!"
The streetlight haloed Ethan's head, casting his features into shadow so he looked helpless and pitiful as he muttered, "Claire…"
I stopped, sighed softly.
I pulled out his phone to call his friend and noticed his phone wallpaper—a girl.
She had a bun and a radiant smile in the photo.
From the brows to her bone structure she looked five parts like me—really, I looked more like her than like myself.
Suddenly it clicked: sometimes Ethan's eyes looked through me, as if he was seeing someone else. I was his substitute.
Everything he'd done for me had been for that girl. Even now, drunk, he was treating me like her.
I laughed bitterly. We were both stand-ins—no better than each other.
I heard he'd worked so hard to win that girl, and even though they'd grown up together, fate intervened and he didn't succeed.
I thought of Jason.
Ethan's friend arrived soon after. Before leaving, he said, "Even though you broke up, he still cares. Give Ethan a chance."
I didn't answer. It wasn't possible. I never liked Ethan.
And he didn't care about me—he couldn't accept a breakup from someone who looked like the girl he loved.
These days Ethan was everywhere I went.
One afternoon coming down from the lab building I saw him waiting with a bouquet. I immediately walked the other way.
He followed.
"What do you want?"
"This time I'm the one chasing you," he said, pushing the flowers toward me.
I didn't take them. It felt ridiculous. "We've already broken up. I don't like you. Must I spell it out? Stop pestering me."
Ethan sneered, "Weren't you the one clinging to me back then?"
He grabbed my hand and tried to kiss me. I swallowed the nausea, shoved him hard and the flowers scattered on the ground. He staggered back a few steps.
He glanced at the fallen petals, then looked up with a face suddenly serious. Slowly, deliberately: "Chloe, what if I say I like you?"
I couldn't help laughing at him, mocking: "Like me? Are you joking? Do you like me or do you like that I act like your lapdog, or the face that looks like your childhood friend?"
Ethan's expression changed instantly—he hadn't expected me to know about the girl he'd grown up with.
"Chloe, do you really think I wouldn't be mad about what you did to me? You think I put up with your temper because I liked you? It was all because of this face," he said, lowering his voice. "Do you have to be so absolute? I don't believe you don't like me."
I was about to walk away when he yanked me back.
"Let go."
"Chloe, let's talk."
We were at an impasse when Jason suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He pulled me free of Ethan's grip and stood protectively in front of me.
"You okay?" Jason's concerned gaze landed on me. I shook my head.
"Mind your own business!" Ethan snapped, pointing at Jason. When Ethan saw who it was his face soured. "Who is he?"
Silence fell.
I finally spoke. "You asked if I liked you. Look carefully. The one I like has always been him. You were just someone who looks similar."
Ethan laughed—a harsh, ugly sound, eyes fierce. "So he's Jason? It's true then!" His voice rose. "Chloe, you used me! I'm a joke!"
He stepped into the light so his face was clearer, anger lacing every word. "You clung to me before—how can you just leave now? Chloe, you really are something."
He wasn't any better—he'd treated me like someone else's memory too. We were the same. Who was he to accuse me?
He turned to Jason, venom in his tone: "You probably don't know—because you didn't want her, she fed me and sent me things just to get me to be her boyfriend."
Tears fell with no warning. Jason had witnessed this humiliating scene and now knew I'd dated someone who looked a bit like him.
I couldn't bring myself to meet Jason's eyes. Head down, I led him away while Ethan kept cursing.
"Chloe," Jason said from behind me. We walked on until I stopped.
"Did you see? Do we look a little alike?" I tried a smile that came out ugly. "Everyone thinks I liked him—but I've always liked you, Jason!"
My hands covered my face, damp with tears. My voice was hoarse. "I thought you were dead… Seeing someone who looked like you, I stuck to them. Isn't that pathetic?"
Jason looked down at me. His dark eyes held something different—something unsaid—and then he sighed softly.
He pulled me into a warm embrace. "I still can't remember anything… but when I see you cry, I don't know what to do."
His scent was familiar and my nose prickled. I broke down and cried again, weakness I couldn't stop.
You said you'd forgotten me—I finally decided to let you go, and then you showed up. Jason, what am I to you now?
I pushed him back gently and brushed tears and hair from my face. "Why are you here?"
His eyes flickered. He held up a milk tea—one of those big pearl-filled cups, the flavor I like.
"I bought it on the way. I thought you'd like it."
I took it, put the straw in, and tears mingled with the drink at my mouth.
It tasted bitter.
The milk tea wasn't sweet at all—nothing like I'd expected. Sadness welled up and I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. I met his gaze and, stubborn, said, "Jason, from now on… let's never see each other again."
Jason never came looking for me after that. Ethan disappeared too.
I was busy with my internship, running between school and the office, and eventually rented a place near work.
On moving day, Lily came to help. He asked carefully, "You really broke up with Ethan?"
I was stuffing things into the car and replied, "Yeah. It's been a while."
Maybe my past clinginess stuck in Lily's mind; he finally blurted, "Happy breakup."
I laughed. "You're funny."
He scratched his head, embarrassed. "Chloe, you're talented. You deserve better."
"Thank you."
I hadn't expected Lena to ask me out.
She wore a red dress that made her look glamorous—different from the fresh, youthful look she'd had at Laura Moore's house last time. She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled. "What do you want to eat?"
She slid the menu over.
"Anything."
"Then I'll order." She leaned on her hand, tapped the menu, and told the server, "Oh, and no spicy for me."
Seeing Lena again, I still disliked her. She felt fake to me.
Lena relaxed back in her seat like a weight had been lifted. "Finally I can be myself again," she sighed, then stared at me a beat and blinked. "Chloe, you're just like I thought. I've seen your photos before and wondered what kind of girl you'd be. Turns out… not much more than that."
"I know Jase tried to find you, but I'm not worried about you two getting back together—after all, he doesn't remember you."
She smiled so innocently, but her words were poisonous, slicing into my heart like a blade.
"You're misunderstanding me. Let the past stay in the past. I won't pester Jase."
Even now I still liked Jase, but I was trying to forget him.
I knew she was warning me, and I could feel her insecurity. It wasn't so much a warning as a way to soothe herself.
Her smile was polite and proper, but her eyes kept flicking over me, measuring me.
The food arrived. I had no appetite and just moved my chopsticks out of habit.
"Hey, you're left-handed like me," Lena suddenly exclaimed.
Her surprised tone made me awkward.
This meal did nothing for me—bland and tasteless.
"Ooh, they have that tiger-skin cake Jase likes. I'm going to get it to-go for him."
I followed her gaze to see a shop with a line out the door.
"I'm heading out."
She waved and smiled.
After parting with Lena, I ducked into a nearby place for a quick dinner.
On my way back I passed a barbecue stand where a couple stood. The guy watched his girlfriend with adoring tenderness and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear.
I stopped and stared, frozen.
I fell into memory—Jase and I used to be like that.
"You can't have any."
"I haven't had it in so long."
I whined, clutching his hand. "Please, just a little."
He shook his head and refused. "No."
I sulked. "Other boys spoil their girlfriends. Why not me?"
"Other girls don't get stomachaches. Why do you end up crying and clutching me?"
"Don't mimic me!"
Jase just smiled and pulled me along.
"Where are we going?"
"Aren't you the one who wanted it? Just one bite, remember?"
I couldn't believe he was being so agreeable today. "Really? Really? Jase, you're the best."
"That makes you feel better?"
He tilted his head slightly, a smile tugging at his mouth.
"In my heart, you're the best," I murmured.
I don't know if he heard; all I know is his eyes curved into crescent moons when he smiled.
When I finally tasted the skewer I'd been craving, I was giddy. But I was happy too soon—Jase gave me only one bite of each thing.
"These aren't sanitary. Just try them for the taste, don't overdo it or you'll suffer."
He ruffled my hair, his voice soft. My protests died in my throat and were swallowed along with the meat.
"Why are you sulking?"
He laughed.
I looked at his mouth—he smiled so well—and an odd, sudden thought hit me: we hardly kissed.
What was I supposed to do? I suddenly wanted to kiss him.
"Let's go," I tugged at his sleeve.
"What's up?"
I stood on tiptoe, my heart pounding, and leaned toward his ear. "I want to kiss you. It's too crowded here."
Maybe it was the steam from the grill or the hush in my voice, but his ears went red in an instant.
I thought of Jase again.
That night the class rep, Lily Park, sent a voice message. I didn't listen; I switched it to text.
Not for any reason other than Lily's voice resembles Jase's, and it always tricks me into thinking it's him.
Lily: A boy asked me for your address.
Me: Who?
Lily: Sort of looks like Ethan Walker, but way more handsome.
She hesitated over her typing, deleted, rewrote. I finally sent: Don't tell him.
Lily took a long time to reply—just one word: Okay.
A few minutes later she asked: Is he Jase?
I stared at my phone for a beat, then typed yes, and put the phone down.
I couldn't sleep that night. I stared at the ceiling and replayed everything—from Jase to Ethan—in my head. I was tired of it all.
Saying I didn't like Jase anymore was a lie. Saying I didn't want to see him was a lie. But what could I do? Tear people apart and make them stop? I turned over and a tear slid across my face, soaking the pillow.
Jase, this time I have to forget you.
The next morning, someone was standing downstairs when I left for work. I walked straight over without noticing who it was until he called out.
Ethan approached with a gentle smile. "Chloe, morning."
"What are you doing here?"
He was silent for a moment. "I'm here to find you. Can we get back together?"
"This isn't about getting back together. I don't like you—do you understand?" I felt he was stubborn.
"How could you not like me? You've done so much for me. How could you not like me? Was it all fake?"
He bent down to meet my eyes.
The summer morning breeze felt cool, but it couldn't ease my agitation.
I never intended to like him. A breakup was inevitable. I inhaled and exhaled, then said earnestly, "I came to you because you reminded me of him."
"Even if you treated me like he's fine."
A pleading look crossed Ethan's face. This was the first time I'd seen him so humble.
"Chloe, I'll treat you right."
He stepped forward to take my hand. I pulled back and sidestepped. "Forget it. I'm going to work."
Without another glance, I walked past him and hurried off.
A full life keeps me busy, but nights bring confusion and sadness. I still thought of Jase. Where he used to inspire me, now he just hurt.
I hated that I couldn't let go of someone who'd forgotten me.
A few days later Laura Moore asked to meet. I figured it was about Jase.
I had questions for her—she was the one who told me Jase had died and she hid the truth from me.
The first thing she said when we sat down was, "Jase is doing well now. I hope you won't bother him anymore."
Why does everyone keep telling me not to bother Jase?
I smiled wryly. "Laura, you know Jase and I better than anyone."
She cut me off. "Don't bring up the past. Lena is the one who suits Jase best."
"Suits him best?"
I let loose a question that had been building up. "Why do you hate me? You weren't like this before."
When Jase used to bring me around to meet Laura, she was always so warm and sweet. When Jase was abroad and couldn't be with me, she checked on me. But six months ago her smile vanished and coldness took its place. That's when she told me Jase had died.
"I don't hate you," she said after a brief pause. "Do you remember Daniel Hayes?"
"Yes."
Daniel wasn't just Laura's ex—he's my stepbrother; my dad married his mom.
"Do you know why Daniel and I broke up?" Laura stared at me for a long time. "Because of you."
I was stunned.
She looked out the window and was silent so long I thought she'd say nothing.
"He liked you."
I snorted. "Like me? He's my brother—are you mistaken?"
Now it was Laura's turn to look surprised.
I hadn't known when they were together that Daniel was my stepmother's son. My dad had kept it from me, afraid I couldn't accept a new stepmom. There wasn't a chance to tell Laura later.
The world was oddly tangled; our lives connected in strange ways.
"Brother?" Laura's hand trembled around her spoon, and she seemed emotional. "That day I saw Daniel helping you into your place… I actually went to find you to talk about Jase, but I saw that instead…"
She didn't finish, but I knew the moment she meant—that day Jase had mentioned breaking up, he didn't answer me by call or text, I got plastered and couldn't be stopped, and Daniel ended up taking me home.
"When you introduced Daniel to me and Jase, I still didn't know he was my stepmom's son. My dad was worried I wouldn't accept a stepmom, so he never told me."
Laura's lips trembled. "Why did I find messages from you on Daniel's phone saying you didn't want to break up with him?"
I thought back and remembered—I had drunkenly texted the wrong person. I meant to send it to Jase but sent it to Daniel instead. I had explained it afterward. I didn't think Laura had seen it.
Now I understood why Daniel and Laura split and why Laura lied and told me Jase died—because of those misunderstandings.
A wave of helplessness washed over me.
From the start of our meeting, my composure unraveled and my voice rose. "How could you… how could you lie to me for so long? What if Jase wakes up?"
Laura turned her head away and lowered her eyes, trying to hide her feelings. "He's okay now. Remembering the past would only hurt him. You're doing fine. Staying where you are is best for everyone."
What does she mean remembering the past would hurt him? What does she mean I'm doing fine? How would she know what I've been through, how long I've suffered? If I'd been by Jase's side, would things be different? Would we not have broken up?
I trembled with anger, fists clenched, eyes burning. "You say that so lightly."
I didn't trust Laura's explanation—she must be hiding more.
"Are you hiding something else?"
Laura looked at me, mouth opening and closing, hesitating.
I was furious at her deception and secrecy, but I was also helpless.
"Laura, does Jase like Lena?"
This gnawed at me. I couldn't believe Jase would so easily fall for someone else, even with memory loss. If he did—then I'd truly be finished.
Laura dodged the question and instead said, "Chloe, some people, once missed, are gone for good."
Her words sounded like they were meant for me and for herself.
"You're not the only one Daniel's disappointed in. I'm disappointed in you too."
"Sorry. Dealing with Jase back then drained me. I couldn't handle or think through much. It's done now—let it be."
What a convenient "let it be," I thought, laughing angrily.
But what else could I do?
I had thought after that day Ethan would have figured things out and stopped coming after me.
14. That evening after work, I ran into him again outside the office.
I tried to pretend I didn't see him and walked a few steps, but stopped and turned. Ethan was still standing there, looking hurt and forlorn.
He looked exactly like I used to when I clung to him.
"Wanna grab dinner?" I asked.
A flicker of hope lit his eyes.
Rush hour had passed, so I picked a nearly empty place, ordered a few dishes and a milk tea.
Ethan stared at the oversized cup of milk tea in front of me—half of it packed with pearls. "So this is what you like. I thought the stuff I gave you—"
I cut him off. "None of the things you gave me were things I liked."
"Fair. You're not her, and I never really knew you."
Ethan lifted his head and gave me an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry for the things I did to you before."
I sipped my milk tea without answering. He went on, "I've liked a girl for a long time. She said she'd be with me, and I wouldn't believe in 'childhood friend loses to a sudden arrival.' I thought as long as I was there for her, as long as I treated her well, that would be enough. But in a blink she ended up with her senior."
He laughed at himself, all his earlier edge gone.
The Ethan in front of me now was a completely different person from the one who made things hard for me before.
"That was the saddest time for me. By coincidence you appeared—you looked a lot like her. Unluckily, I'm not a good man. I bullied you and embarrassed you to get back at her, but I also realized you weren't her."
"You can say all that," I said. "Did I ever treat you like Jase?"
"So there's no need to apologize," I added.
The light in his eyes flickered at my words. He stared at me a long time, then said, "Chloe, if I told you I liked you, you wouldn't believe me, would you?"
I frowned. "Ethan, I've told you more than once I don't like you."
"I know."
He fell silent for a moment, then asked, "Do you still like Jase?"
Hearing Jase's name made me freeze. I didn't answer.
A fragile expression crossed his face. "A friend told me about Jase. At first I didn't care, but slowly I found myself liking you, and I couldn't stay indifferent anymore."
He lowered his eyes; his voice was hoarse. "If you two can't be together, could you consider me?"
I was about to speak when Ethan hurried on, "Don't rush to reject me. I'm willing to wait."
I said sorry.
That one "sorry" carried so much—"Sorry I used you," "Sorry I can't accept your feelings"—and I wanted Ethan to understand. I loved Jase so much; how could I ever really be with Ethan? I had never had a heart for him.
We ate in heavy silence, finishing our meal without another word.
At the end, Ethan offered to walk me home. I declined. As we parted at the door, maybe it was my imagination, but I thought I saw tears in his eyes.
15. On Friday after work, I was surprised to see Jase downstairs.
He was sitting on a bench under the trees, leaning back, one hand casually on his knee—relaxed, a little tired.
I instinctively hid the barbecue behind me and kept my bag in front, half embarrassed.
I regretted taking it to-go, but then thought he couldn't stop me now, and strode over with false confidence.
I was wondering whether to say hi when he looked over as if he'd sensed me.
Dusk was settling, the sunset fading, the evening breeze carrying the scent of flowers and leaves.
My heart skipped a few unexpected beats. The quiet that had settled inside me stirred again at his presence.
All my recent efforts felt wasted. I was annoyed—annoyed at myself for being so weak, annoyed that I fell apart every time I saw Jase.
Serves me right, I thought, for wasting myself on him.
I stupidly yelled at him in a petulant voice, "I don't want to see you."
Then I plunged into the elevator, hammered the buttons, watched the doors slide closed and cut off his view.
I slumped down against the wall, deflated.
Back home, I devoured the barbecue. The spiciness and numb heat brought tears to my eyes.
That night I couldn't sleep. My stomach started cramping.
Eating too much barbecue was always trouble—it's been a while since my stomach acted up, but this time it was fierce. I lost count of how many times I ran to the bathroom.
Exhausted, I leaned on the wall and crawled back into bed. Opening the drawer, I found the medicine box empty. Great—no meds left.
I ordered more on my phone, curled up under the covers, and the pain made me break into a sweat. Then my phone buzzed with an unknown number.
I swiped and answered weakly, "Please leave it at the door. Thanks."
I hung up, and the phone buzzed again.
"I don't have time. Just leave it at the door," I muttered, about to hang up, when the voice on the line made me alert.
"This is Jase."
Before I could say anything, he asked, "Are you sick?"
Concern threaded his tone.
Half asleep, I mumbled, "My stomach hurts…"
"I'm at your door. Open it."
I froze. He hadn't left?
"No—I'm going to sleep."
I tried to refuse.
I couldn't sleep at all.
"Be good. Take the medicine first."
That familiar voice—spoiled, exasperated—made my nose sting.
Who did he think he was?
"Just leave it at the door. I'm not getting up. I'm in pain."
Silence on the other end for a few seconds. "What's your door code?"
I blinked, then gave a string of numbers. I burrowed under the blanket, holding my breath. I heard the door open, then the bedroom door, footsteps approaching my bed until they stopped right beside me.
"Can you get up?"
I poked my head out. "No… just give me the medicine."
I reached out.
Jase didn't bother with words—he scooped me up, carried me to the living room and set me on the sofa.
I hugged my knees, my cheeks burning.
He poured me a cup of warm water and handed it over.
I didn't speak, distracted. The warmth in my palm spread to my chest. I took a small sip.
Lin and the others were wrong—Jase always came to "disturb" me, especially just as I was trying to move on.
"Jase, you've got the making of a total jerk."
My sudden, inappropriate outburst broke the silence.
He cocked his head and looked at me, puzzled.
I glared and gritted out, "You're eating from one bowl but watching another—you're dating someone and still bothering your ex."
He paused, then suddenly laughed.
Of all the nerve for him to laugh—he didn't understand how hurt, angry, and jealous I was!
Upset, I buried my head and mumbled, "Do you like Lin?"
He didn't answer right away. I looked sidelong and found him staring at me; the soft light seemed to catch in his eyes.
"Honestly? I don't have feelings for her. In fact, seeing you always makes me want to get closer."
He hesitated, then added, "Weird, right? She's my girlfriend—by that measure I really am a jerk."
"Don't say more."
I didn't want to hear it; my heart wasn't strong enough to waver again.
I hugged my knees tighter and whispered, "You know I still like you. Why say these things?"
"Okay, I won't."
A flash of tenderness crossed his face. He smoothed my hair and asked, "Still hurting?"
I shook my head.
Silence fell again. I glanced at him. He was twirling the stuffed cat he had given me—his gift.
"Give it here."
Although he seemed to have forgotten, I blushed and snatched it back. I'd promised myself to forget him, yet I kept the things he'd given me.
"Fine."
Jase pinched my cheek playfully, a small smile on his lips.
I watched him, my eyes watery. How many times had my heart lurched today?
He always did this—already with a girlfriend, yet still teasing me.
"We're broken up," I reminded him kindly.
He looked at me a long time before turning away, voice quiet: "I know."
After the medicine, the pain eased. I glanced at the clock—10:30. It was late. He should go.
Before I could say anything, Jase offered to leave.
After he left, I sat on the sofa holding the empty cup. The water had grown cold.
I peered through the peephole and saw him leaning by the elevator, right in front of my door. The elevator hadn't moved; it was still on the first floor.
Jase looked up and our eyes met. I panicked and crouched down even though he couldn't see me.
Trying to forget someone you love that much isn't easy.
I'd tried so hard not to think of him, but whenever he was near, my heart still rippled.
16. A few days later I was half-asleep in bed when a sharp, persistent ring jolted me awake.
An unknown number. I turned over and tapped it off, but it kept coming.
Woken up and annoyed, I was even more irritated that the caller kept trying. My temper flared.
When I finally picked up, the first thing the caller said was, "Is Jase with you?"
Me?
I rubbed my eyes. It was Lin's voice.
"What are you talking about?"
I was incredulous. It was so late—there was no way Jase was here. I certainly wouldn't have let him stay over.
"Are you doing nothing? I'm going to bed."
Long silence, then Lin's voice, shaking with tears: "He’s missing."
"He's missing?"
"If you know where he is, please tell me. Mu-ying and I are really worried, Chloe. I'm begging you…"
When the call ended I couldn't sleep.
Jase missing… what did that have to do with me?
Even so, after half an hour I still couldn't fall back asleep.
It had to be something serious, or Lin wouldn't have called me in the middle of the night.
I opened WeChat and typed Jase a message: Where are you? Your sister and your girlfriend are really worried.
My finger hovered over Send. I paused and erased "girlfriend"… then sent the rest.
I deleted the three characters, typed "Lena," hit send, and set the phone down.
I tossed and turned in bed, picking my phone up every so often—no messages.
The moonlight seeped through the sheer curtains, softening the room in pale silver.
I slipped out of bed barefoot, closed the window, and leaned against the wall, clutching the phone in my hand.
I dialed Jason Moore.
No answer… I called again. Still nothing.
Panic started to creep in. What if Jason really was in trouble?
For some reason, I thought of that other night—the night I lay under the covers, calling him over and over, firing off messages that never got a single reply.
In the dark room, that lone screen was the only light. My heart sank bit by bit.
I went back to bed and lay on my stomach, chin on my hands, eyes dry and aching.
I wanted to cry… Jason always makes me worry.
17.
The next morning my eyes were swollen.
At work a coworker joked, "Were you bitten by a mosquito?"
I couldn't joke back. I stared blankly at my phone, debating whether to call Lena.
No—better not. That would make me seem clingy. Jason and I weren't together anymore; why invite trouble?
After work I dragged myself home.
No bus, no subway—just a twenty-minute walk, one step after another.
From a distance I saw a familiar silhouette sitting on the bench under the tree, the same way he always did.
I rubbed my eyes hard to be sure I wasn't imagining it.
I hurried over, stumbled on a stone, and almost fell, which caught his attention.
He looked up at me, eyes soft. He stood slowly and walked over with his head bowed.
Jason bent down and wrapped his arms around me. He murmured in my ear, "Chlo-Chlo, I missed you so much."
The sunset was gentle; the light warmed everything—just like the person holding me.
I froze, afraid to move, afraid I'd misheard.
He rested his jaw on the top of my head, teasing, "What? Turned to mush when you see me?"
My Jason… he was back.
I gripped the hem of his shirt like it was an anchor, tears spilling before I could stop them. "Why didn't you answer my calls?"
"I wasn't ready to see you yet," he said.
"No—no, I mean why did you break up with me? Why didn't you reply to my messages or calls?"
Jason didn't answer. He tightened his hold on my arm.
"Jason, you're so mean—forget something, and then just remember whenever you feel like it."
I sobbed into his chest. "Do you know how many times I cried because of you? You get amnesia and go find a new girlfriend, and now that you remember, you come back to me."
"My fault," he said.
"What about Lena? Is she really your girlfriend?"
I sniffed; my voice was thick with hurt.
"No."
He let go and cupped my face, rubbing the tears away with his fingertips. "I only like you."
"But we broke up."
I wouldn't let it go.
He took my hand in his, fingers interlacing with mine. His voice was low and steady. "I'm not letting you go."
"Jason, I'm still so sad."
I wrapped my arms around him, crying like I couldn't breathe.
…For a while, every time I woke up I wondered if I was still dreaming—if this was some elaborate wish. Only when I saw Jason making breakfast in the kitchen or reading quietly on the couch did it feel real.
As for Lena—weeks later she asked to meet me.
She slid a worn notebook across the table like it was a dare.
"It's Jason's journal," she said. "I should've returned it to him, but I thought you should have it—after all, it's all about you. Read it and you'll see how much he likes you. I'm sorry I took him. I hogged him."
"You said it was a car accident when you told Laura, right? About his memory loss."
Lena's fingers traced the edge of the table. "Actually, it was depression."
Those words stopped me cold. My hands trembled as I set my cup down and stared at her, searching her face for lies.
Depression?
"Bad enough to attempt suicide. He needed MECT," she said quietly.
My heart lurching, I couldn't process it. "Suicide?"
"Yes. He cut his wrist."
She touched her own left wrist and looked down, grief clouding her expression.
My head buzzed; I couldn't hear anything else. The words suicide echoed in my mind.
So that's why the scars on Jason's hand looked so awful—he'd been trying to hide suicide wounds.
"Those memories would only hurt him. He wouldn't want you to know," Lena said with a sigh.
"During treatment he lost most of his memory. I lied and told him I was his girlfriend."
She rested her chin on her hand, face blank.
"It might sound crazy, but copying you wasn't hard. Still—no matter how much I tried, Jason never really liked me the way he liked you. The moment you appeared, his eyes changed. I was with him through six months of treatment, and I learned that look. That's when I realized how ridiculous and desperate I'd been."
I listened, stunned. Lena left without me even noticing.
Hands shaking, I opened the journal.
The pages were yellowed and worn, like they'd been thumbed through over and over. The handwriting was familiar, and tears pricked at my eyes.
"Doctor said treatment can erase memory—recovery could take months, years, or be permanent. Will I forget her?"
"When I'm better, I want to go back to Chlo-Chlo, take her shopping, cook for her…"
"This scar on my hand won't go away. Will Chlo-Chlo be afraid of it?"
"Chloe Reed is the girl I like. She has stomach problems but loves spicy food…she eats with her left hand…every time we cross the street she's scared. Without me, would she dare? Her name has an orange in it, but she hates oranges."
"My sister wanted me to forget Chloe, but if I forget her, what would I do?"
"Long treatment has blurred my memory. I don't remember a lot."
"When I woke up, there were people around the bed—strangers and familiar faces…I feel like I've forgotten someone important."
"Chlo-Chlo…why do I think of her again?"
At that, I broke down. I wanted to turn the page, but my hand felt like lead.
Pain clenched my chest; I sobbed until I couldn't breathe.
I was such an idiot. I had no idea—he'd been suffering in silence for me. I thought I'd already done enough, but Jason loved me far more than I imagined.
Thank God I hadn't given up.
My phone buzzed. A message popped up.
"Chlo-Chlo, when are you coming back?"
Tears blurred the screen. My fingers trembled on the keys.
"Jason, I like you so much."
Jason: "I know."
"I want to see you now."
"I'm right behind you."
My pupils snapped wide. I held my breath and turned.
He was already standing there, dabbing the tears from my face with a tissue. "Why are you crying like a little kitten?"
"Jason!"
I threw myself into his arms, gasping. "Why are you here?"
"Lily said she saw you, so I came to get you."
I slipped my hand to the place where his back was being gently patted and felt the raised scar. My heart clenched.
Jason instinctively tried to pull away; I gripped him harder.
"Don't leave me, okay? No matter what."
His body stiffened; his voice trembled. "I won't. Never again."
"Let's go home."
"Okay."
I lifted my head and noticed the smear—my mascara had ruined Jason's white shirt. I buried my face back into him.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"My makeup's a mess," I mumbled.
He laughed low and soft above me.
I didn't ask anything else. Jason didn't volunteer explanations. He was too smart not to already know what Lena had told me. I waited, for the day he'd tell me himself.
18.
Sunset smeared the sky red. Our shadows stretched long across the pavement.
From afar, I spotted a figure in the crowd.
Ethan Walker stood with his hands in his pockets at the crosswalk, his back to us. A petite girl stood beside him.
He must have felt me looking—he turned his head and our gazes met through the throng.
Ethan's lips pressed together. He barely glanced at the girl beside him.
Her profile, tilted, had a faint resemblance to me.
I looked away and walked on with Jason; I knew Ethan's eyes followed me.
The light turned green. He didn't move. When it switched back to red, he finally bowed his head like he’d conceded.
My phone buzzed as I passed him.
A message from Ethan. Two words: Goodbye.
That night I dreamed—vividly—of senior year. It felt so real that even after I woke I sat motionless for a long time.
Back then the school was close to home and I walked alone every day.
One sunny morning I carried a box of soup dumplings to school.
I stopped in an alley when I heard a noise and someone call, "Jason, long time no see."
Curiosity made me go back. A group of boys had surrounded Jason.
I thought they were picking on him and stepped in.
Jason looked at me then; his eyes were rimmed red and full of confusion.
As he took my hand to leave, his fingers shook and his palms were cold.
I asked what was wrong but he didn't answer.
The silence weighed on me. Feeling the dumplings go cool in my bag, I blurted out, "Jason, do you like soup dumplings? I bought some—do you want one?"
"That's okay, thanks."
Usually when someone declines, I drop it. But that day I kept asking. I don't know why—maybe I wanted to cheer him up with food, to get his attention.
When he hesitated, I pressed on. "They're really good. I always get them from this place."
This time he didn't hesitate. He took a bite.
I was giddy all day—finally talked to that aloof, untouchable guy and even fed him soup dumplings.
Four years had passed, and I’d nearly forgotten about it, but somehow it showed up in a dream.
My heart went tight. I wanted to cry for no reason. I wanted to see Jason right away.
I ran barefoot to his room. When I threw the door open, he wasn’t there.
My stomach dropped. I dashed to the kitchen, then into the living room. Bright sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, scattering warm light across the floor.
Jason was lying on the lounge chair out on the balcony, peaceful and still.
I called, “Jason.”
Only after I spoke did I notice my voice was hoarse.
He turned, saw me, got up, and strode over to scoop me into his arms. “Awake? Why are you barefoot?”
I wrapped my arms around his neck and said nothing.
On the balcony, Jason adjusted the lounger back so he could sit, then put me across his lap and gently rubbed my head. “Why aren’t you talking?”
“I just missed you.”
I clung to him tighter.
Now he went quiet. He nudged my neck with his nose.
I kissed the side of his head and whined, “I want soup dumplings.”
He smiled. “Still love them that much?”
“Yes.”
Sunlight was clean and bright; the sky was a calm, endless blue. The view stretched out in the distance. Nestled in Jason’s arms in that moment, everything felt perfect.
Jason—how wonderful.
[Extra — Lena’s perspective] I met a guy.
The landlord said a male tenant would be moving in, also from China.
When he arrived, he sat up straight on the couch. He turned and smiled politely at me—so gentle and well-mannered.
The instant I saw him I froze. He was so handsome.
The wind moved the curtains. I heard leaves rustling, and my own heart beating.
It was strange—I fell for him at first sight.
He said his name was Jason Moore. It was a pretty name.
Although he kept to himself and didn’t talk much, every morning when we exchanged greetings and he looked my way, my heart would race.
I peppered the landlord with questions until I knew where he was from, what school he attended, what time his classes began and ended, when he’d be back, which hours he stayed in the apartment. I even learned he had a girlfriend and when she called him.
Jason rarely smiled. He only lit up when he talked to his girlfriend on the phone. I wanted so badly to be the one who made him smile.
I went crazy over him—so obsessed that I collected things he discarded and rifled through his trash.
That’s how I discovered his secret—depression.
One day I found a pill information leaflet in his trash. I looked it up online and realized it was medication for depression.
I felt both relieved and worried. Relieved because it was my secret to hold; worried because I didn’t know how to help him.
Every day I wrote him notes, wracking my brain for things to say to encourage him in subtle ways.
One weekend I stayed out late with friends. On the way home I ran into some drunks who blocked my way and began hurling crude insults.
Jason appeared then.
I don’t know what he said to them, but they let us go.
I even heard someone say, “Jason, long time no see,” followed by a chorus of jeers.
Another night he came home late, his clothes rumpled, his steps unsteady. Through the thin wall I heard gagging noises. I clenched the bedsheet and didn’t sleep a wink.
He locked himself in his room until the next afternoon. When he came out, his face was colder than I’d ever seen.
I was terrified. I watched him closely for days until his condition improved and I could breathe again.
I assumed he’d had a fight with his girlfriend. After that, I never saw him take her calls.
I felt a strange happiness and became even more devoted to him, even though he barely acknowledged me.
Then, one night, Jason didn’t come home. The clock struck eleven and I panicked, a fear clawing at me.
I ran everywhere he might be and finally found him by the river.
The sight froze me: red everywhere. I ran like a madwoman. Blood streamed from Jason’s wrist, unstoppable.
Later, from the pages of his diary that I and his sister Laura found while packing his things, I learned bits of what had happened.
I hid the diary and read it at night, shocked and heartbroken.
“I met him again, that ghost who won’t let me be… He hasn’t changed—still that disgusting face.”
“I can’t escape. He locked me in a room, bound my hands and feet… disgusting!”
“My condition has worsened. Medicine doesn’t work anymore. I keep myself busy trying to escape the pain, but I’m so tired.”
“How long has it been since I slept without nightmares? I always wake up before dawn… Maybe if I leave, there will be less pain?”
“Chlo-Chlo, don’t wait for me…”
Reading that ripped me to shreds. I curled into a corner and sobbed until I had no tears left.
The boy I liked had been tormented like that.
How desperate and helpless must he have felt to want to leave this world?
I used every contact I had to make that scumbag pay.
I wanted him to suffer, to make him pay a thousandfold for what he did to Jason.
Jason woke up.
He lay on the hospital bed, silent, eyes vacant.
During treatment he’d lost memories—many things faded, including the girl he loved.
So I lied. Laura only glanced at me and didn’t expose me; she wanted Jason to forget the past. Compared to that, my lie about being Jason’s girlfriend seemed small.
I’d seen the girl he liked. Once he’d left his phone on the table unlocked and the gallery was full of her photos—laughing, crying, angry…
She looked pure and sweet, a complete contrast to me.
I tried to become the type of girl he liked. I changed my personality, my look, my style. Friends said I was different—like a new person.
I turned into his ideal type, but he still didn’t like me. Even with amnesia, he was distant and polite.
Laura told me to be patient—he’d be moved by everything I’d done.
But I didn’t want pity. I wanted him to love me, to want me back when I tried to kiss him and not push me away. I told myself I could wait.
Then the girl showed up. Even if Jason hid it well, I saw the difference in his eyes. Maybe he wasn’t into bubbly girls per se—he just loved that particular girl.
I knew I’d lost. Still, I couldn’t accept it. For half a year I’d been by his side through therapy, watching him get better. Why should she come along and effortlessly undo all my work?
They were already broken up. Even if Jason remembered everything, so what?
He was sensitive about that one thing around the girl he liked. Only I could accept him without reservations—I told myself that as if it were self-evident.
Then Jason’s memory began to return. He would sit there, staring blankly, sometimes transfixed on his phone.
When I realized he’d gone to look for her, I didn’t dare ask. Who was I to question him? His pretend girlfriend?
What if he hated me for lying when he remembered?
My fears came true: Jason broke up with me.
We’d never been together—how could we break up?
I went into a tailspin and tried everything to win him back.
I even arranged to meet Chlo-Chlo. Looking at myself in the mirror, I hardly recognized who I’d become—how long had it been since I was just me?
I had been pretending for so long.
“Chlo-Chlo, I’ve seen your photos. I always wondered what kind of girl you were. Now I see—you’re nothing special.”
Only I knew how jealous and weak those words were. I sounded like a homewrecker, and Chlo-Chlo’s face showed the hurt I’d expected.
I kept telling myself they were already over; there was no chance left. But it wasn’t enough. I dragged Laura into my schemes—she was the only one on my side.
That night Jason stayed out all night and returned the next day at noon.
I didn’t need to guess where he’d been or who he’d seen.
Seeing his back, I felt a rush of impulse to tell Chlo-Chlo everything—especially about the thing I’d done to destroy the other guy. I wanted to watch Chlo-Chlo leave Jason. No one loved Jason like I did.
The thought brought a perverse mix of pleasure and pain.
Before I could act, Jason disappeared again.
He and Laura had a fight—everything was about Chlo-Chlo. I’d never seen Jason so angry. Anything involving Chlo-Chlo seemed to strike a nerve.
We searched everywhere and almost called the police.
Laura and I combed every place.
Fear and panic consumed me. I was terrified he would do something stupid.
Forget everything—just find Jason and I gave up the rest.
Finally, I found him by the river.
He sat on a bench, head tilted back, eyes closed. The dawn sunlight poured over him, and for a moment I felt like he might vanish.
His first words to me were, “Lena, you always know where to find me.”
Always?
My chest dropped. I asked cautiously, “Did you remember?”
“Sorry for worrying you.”
A river breeze lifted a few strands of his hair. A cold wash ran through me.
He remembered.
“You…”
He smiled, looking at the water. His expression was calm and gentle, his eyes soft as the morning river.
“You were all afraid I’d remember the past. I’ve died once already—what’s left I can let go of.”
Jason didn't blame me for deceiving him. Honestly, I preferred that he would—at least then I'd still mean something to him.
Before I left, I gave Chloe the diary Jason had written before his treatments. It was meant for her all along.
I didn't tell Chloe about that other thing. The choice was Jason's, and I didn't want to leave a bad impression in his heart.
Jason—how I wished you could have liked me just once. Even a little. Even for a single moment. That would have been enough.
– The End –
□ Nine Returns of Fate
