Of course, his memory had gone back to the moment after I drunkenly confessed—before we officially started dating.
"Believe it or not, we’ve been together for a while," he said.
I grabbed my phone, trying to pull up proof that we were together. As I flipped through our chat history, the tears I’d been holding back finally fell.
Even when we were together, nothing between us had changed.
I always compromised and tried to please him; he always met me with indifference and perfunctory care.
It felt like a hand had squeezed my heart hard and then let go. Air rushed in and eased the choking, and I reached up, using the back of my hand to wipe my falling tears, then looked up at him.
Ethan’s long lashes drooped. It was hard to read his expression; his voice was so soft it was almost a whisper. "Is that so?"
All that endurance cracked. I suddenly stood.
"I lied to you. I’m sorry."
I gave up.
Forget it. Don’t walk that old path again. That seemed like the better choice—life doesn’t have that many more three-year stretches; youth doesn’t, and love certainly doesn’t.
Ethan’s face, which could be called strikingly beautiful, shifted into a complex expression. His thin lips pressed together; he said nothing.
It wasn’t the reaction I’d expected. I felt dazed and opened my mouth to say more, but no sound came out.
Ethan solved my panic for me. He put back on that familiar aloof, self-contained mask and changed the subject. "Sit down. Why are you standing?"
I shook my head and grabbed my bag. "If you don’t want Uncle Robert and Aunt Linda to worry, I won’t say anything. The caregiver is arranged. I’ll come see you when I have time."
He gave a soft "hmm." His narrow eyes glanced at me coldly. "Thanks."
I didn’t answer. I turned and closed the door, leaving in a rushed, awkward hurry.
Giving someone up wasn’t as hard as I thought. Maybe every defeat before had been training for this—today it finally had a result.
I was exhausted; my legs went weak. I leaned against the hospital wall and slid down, clutching at my empty chest, fighting the sting in my eyes. I couldn’t name the feeling.
Ethan’s expression had shown hesitation—he knew how things might turn out: that we could still be together.
But who could accept that?
Losing something you had felt like you finally earned is the most torturous kind of pain.
I’d rather have chased for six years than spend three getting what I wanted and then suddenly find myself back at square one.
I thought I wasn’t sad, but while driving I was so absent-minded I rear-ended someone.
There were seven or eight meters between our cars, and I couldn’t help but find it oddly funny.
"Miss, you hit my new ride and you’re laughing?" the owner of the car I hit came out, leaning on his hood and looking at me in disbelief.
I looked up at his clean-cut, boyishly handsome face and my gloom evaporated. Young people really have a particular charm.
"Sorry. Can I get your contact info? I’ll take full responsibility."
I pulled out my phone, waiting for him to give me a number.
He scanned me from head to toe, pursed his lips like he was trying to be comforting. "You’re really pretty. Don’t do stuff like this."
Then, ignoring my surprise, he turned and walked to his car with a swagger.
I stood there stunned for a long beat before realizing—he thought I was some girl who rented a luxury car to go show off.
Are young people’s imaginations always this wild now?
I couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry as I got into my car. Even after driving a ways, it still felt surreal.
At the auto shop’s waiting room, I found the kid who’d lectured me asleep on a couch. What are the odds?
I nudged him awake. Groggy, he blinked up at me. "What are you doing here?"
"Getting my car fixed. I wasn’t out fishing. Don’t let your imagination run wild. What’s your name? Put the bill on me."
"…Noah Carter."
I nodded, about to go talk to the staff, when Noah grabbed my wrist. "No need."
He fished his phone out and, eyes down, tapped to bring up a QR code. "Scan me."
I should have refused, but looking at his flushed ear tips, his soft short hair, long lashes and chubby cheeks, something melted in my chest.
I scanned and added him.
"Your name’s Claire Bennett? That’s nice," Noah said, arching a brow and flashing two small, mischievous teeth.
He actually had a cold, composed face—long eyes with a slight double-lid and a defined jaw—but somehow the baby-soft cheeks softened everything. When he smiled like that, he disarmed you.
On impulse I offered, "If you don’t want me fixing your car, I’ll take you out to eat sometime."
Noah raised an eyebrow, a little haughty. "Tonight."
I couldn’t help it. I laughed. "Okay."
Maybe I laughed too boldly, because the nearly six-foot kid in front of me flushed, bit his back teeth and became all soft and fierce at once.
02.
When the McLaren was brought around, I took Noah out to eat.
He climbed into the passenger seat and propped his arm on the window, smirking like a little rascal. "First time riding shotgun with a girl."
"Sounds like you’ve had a few female passengers," I teased, turning my head toward him.
It made sense—he was that kind of boy.
He didn’t blush easily, but his ears always turned red the moment someone teased him. Innocent and yet he had a bit of a player look.
"No, I haven’t," he said.
I steered the car and didn’t push it.
We’d just stopped at the restaurant when my phone lit up with a call from Mom. "Didn’t Ethan Wells get back from his trip? Why can’t we reach him? His mom called me."
Damn.
I’d been too wrapped up in my heartbreak to remember Ethan’s phone was broken.
"His phone’s gone. I’m with him now. We’re getting a new SIM this afternoon. Gotta go," I lied, then hung up quick in case the story unraveled.
Noah stared at me. "You lie without blinking."
Embarrassingly, I felt a prick of shame.
After we ate, we popped into a phone store. I bought a black one, paid, and nearly bumped right into Noah as I turned.
"Is that for your boyfriend?" he asked, his lashes batting like a nervous bird.
"My ex," I corrected, tucking the phone into my bag. "You want me to drop you off?"
"Drop it at his place first. I’m not rushing. I’m afraid your ex might be the impatient one."
Noah lounged back, a little rogue smirk lifting his chin. Irresistible and cocky.
I couldn’t help laughing. "We just broke up."
I hit the gas. The car roared and we rolled out.
Young people like thrills. Noah flashed another crooked smile. "Then it’s good. After a breakup you know the next one will be better."
Next who?
Him?
I lifted a corner of my mouth but said nothing. When we reached the hospital and Noah was about to get out, I leaned over to click his seatbelt. "Stay put. I’ll be right back."
His mouth twitched in annoyance—everything about him was the opposite of Ethan—but he obediently leaned back and started idly scrolling.
I took the new phone upstairs and saw Ethan sitting quietly on the bed, flipping through a book. Calm. Distant.
He glanced up when I came in and his eyes fell on the phone box in my hand. "Thanks."
No reply. I opened the drawer, fished out his shattered, mangled phone, swapped the SIM and powered it up. Only after I finished did I hand the fixed device to him.
He took it with long, pale fingers. His lips parted. I braced for another thank-you. "You’ve been saying ‘thanks’ more today than in the past year. What, did losing your memory make you more polite?"
He was briefly surprised. Then his sculpted face softened into a sincere, gentle smile so genuine it made my chest ache.
Maybe all those years I only made things harder for him.
In the name of love I’d tried to bind him, and we’d trapped each other in impossibilities.
Bitterness welled up. I felt like I couldn’t hold it in, so I bent my head. "I’m leaving."
And I ran, the door shutting behind me.
As soon as it closed, the tears came. I wiped them away, steadied myself and took a breath.
It’s okay. If it’s wrong, fix it.
So why was I wrong to love someone I could have had?
Why would fate have to crash and rewrite itself—why would something as dramatic as amnesia have to fall on us?
It wasn’t just that I was tired enough to let go. I was angry, too—angry that fate seemed unfair enough to steal back what I’d worked so hard to win.
03.
By the time I got back in the car, I was calm. Noah turned his head to study me. "Did you cry?"
A pang hit me and I snapped, "What are you talking about? Where are you going? I’ll drop you."
I couldn’t bring myself to look at him. But in my peripheral vision I saw his expression settle—his face had a chill similar to Ethan’s—and it made me feel worse. I eased onto the gas.
"No need. Just drop me by my place."
He was considerate in his own way, and I didn’t want to be his chauffeur, so I agreed and drove toward his building.
I’d been buried in work at the office for days, barely going home. When I finished the project and closed the file, the hollowness crept back in. Before I could spiral, my mom called, furious. "Claire Bennett! How can you hide something this major about Ethan’s accident?"
"How did you find out?" I asked.
"Wasn’t I with your father at his checkup today? How long were you going to keep this from us? Get over here!"
Ethan’s accident had already reached my parents. They knew we had been together, and I was afraid—afraid that if Ethan, with no memory and under pressure, was coaxed back into being with me by circumstances, it wouldn’t be the reconciliation I wanted. It would be unfair to both of us.
I hurried into the room and saw Ethan sitting quiet and steady on the bed, surrounded by my parents and his. They all hovered around him offering their care.
"Claire’s here. Let Claire look after Ethan," my mom said with a practiced smile to Ethan’s parents, staying polite.
I’d never let my parents see the ways I’d suffered in front of Ethan. I was terrified they’d think poorly of him. The Ethan they knew from me was always gentle, considerate, and attentive.
"Claire’s been busy all day. Let her go rest—it’s not that serious, and there are caregivers. Let the young couple have some time together," Ethan’s mother said with a soft, maternal smile.
I waited until everyone else had left before I went over to Ethan Wells.
“Wasn’t that a lie?” I asked.
Ethan raised his eyelids a fraction and looked at me, his expression unreadable.
I sat down, grabbed an apple, and started peeling it for him. “What about you? Didn’t you want me to lie to you?”
Silence spread between us. I laughed softly and handed him the apple. I was about to speak when he said, “I promised back then. I don’t have any reason to go back on that because of something like this.”
There was an inexplicable calm in his voice.
“Would you?” I pressed. “Honestly—after losing those three years when I chased you so hard, your pity and compassion never reached their peak. Are you willing to settle with me?”
I asked the question with a lightness that surprised even me, as if I didn’t care what answer came.
Ethan’s eyes were deep; he always wrapped his feelings tight like a perfect jade sculpture. Now, though, a ripple passed through them. His voice carried resignation. “Claire, I just don’t remember.”
A little tenderness was all it took to break me. The defenses I’d built collapsed, and I almost choked on the words as I told him the truth, “You really… you don’t love me.”
Back at the beginning, I didn’t have the courage to keep fighting.
I pulled out my phone, opened our chat history, and shoved it into Ethan’s hands. He lowered his gaze and scrolled slowly. After a long time, he looked up, his thin lips pressed together, a mix of irritation and guilt written on his face. “I’m sorry.”
No one apologizes for not loving someone. I shook my head, wiped the stubborn tears, and took the phone back. I forced a smile. “Rest. You should be fine physically. I’ll pick you up when you’re discharged in a couple of days. Don’t feel so guilty.”
I didn’t stay a moment longer. Forcing myself to let go was its own kind of pain. I left without looking back.
04. After the last time I drove distracted and wrecked the car—costing tens of thousands to fix—I was extra careful this time, crawling along at a snail’s pace.
When I stopped at a light, a WeChat popup popped up: Sister, what a coincidence.
Curious, I opened it. Another message followed: Look behind you. I glanced back and saw Noah Carter’s pale arm extended out the window, lazily waving.
In the middle of the complicated, tired grind of life, who feels joy over a chance encounter? Most people look down and keep walking, choosing solitude. But in that moment, my mood lightened at his “what a coincidence.”
The call connected. “I’m playing pool with friends. Want to join, sis?”
Noah had asked me out a bunch recently, and I’d declined every time. But young people’s enthusiasm seems endless.
It was only nine—early. Going back would be boring. Fine, I’d go.
Noah cut in front of me and I followed close behind.
Inside the private room, a handful of kids about his age lounged on the couch. For the first time I felt old. Damn, I was aging.
“Holy—Noah, where did you find such a hot sister? Are there more like her?” A slim boy in a blue tee leapt up and reached for Noah’s shoulder.
Noah shrugged him off, flipping his fingers dismissively. “You don’t get to find her; it’s luck.”
A little proud, a touch cocky—adorable, actually.
When we started playing, I leaned against the wall with a drink, watching the smooth line of him as he chalked and lined up shots. A wicked thought sparked inside me.
Not attraction—revenge.
Bottled-up anger wanted an outlet. I downed the drink and pushed the ugly feelings down. “I’ll play a game with you.”
His eyes lit up, and he flashed his two front teeth in a bright, spoiled smile. “I love to win.”
I grabbed the chalk and wiped the cue. “Okay, I’ll let you.”
That casual line sparked a ruckus. Everyone crowded around and teased Noah.
Ethan used to love pool. I once hired a pro coach so I could play with him—almost treated it like a profession.
But Noah was actually good. I slipped up a bit and, since he loved winning, I didn’t fight it. I let him take the ball.
By the end he was under the light, cue in hand, glancing at me with long, narrow eyes and a flashy grin, the people behind him cheering. Their faces blurred into a picture in my head.
In that instant, something in the room ignited me. The grief that had weighed on me since Ethan’s accident—feverish and heavy—found a crack and wanted either salvation or to pull someone else down with me.
Noah, I’m not a good person. I told you that.
“You let me win, right?” he asked, setting the cue down and stepping close. He leaned in, breath warm, eyes smiling. He seemed pleased whether I’d let him win or not.
Because I’d started thinking about him, I looked up and smiled. “Is there a reward for letting you win?”
Noah blinked, a little taken aback. He looked softer—less unreachable. “What do you want?”
His eyes were strange—when he looked at you cool and narrowed, he pushed people away. When he widened them, the chill melted and what was left was boyish, handsome, impossibly charming. Cute, really.
My heart gave a little tug. I beckoned him with my finger. He obediently leaned in, and I pressed a light kiss against his cheek. “This is enough of a reward.”
Noah jumped as if surprised, then straightened quickly, hand to his cheek, eyes wide and flushed at the edges. “You…”
He couldn’t finish the sentence, but his face was written with embarrassment and something else. I was about to say, “I’ll take responsibility,” when my phone rang.
I turned, reached into my bag on the couch, and saw Ethan’s name on the screen. All the heat drained out of me—an instant chill that wasn’t cold but sobering. “You left your keys at the hospital.”
I dug through my bag; the garage key wasn’t there. We had a spare at home. “Leave them there. I’ll pick you up when you’re discharged.”
Ethan’s soft breath stuttered. “Okay,” he said quietly.
After I hung up, it hit me—this was the first time I’d had a real reason to see Ethan and I’d chosen not to go.
I stood a little dazed until Noah came up behind me and put a warm hand on my shoulder. He was close, breath brushing my ear—hot and clean. “Why are you so nice to your ex? Giving him a phone and picking him up from the hospital. Is that how you are with all your exes?”
Bitter.
I deflected. “Yeah, that’s what sisters do. You like that?”
Noah adjusted my shoulders, frowning a little. “I don’t even have an ex. You’re still half-tied to yours. I don’t like it.”
That bluntness left me speechless.
Maybe I’d been silent too long. Noah took his hand off my shoulder, angled his face away, and sounded awkward. “You don’t have to change if you don’t want to.”
There was a hurt in him—though he acted proud and casual, I heard the grievance.
“I will,” I said.
I would change—not for Noah but for myself. I couldn’t keep holding Ethan on a constant loop in my head and on my lips.
05. I drank with that group of kids until I was numb on purpose. Alcohol blurred the line of my own conscience and allowed me to take Noah home.
His kisses on my neck were hot and reverent. His fingers were long and nimble, and when I arched and gripped the sheets, Ethan’s face flashed through my mind, a stabbing ache. Without hesitation, I pushed Noah away.
He looked at me with desire-wet eyes—hurt and alluring—half on his knees. “Did I hurt you?”
His voice was huskily restrained, careful in a way that made him seem as pitiful as I felt.
Something in my chest crumbled. I looked down and whispered, “No. Maybe we should forget it—we’re both drunk.”
“I’m sober.”
He said it firmly, teeth clenched.
I met his gaze and saw the way he was holding back, biting at the edge of desire and disappointment. For a stupid second I lost my head. I leaned in and chomped gently at his throat.
We didn’t sleep. The whole night was his quiet retaliation for my earlier rejection.
Only I knew it hadn’t been teasing to him; it had been my fleeting conscience flickering at some decency in me, then snuffed out by temptation.
In the morning when I woke to Noah watching me, I grabbed one of his T-shirts and chucked it at him. “Put it on.”
He frowned. “Gross.”
“You gonna run around naked?”
Young people have no shame. He raised an eyebrow and grinned. “If you don’t mind, sure.”
I wanted to say “get lost” out loud but it stuck in my throat, so I turned away and got up to wash.
I went out for clothes and breakfast. When I came back I threw the outfit at him. “Get dressed. Eat, then get out.”
Noah stared at me.
I frowned. “What?”
He stepped close and whispered something that made my face burn.
Damn it.
“Wear what I bought you. Eat, then go home and change!”
My face flushed hot—these young ones are unbearable.
I drove him home and waited with my arm on the car door. He unbuckled but didn’t move, just looked at me. “Get out. Why aren’t you moving? I’ve got to get to work.”
His face blackened, and he stormed out. Before I could pull away, he looped around, grabbed my face, and kissed me hard.
Watching him breathe softly after, I suddenly understood what he’d been angry about and felt an unexpected ache—wet and tender, like his eyes.
“You’re not allowed to act like you’re dropping off a hookup,” I snapped.
Noah’s words landed like a slap.
I couldn’t help it — a short, involuntary laugh slipped out. Of course he could be like that. "Got it. Go on up."
But once the car pulled away and threaded its way between the high-rises, my grip on the wheel tightened.
If he’s not a hookup, then what is he?
A boyfriend?
I licked my lip and decided not to define what we were.
06. Ethan was discharged. When I went to pick him up, he was already changed and sitting on the couch reading, legs crossed, sunlight soft across him.
If you didn’t look into his eyes, you could almost swear he was an angel.
He noticed the movement and looked up. I almost thought there was tenderness in them.
I cleared my throat to break my own fantasy. "Let’s go. I’ll take you home."
He Chased Me Too Late to Fix It
Ethan stayed quiet until we were nearly at his place. Then he asked, "Where did you go these past few days?"
"Work stuff. Busy with the company."
I turned a corner and answered absentmindedly.
The atmosphere chilled for a beat. Before it had felt comfortably silent; now there was a weight to it. I glanced at Ethan without meaning to.
He was too beautiful — sculpted in a way that made the word 'crafted' feel inadequate. Only now his brows were slightly knitted and his lips pursed, making his color seem even paler.
"Is—is something wrong?" I asked instinctively, flustered by his mood.
His brows lifted for a moment, then smoothed. "Nothing."
Then, "Thanks for taking care of me this time. I'll take you out to dinner tomorrow."
Tomorrow?
Noah had been trying to make plans with me for days. I’d ghosted him again and made him furious, so I agreed to dinner the next day.
"I…" I couldn't get out a refusal. I had never once told Ethan no; I didn't seem to know how.
He watched me with steady eyes, voice cool. "Do you have plans?"
It sounded so much simpler when he asked it. I answered with a small, "Mm."
Ethan paused for a breath, expression going distant. "Then another day."
I couldn't help smiling at his back.
"Another day" always meant "there's no next time." He was the same as ever — even if he forgot everything, he hadn't changed.
The next night I went to the restaurant Noah had picked. The place was dark-toned, the sort of setting that practically whispered illicit romance.
He was half-leaning at the entrance, head down on his phone. The glow highlighted a kind of coldness in his face.
I think I've always liked that look: distant, untouchable.
He saw me and lifted his chin a touch. His eyes lit up like a switch flipped. For a second he looked thrilled, then his smile flattened. "You're impossible to pin down. You get out of bed and forget people."
"Busy," I said, and the word had a bitter edge to it as soon as it left my mouth.
How many times had he brushed me off like that before?
Before Noah's expression could harden, I grabbed his hand, trying to sound gentle. "Sorry. There won't be a next time, okay? If you really miss me, just come by my office."
The smile came back instantly, small and proud. "I'm busy too."
"Fine. When you're not."
After splitting from Noah, I got a call from my childhood friend Mark: "Come to the vineyard. Ethan's out of the hospital and you didn't even tell us?"
"To celebrate him being released?"
"To celebrate your break-up!"
Mark gave a low laugh. I could hear the quiet somewhere behind him — sounded like he was skulking and giggling.
I turned the car around and laughed. "This isn't a happy occasion."
Those friends of mine were cruel. They'd teased me into being Ethan's lapdog more than once, faithful to a fault.
Mark hummed meaningfully on the phone, clearly disapproving but not wanting to go into it. He probably thought my escape was a cause for relief.
"He's lost three years of memory," I said flatly, pressing the gas a little too hard. The sudden push made my heart skip.
"What?!"
Mark's voice was stunned, then panicked — like someone who'd just realized something big was about to go terribly wrong.
I hung up, not wanting to listen to his overreaction.
07. I walked into the vineyard and instantly heard people teasing Ethan. He'd lost three years — which, to them, somehow made him a kid again?
Ha. Even with ten years gone, Ethan would still look older and more composed than any of them. I wondered where they'd found the nerve to joke.
There were two empty seats beside him. Before I could think, Mark waved me over. "Claire, come sit."
He had that eager, gossiping look that made me itch.
I sat. He pushed a glass toward me and lowered his voice. "Claire, I watched you falling for Ethan. Give him some time."
Wasn't he just saying we'd celebrate my break-up? Now he was playing peacemaker?
I felt annoyed and took a sip. "You said you watched me fall for him. Why is he your friend and not mine? Why should I wait?"
I kept my voice down to avoid making it messy.
Mark fell silent for a long moment and then, with an absurd little solemnity, said, "Ethan likes you."
"Likes my ass." I said it in a voice that couldn't be called loud but wasn't small either.
Ethan turned at my voice, expression unreadable and calm.
Likes? Really?
Well, it's too late to fix a lot of things now. I had dragged Noah into this mess in a moment of heat — no regrets would be disingenuous — but I still considered myself responsible in my own way.
Ethan hadn't been drinking. He was the one watching us while we drank, and in the end I got roped into making sure he got home.
Before I left, I shot Mark a look. He was hopeless.
I rested in the passenger seat with my eyes closed. Ethan started backing out, head a little turned. "Didn't you say you had plans tonight?"
"They ended early. Mark called, so I came over."
"You left pretty soon."
"Well?"
I asked without meaning to prod. Ethan seemed to take it as a slight.
He pressed his lips faintly. "Claire."
He said my name low and heavy; the displeasure in it was obvious even if he stopped there.
His tone snapped me back. I felt a tiny rush of shame for how seamlessly I'd brushed him off before. I licked my lips. "I have something to tell you."
"Go on."
He didn't look away, voice cool. That gave me courage. "I found a boyfriend."
He'd already told people we were over; maybe he wanted distance. The thought made my words easier, more decisive.
A screech of brakes. The car halted hard.
Ethan finally turned. His face was hard as stone. "What did you say?"
He looked worse than I'd ever seen him. Ethan never let his feelings show like that. My heart pounded so hard I felt like it might burst out of my chest.
I felt strangely guilty and weak. "Weren't we… broken up? And you lost your memory! Think about it — I chased you for three years to get you. Three years. So right now our relationship is short three years."
I swallowed. "Even if we were together now, it's like not being together. It's more than three years gone."
His long eyes narrowed, and a bitter smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. His knuckles whitened on the wheel.
"Do as you like," he said.
Then he stomped the gas and sped off. Of all people, in my car.
The mood became icy. I couldn't understand why his memory loss had made him retreat like that.
08. The night of graduation I got plastered and stumbled over to Ethan's door reeking of booze.
He had one hand braced on the doorframe, brows knit, voice cold and clear like a mountain spring that shocks you awake. "Claire."
He was leaving the country to study further; I was staying. We couldn't keep shadowing each other anymore.
If I didn't say it that night, everything could change and I couldn't let that happen.
I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around his neck. He reflexively slipped an arm around my waist. "…Ethan."
I wasn't actually a light drinker, but getting drunk hid my embarrassment. I knew he'd likely refuse, but I'd rather risk the No than never try — that was the greatest thing I felt I could give him.
Ethan closed the door behind us, pulled me down onto the couch, and turned to get water. I grabbed his wrist.
"Don't go."
"I'm getting water for you."
His tone was as cold as ever, yet somehow I caught two strands of warmth.
Those tiny murmurs turned into courage.
"I like you, Ethan." My confession floated in the quiet.
He was silent for a long moment. Then he untangled my hand and said gently, "You're drunk."
He dismissed me, giving me a polite out — kind and cruel all at once.
I forced my eyes open and looked at him straight on. "I'm not. From the moment I knew what 'like' meant, I liked you."
He didn't answer. His fingers curled slightly; his lashes lowered.
I knew him so well. He was hesitating, restless.
Whether it was pity or reluctance, I wanted the chance — the honest, unhidden chance to be with him.
"Try it. Let me chase you. Okay?"
I didn't mean to cry, but pleading made my eyes sting and tears wet my lashes.
Ethan's gaze was dark and deep. Finally, with a reluctant "Mm," he agreed.
Joy flooded me. I couldn't help confirming it again, but he had already turned to pour water.
I sipped from the cup he handed me, small mouthfuls of warm water, and he stood close, my heart hammering, terrified he'd hear it.
"I'll walk you home," Ethan said, voice firm as he headed for the door.
I followed. We walked side by side in the silent night under the hazy, amber street lamps.
We lived close; in college we'd rented nearby, and I suddenly regretted that — being so near meant the walk was over in no time.
"Goodnight."
I stood at my door watching him.
For a sliver of a second, Ethan's narrow eyes softened and his chin tipped in a small nod.
I watched his slim silhouette disappear into the elevator and went inside, my heart full of girlhood dreams.
I didn't sleep a wink that night. It wasn't until dawn that I finally drifted off — and when I woke, it was late morning.
The day after I confessed, I was a little giddy. I slipped into a figure-hugging red dress, did my makeup carefully in the mirror, and called Ethan. "Do you want to go out today?"
"No, I've already been in touch with my advisor. Working on a project."
On his end I heard the clink of a glass being set down. I could almost picture him in his silver-framed glasses, cool and focused. My heart softened.
"I'll buy some groceries and come over—I'll make you dinner."
He paused, like he was about to refuse, then remembered what he'd promised last night. "Okay."
I noticed the change in Ethan's tone right away and felt suddenly energized. I went to the market in a great mood—picked produce, meat—and knocked on his door.
Ethan opened a moment later, all in gray, which softened his aloofness; he looked gentle and pretty. He took the bags from me and carried them into the kitchen.
I followed and found him deftly washing vegetables. Watching his back, I had a sudden, ridiculous daydream that we were already married. A sweetness washed over me. "Let me help."
Ethan didn't look up. He set the washed veggies in a basket and said, "Together."
Together sounded better—more like being married.
Later, sitting at a table full of food, I took my first bite and felt like nothing could taste better than this.
Ethan was busy the whole summer. I started taking on more at the company, but I still made the effort to see him—cook a meal, take a walk.
Until he left for the States.
Separated by an ocean, I learned how terrifying distance could be. Someone who doesn't love you won't even try to keep up by text.
I waited and waited, hurt, then tried to let go.
All I ever saw were messages like: "Sorry, just missed this," "Busy," "Lab just finished."
To numb the constant feeling of losing him, I bought 172 round-trip tickets to the U.S. over three years.
On his graduation day I stood in the sunlight holding flowers and watched him from afar, like a god descended in the sun. I finally felt released.
Loving him didn't mean I had to have him.
Maybe leaving my sad one-sided love at its most beautiful point was the best choice.
"Ethan, congrats on graduating."
I marched forward and shoved the bouquet into his arms.
His lips curved in a rare, soft smile; his eyes were nearly intoxicating. I was tempted to try one more time—one last time.
"It's been three years. Do you want to be together? This is my last time asking."
I purposely used a breezy tone to hide my panic.
Unexpectedly, Ethan's long lashes lifted and he said, "Yes."
I was more stunned than joyful—I didn't even know where to put my hands, clutching the hem of my dress.
His gaze dropped, and he freed a hand to take mine, fingers lacing together. "Still nervous?"
His teasing relaxed me instantly. I realized it late, then let the joy drown me, wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed him quickly and lightly.
He answered with a deepening in his eyes and a faint pink at his ear tips.
But fate seemed to think our love was forced. It all snapped back to where it started.
"Arrived."
Ethan's voice was cold; his mood clearly dark.
I snapped back to the present, nodded blankly, unbuckled my seatbelt, and was about to step out when he called, a little restrained: "Claire."
I turned. He had nothing more to say—frowning, restless in a way I couldn't name.
Three years ago, it turned out I was already just a bland option to him—edible but tasteless, nice to keep but easy to discard.
I pressed a hand to the car door and laughed softly. "Ethan, even God thinks we aren't right for each other. If we had the chance to choose again, what are you waiting for?"
Look forward. Don't look back. Don't make me sad.
Realizing how little I meant to Ethan three years ago hurt. I'm Claire Bennett—meticulous, wanting everything perfect. How did I spend so many years turning myself into someone else's bland fallback, someone's second choice?
Pathetic.
Hungover and miserable, I couldn't get out of bed. While planning to skip work, my phone rang.
"Sis, I just woke up and miss you."
Noah's voice was syrupy—he'd just woken up, a little childish. I smiled with my eyes closed. "Bring me breakfast."
His tone went sugary in an instant. I felt inexplicably lighter, pushed through the haze to take a shower and do skincare. Just as I finished oiling my skin, the doorbell rang.
Noah stood there with both hands full of breakfast. I took the bags and muttered, "How am I supposed to eat all this?"
"Try a bite of each."
"You crazy? You are such a rich kid."
Suddenly a pair of hands wrapped around my waist and Noah scooped me up into his arms. He leaned close to my earlobe and said, suggestive, "You smell so good. They call me 'the rich kid'—wanna play servant for me?"
"Get lost."
I bit my tongue at the words before he turned my face and kissed me.
Then it turned into him eating first and me afterwards—young people really have endless energy.
After I told Ethan the truth that day, I felt lighter. I no longer evaded Noah; I enjoyed his affection and returned it.
That was, until we were holding hands leaving the Chanel store and bumped right into Ethan. In an instant my hand slipped from Noah's.
I didn't know why I did it. I couldn't bear to look at either of their faces. My heart squeezed unpleasantly—guilt? fear? Fear of what?
Ethan approached and glanced at me calmly, his eyes unreadable and deep. I felt helplessly pathetic.
When he walked away, I realized Noah had already stepped back and was leaning on the railing, expression cold and bitter.
He was waiting for me to explain; I had no words. I pinched my nose and said something pale, "I just—reacted."
I truly had. No thinking, no intent.
Noah tapped my cheek with the tip of his tongue and cut me off. "Ex?"
He didn't need any confirmation. He sneered, "You're still hung up on him. Why did you mess with me?"
With that, he turned and left quickly, like he was fleeing.
Watching him go, I felt awful. It wasn't that I was hung up—I was forgetting.
After that day, Noah didn't contact me for a week.
I opened his profile picture a hundred times without sending a single message.
After Ethan, I seemed to guard myself from everyone.
I was exhausted. Curled on the couch, I drank straight from a bottle, too lazy to get a glass.
Then the bell rang. I staggered up and opened the door—it was Noah.
He'd lost weight, looked tired, but somehow more handsome.
His lashes drooped; he looked vulnerable, and it made my heart ache in a protective, maddening way.
"Can't you just soothe me? Even one sentence."
He sounded so wronged that his voice shrank. I didn't hesitate—I threw myself into his arms and wrapped my legs around his waist. "Noah, from now on, whenever I make you upset, I'll make it up to you, okay?"
"Can't you just not make me upset?"
Each "not" hit harder than the last, and his hand around my waist squeezed like he was terrified of hurting me.
He could.
His lowered head and steady decision healed so much of my insecurity, my years of groveling, my self-denial.
That night Noah was more passionate yet more restrained than usual. Holding his face under the dim lamp, I met his gaze.
His eyes were wet and tender. I tilted my chin and kissed his eyelash. "I like you."
There was a beat, then he went wildly, joyously happy.
Noah stayed at my place for days. While rubbing in oil I teased, "Why don't you go home and pack your things and move in?"
"What are you talking about?"
He sounded faint, almost unreal.
I watched him in the mirror—his eyes widened slightly, pitiful in the most endearing way. "Fine if you don't want to."
Maybe I was a little mean. I had to tease him.
"I do."
His ears flushed, and he accepted my teasing. My heart overflowed.
Everything seemed to be moving toward the right place, until Ethan texted: Get down. I'm in your office parking lot.
A bad flinch went through me—an instinct, not a good feeling.
I opened Ethan's car door and got into the passenger seat, studying his cold profile. "What's wrong?"
His long lashes trembled. He turned to me, eyes heavy and intense. "I remembered."
At those words I was bewildered. I hadn't expected him to remember forever, so I had already accepted that he might never.
I nodded, "That's good."
Ethan's eyes narrowed slightly. His voice was so cool it felt like charity. "Claire, I never wanted to break up with you."
A thread of unnameable resentment crawled into my chest. My tone went cold. "Then you can just assume I wanted to break up."
I was braver than I'd felt in front of Ethan before. My heart raced. To cover it I added, "And Noah and I are doing fine. If you want, I can introduce you."
Ethan's face immediately darkened. He arrogantly pinched my chin.
I'd always known Ethan had arrogance, coldness, and a streak of ruthlessness; his upbringing taught him restraint, so he usually just looked composed and distant.
When you love someone, you can see through who they are and still throw yourself in.
When you don't, that same peel-back of the mask feels like an insult.
People are just biased like that.
Before I could furrow a brow and say something sharp, Ethan withdrew his hand and calmed down. "You don't need to be mad at me. I like you."
Hearing him say "like"—something he hadn't said in all these years—unexpectedly rattled me.
"But I don't like you anymore," I answered softly, head bowed, helpless but gentle—the voice I'd used through my youth. Loving him for so long had taught me to love myself. Being with Noah taught me that mutual love mattered.
"Get out."
Ethan’s face was white, his lips white. He looked awful, but he forced himself calm and spoke.
I heard him and ducked my head to unbuckle my seatbelt, ready to leave. I didn’t want to argue about how harsh and ugly his tone was—just end it.
But the moment I opened the car door and put one foot out, he yanked me back hard. “Claire Bennett, who gave you the right to leave? You’re the one who’s liked me, you’re the one who provoked me—why is it still you who doesn’t want me?”
I looked up into Ethan’s slightly reddened eyes. His expression was repressed and restrained; he looked almost heartbreakingly fragile—too pretty, with a kind of grievance that didn’t suit him. Ethan had never looked like this before, and my chest tightened in a way I couldn’t explain. “…I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your sorry.”
His grip on my wrist tightened until it stung.
I stared at his long pale hand, the knuckles white from pressure. It hurt, and for some reason my mind flashed to Noah Carter—if it had been him, he would’ve felt the pain I felt and apologized and let go.
That was the difference.
I pried his fingers open and turned my reddened wrist. My emotions were steady. “I’m sorry for all the years of messy entanglement, for being the one who disturbed you—not for choosing to leave you today.”
I bent and stepped out of the car, walking away briskly and without looking back. I convinced myself I felt no regret, no sadness, no remorse—but tears came anyway.
I didn’t wipe them. I was afraid Ethan would see and think I couldn’t let go.
11.
I thought I’d made myself clear that day. I never expected to run into Ethan again when I went downstairs to grab a package.
He was sitting on the hood of his black car, all in black, backlit so I almost didn’t recognize him. But for some reason I knew it was him the second I saw the silhouette.
When you’ve liked someone a long time, even if you let them go, you still have that one glance that finds them.
My hands tightened on the package, but I walked over and stopped in front of him.
“What are you doing here?”
“Why don’t you like me anymore?”
Ethan didn’t look up. He said it quietly, as if he didn’t understand.
Before I could answer he shifted his gaze to my neck. For the first time, color bloomed on Ethan’s usually cool face—scarlet, desperate, maddeningly enthralling.
He rubbed his cool fingers over the marks on my neck, voice hoarse and broken. “Claire, tell me nothing happened between you and him.”
Seeing him like that didn’t make me happy or pitying. I simply said evenly, “Ethan, we broke up. We broke up a long time ago.”
“Broken up.”
Those two words seemed to ignite him. Ethan’s carved features shifted, his beauty sharpening into something brutal. “No… we didn’t.”
He spoke each syllable like he refused to admit it.
I drifted back to a memory—Ethan had once liked a girl. Her name was… I couldn’t forget. Zoe.
Everyone saw how gentle Ethan was with Zoe. Thankfully, Zoe never settled down with him; they never even became a couple.
I have to admit, when Zoe ended up liking someone else, I felt a petty, sneaky little joy.
That jealous, blurred look probably looked a lot like Ethan’s now.
A pang rose in my chest—poor Ethan, poor me—but I saw clearly: Ethan didn’t love me enough.
There was one ugly truth I wouldn’t admit to anyone: I always compared his treatment of me to how he’d treated Zoe. And he always lost.
“Ethan, you’re just unwilling to accept it. You can’t stand that I liked you for so long and then just left.”
It wasn’t so hard to prove he didn’t love me. “Whether it’s like or love, you don’t act like this.”
Do you remember Zoe?
I was jealous of her.
But I couldn’t bring myself to say it.
“Claire, don’t deny me.”
There were even tears glistening on Ethan’s long lashes. “I just turned liking you into a habit.”
Turned liking into a habit?
That sentence slid into my chest like a needle. Blood ran silently and it hurt.
I started to turn away. I didn’t want to argue over words that would keep wounding me—my life now was something I liked a lot.
But Ethan wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, clamping me tight as if afraid I’d leave. He buried his sharp chin on my shoulder and murmured, pleading, “Can we start over?”
I grabbed his wrist. Before I could answer, a tall figure appeared in the stairwell.
Maybe he’d waited too long and thought I wouldn’t come up. Noah stood there stunned for a second—I couldn’t even see his expression—and then he turned and walked away, long legs hurrying like someone fleeing without a backward glance.
He didn’t even come up to confront Ethan. Realizing this made my chest ache so badly tears fell.
“Ethan, did you remember when I said I’d chase you—did I ask your permission?
Now, please respect me. I don’t want this. Can you leave me alone?
Stop bothering me.”
The grip on my wrist instantly loosened. When I released him and glanced back, Ethan’s normally dark, deep eyes were gray and hollow, his face and lips as bloodless as marble.
He was so beautiful—always had seemed like a carved statue. Now he truly did: flawless craftsmanship with no life.
I didn’t look back. I ran toward the direction Noah had gone. He looked so hurt—he must have gone to hide and cry.
Winter made everything wither; the cold before the snow bit through you. But when I went after Noah, my heart felt hot—burning.
12.
I thought it might take ages to find Noah, but even sulking dogs don’t wander far. Maybe they’re afraid of getting lost, or afraid of missing the person who’ll come find them.
I found him sitting by the convenience store door with red-rimmed eyes and a six-pack at his feet. A few girls were hiding a little distance away, whispering and watching his pathetic little slump.
I crouched and snatched the beer from his hand. He looked at me with wet eyes and I soothed him gently, “Come home, okay?”
“Is there still space for me there?”
Noah tried to take the beer back, but I held on. He gave me a damp, aggrieved look.
I took a sip, pinched his chin, and teased, “Come home and I’ll feed this to you—okay if I give you all of this?”
I pointed at the six-pack. Noah glanced at it, his ears flushing pink, sounding pouty and childish, “I guess that’s fine.”
I glanced at the girls peeking and smiled, standing and handing him the beer. He didn’t take it—he got up and pulled at my sleeve, walking ahead stiffly.
I carried the beer behind him and couldn’t help laughing. “Hey, mister, I never agreed to let my ex chase me again. Really—I like younger guys.”
Noah stopped mid-step and turned, face dark. “What if I get old?”
That logic was something else.
I stepped up, handed him the beer, and pecked his lips, “Then I’ll only like Noah Carter who’s young.”
We got to the stairwell and saw Ethan hadn’t left yet.
Noah was obviously pissed. He stared straight at me, the redness in his eyes still there, now spiked with mischief. “Sis, I want to kiss you—right now.”
I didn’t hesitate; I looped my arm around his neck.
Noah wasn’t shy in the slightest. Snow started to fall.
First snow, kissing the person you love—what could be more romantic?
He led me upstairs, we pressed against the door, and afterwards he tenderly took care of me.
Even at his age he knew how to be gentle. When you truly like someone, being good to them seems written into your bones.
There’s no such thing as “turning liking into a habit.”
The moon outside was harsh. I jumped down to draw the curtains and my eyes landed on a figure dusted with light snow.
My hand tightened on the curtain rod.
“Noah, send him a message from my phone—tell him to go.”
I whispered, clutching the curtain.
I knew I’d upset the person standing outside when I pulled the curtains, but I couldn’t stand watching the person I’d held so carefully for years get frostbitten in the first snow. If he couldn’t move me, at least don’t let him hurt himself.
Let Noah send the message to calm him—and make Ethan finally give up.
“All right.”
Noah’s voice was sweet, a little smug. When I saw Ethan get into his car, I closed the curtains with relief.
Noah pulled me in, pinching my face and scowling, “You didn’t even delete your messages with him! And you let me see them!”
I covered his pretty eyes. The jealousy and irritation pouring out of them were almost unbearable. “I’ll like you more and more.”
But Noah paused, then leaned into my neck in that helpless, spoiled voice, “No need. I already hurt. It’s fine if you keep liking me.”
Fine.
Later, when I finally went to erase everything involving Ethan—my pathetic, humiliating past—I saw what Noah had sent: “Brother—Claire is exhausted. You’re heartless. Didn’t you expect her to drive you to the hospital at midnight?”
After a while, probably after looking through my messages, he added, “I’ll treat her better than she ever treated you.”
I left that last line undeleted. I was grateful someone cared about my shaky heart and my endless self-compromise. And that person happened to be Noah.
Sweet extra:
While looking for something I found an old diary. Realizing I’d once written things in it, my heart sank and I tossed it into a storage box.
The thud caught Noah on the sofa. He hopped over and squatted in front of me, eyes bright. “Why are you upset, sis?”
One minute I was annoyed, the next I was embarrassed that he might read my diary.
Maybe my guilt showed on my face because Noah narrowed his inviting eyes with a hint of fierce. It was a milk-tooth ferocity—cute but sharp—and it made me equal parts thrilled and scared.
His long hand slipped into the little storage box from the corner of my eye and pressed down on the diary. His voice was soft and strangely odd. "Sis, can I read it?"
Little brother—could I say no?
"As long as you don't get mad."
"How could I ever be mad at my sister?"
Noah smiled in a way I couldn't quite read and let his gaze fall on the diary. He began to flip through it quietly.
I stared at the clean line of his jaw, spaced out, and noticed his thin lips were pressed tight; his expression had already gone sour.
Sensing this was getting serious, I scrambled up, bracing my hands on his shoulders to pull the diary away. Noah leaned back just enough to dodge, then caught me with a quick reach and hauled me into his arms, holding me there to "admire" together.
"The air was cold, and the dorm window was fogged with Ethan and Zoe's names. Everyone was teasing them. I had to force a smile—jealousy really is so easy to understand."
"Zoe failed calculus and buried her face in her arms and cried. He said he'd tutor her. I looked at the grade report in my hands and suddenly didn't feel so happy."
…
"Zoe's with some math major named Jared now. Ethan's been cold lately, but he doesn't seem all that crushed. Maybe he didn't like her that much? I actually felt wretchedly glad."
I snapped my hand down on the page, not wanting Noah to see the ugly parts of me. "Stop reading."
With a soft slap, Noah closed the diary and tossed it aside. He turned my face toward his and his thin lips brushed mine. "I'm the jealous one. I'm the one who felt wretchedly glad."
For some reason that line warmed and stung me at once.
Noah proved his jealousy in action. When night fell he scooped me up. "I'm taking you somewhere."
I was tired and drooped my head, annoyed with him, but I bundled up tight and let him lead me out.
When he parked in front of the university gate, I froze. "How did you know this is my school?"
Noah toyed with my fingers. "It's my university too."
Our campus doesn't let outsiders in.
I don't know what he said to the security guard at the gate, but he pointed at me and managed to get us through, leading me inside.
Walking through the snow-blanketed old campus hit me in a place I couldn't put into words.
He brought me back to the freshman study room. Noah climbed in through the window and opened the door for me. Inside, he stood at the window facing the quad and, with his hand, wrote "Noah Carter Claire Bennett" on the glass.
Suddenly my eyes went wet.
The harsh white light in the classroom spilled over Noah's tall, narrow silhouette and made him look impossibly upright.
How could someone somehow step on all the exact spots that healed every hurt from your youth?
By the time I thought that, I was already at his side. At the other window I wrote our names too.
The glass, thick with breath and fog, filled up with "Noah Carter Claire Bennett" until it completely covered the "Ethan Wells Zoe" that used to be there.
"Sis, there was a time the campus was locked down. You climbed the wall and got stuck— I pulled you down."
Noah bent close. His nose touched mine as he gently told the memory back to me.
"I remember thinking, this sister is just too adorable."
There was a soft darkness in his eyes, full of regret.
I looped my hand around his neck. "Then why didn't you recognize me at first?"
"I couldn't believe it. And I wasn't sure enough to be brave."
The fog on the window blurred the names again. This time there was no teasing from classmates. I could finally kiss my boy properly.
– The End –
