I stood there dumbstruck, feeling like my heart had been ripped open.
I had expected this the moment I agreed to help him chase my roommate, but seeing it happen still shocked me. It still hurt in a way that made me dizzy.
They were kissing so intently they didn’t notice there was a third person behind them.
"Want to come over tonight?"
Ethan Caldwell’s voice sounded hoarse in the quiet night.
Those words made my heart drop into an ice pit and freeze solid.
So they’d already gotten this far?
My roommate gave him a playful little bop and laughed, "What are you thinking? I promised Grace I’d help her with her thesis tonight!"
They leaned their foreheads together and chatted for a bit longer. Even from a little distance, their closeness looked intimate and warm.
After she went upstairs, Ethan turned and finally saw me.
"Grace?"
He wiped the smile off his face.
I stiffened and turned away, refusing to look at him, forcing my emotions down as I walked back to the dorm.
That scene had hit me too hard. A tidal wave of sourness and helplessness filled my chest until I could hardly breathe.
I’ve stood by Ethan as a friend for ten years. He’s never faked affection for any girl, and toward me he’s always been cold and rational.
He’s so sensible I even wondered if, to him, I was just a companion whose gender barely registered.
That was the first time I’d ever seen him look truly moved.
They’d only known each other ten days.
Ten days.
But I’d been crushing on Ethan Caldwell for ten years—almost my entire youth.
After failing the college entrance exam, I didn’t get into the same university as him. I repeated a year to try again, finally got in, then messed up my application and had to go to another city.
During college we barely kept in touch.
Now he’d just started his career and I was drowning in my thesis; our contact was pitifully sparse.
Whenever I wanted to visit him, he would refuse without hesitation. "Grace, I’m busy."
Sometimes I’d call him on video and he’d cut the call off after only a few words because of work.
I knew I had no right to complain. In his heart I was just a long-time friend.
Then, ten days ago, my roommate borrowed my phone to take a picture and accidentally opened my album. She paused on Ethan’s photos and smiled, "This guy’s cute. Grace, do you know him?"
I clearly saw curiosity in her eyes.
I made a weak excuse and left.
Even knowing they probably wouldn’t cross paths was not enough— that night I couldn’t sleep. A fierce sense of crisis rushed over me.
My roommate was Westlake College’s acknowledged goddess—stunning and magnetic, both innocent and alluring. From day one she’d caused a stir.
But she always acted nonchalant, distant one moment and warm the next. Few people ever really got her attention.
I never expected a single photo would pique her interest in Ethan.
I never expected that when, in a rush of courage, I finally planned to confess to Ethan, the normally cool and distant him would, on a video call with me, fall head over heels for my roommate through the screen.
I remember his eyes lighting up, his brows softening—like his sharp edges had faded and there was only one person in them.
That look—I knew it well.
It was love at first sight.
The day after the video, Ethan called and asked me to help him pursue my roommate.
On the phone his voice was as low and beautiful as ever. "I’ve never liked anyone like this, Grace. Please."
It was the first time he ever asked me for a favor, and the first time he called me Grace.
But I didn’t hear real pleading in it—only the certainty that I wouldn’t refuse. He’d always been confident with me.
Realizing that made the jealousy and heaviness surge through me, seeping into every inch of my body.
What could I do? I couldn’t stop him from liking someone else any more than I could stop myself from loving him.
Possessed by some reckless impulse, I agreed.
I agreed to be the ridiculous matchmaker and help them connect.
From there it was natural: they added each other on WeChat and chatted till midnight every night.
Ethan, who always told me he was too busy, took three days off to meet her in person. Today was their first proper date.
But from what I’d seen just now, they were already inseparable.
When my roommate pushed open the dorm door she said, "Grace, we’re together."
"That’s great," I typed lightly, pretending not to care as I sat back down and opened my laptop to revise my thesis. It took me a few attempts to type the simple word “I.”
She laughed, "All thanks to you, our big matchmaker."
My fingers tightened on the keyboard. My heart lurched and my fingertips trembled.
Yeah—this was my doing.
I’d told Ethan everything about my roommate’s tastes and what to say. I’d told my roommate that Ethan had never had another woman, that he was completely smitten with her.
For ten days I watched Ethan fuss over my roommate, watched my roommate light up when she talked about him, watched them fall in love bit by bit.
Many nights I buried my face in the quilt and still heard his voice in my roommate’s phone audios: "Don’t stay up too late. Goodnight, baby."
His breathy smile, the low, sexy ending—that was the affection and flirtation I’d never had.
In that instant I realized how much I regretted it all.
I even thought, if only I’d lied to him and said my roommate liked someone else, his pride might have made him give up—and maybe I’d have had a chance.
"To thank you—" my roommate wrapped her arms around my shoulders from behind, pulling me out of my spiral.
"Tomorrow Ethan and I want to take you out to dinner, Grace. You won’t say no, right?"
My heart stuttered. I wanted to refuse, but she didn’t give me the chance. "He goes back to Harrison Tech the day after tomorrow, and once I get my diploma next month I’m moving in with him. After this dinner we probably won’t see each other much."
She rested her head against my neck and nuzzled, breath warm and soft. "That’s what he wants too."
If I’d harbored any last sliver of hope, it vanished then. I finally understood what Ethan meant.
At Red Lantern Hotpot near campus, the broth bubbled and steamed.
Ethan was peeling shrimp for my roommate.
He bent slightly, his long clean fingers deftly removing heads and tails—every movement deliberate and careful.
I suddenly remembered Ethan’s fastidiousness. He hated shrimp’s slimy, sticky feel—last year on his birthday I drove four hours to see him, brought a cake, clumsily made a whole table of dishes and burned my hand doing it.
When he saw my swollen, red skin he looked conflicted. "Grace, you don’t have to cook if you can’t."
He reached for my hand and smeared ointment on the burn, bandaging it with careful, gentle motions.
That rare tenderness left me dazed and awkward.
Looking at the plate of boiled shrimp on the table, I asked on impulse, "My hand’s not great—could you help me peel some later?"
Ethan frowned and refused without hesitation, his voice carrying a hint of reproach. "Grace, you know I’m particular about cleanliness."
That one sentence changed everything.
If it had been any other time I might’ve shrugged it off. But that night I felt unbearably wronged, and tears flowed without control.
Despite my injured hand’s pain, I forced myself to finish peeling the entire plate.
Ethan stood watching in silence. He opened his mouth several times but said nothing.
I tore myself from the memory as Ethan placed a peeled shrimp where my roommate could reach it, wiped his hands with a wet napkin, then slowly looked over at me.
When I met his gaze, it hit me like a blow.
He was doing it deliberately—putting on a show for me.
The small scar from my burned hand had always been a quiet barrier between us. Now Ethan was picking at that scab and rubbing salt into the wound, making it bleed to prove a point: give up.
He knew how I felt. He knew this wasn’t just friendship.
He’d invited me to dinner and peeled shrimp right in front of me for my roommate.
It was his way of saying stop dreaming. Don’t interfere in my life.
A sharp pain shot through me. I lowered my gaze, avoiding him, my chopsticks trembling.
The meal dragged on. No matter how much they displayed their affection, I kept my head down and said little—until a sudden commotion overhead drew my attention.
A guy at another table—face red—was apologizing to Ethan.
Apparently their table had been playing Truth or Dare; the loser had to add the prettiest girl there on WeChat, and he didn’t realize my roommate already had a boyfriend.
Ethan’s expression was ugly but controlled; the other guy muttered more apologies and left, embarrassed.
I turned to look at my roommate.
She loved hotpot but couldn’t handle much spice; her pretty face was flushed, a sheen of sweat on her smooth forehead, lips bright and full. Many eyes lingered in her direction—several guys still watched her with obvious interest.
From the corner of my eye I spotted a tall, well-built figure slowly making his way over.
My lips curved despite myself.
Youth gave you courage; even after what I’d been through, I still wanted to test my luck once more.
When I glanced back at Ethan, his face had darkened again.
Curious, I set my chopsticks down and crossed my arms, ready to watch the show.
The tall guy walked up to within a meter of my roommate, then, in one long stride, stepped around her and came straight toward me.
I startled.
The boy stared straight at me. His eyes were bright, his expression a little nervous, but his smile was pure. “Senior, can I chase you?”
I froze and instinctively looked at Ethan Caldwell.
Maybe it was my imagination, but his face seemed even colder than before.
For a second, a torrent of thoughts and images flashed through my mind.
In this ten-year one-sided pursuit, I hadn’t never wavered completely.
I’d watched Ethan turn down girls who confessed to him—he did it cleanly and efficiently, leaving almost no room for doubt.
So I guarded my love for him carefully, kept it to myself, and willingly played the part of his gentle, considerate friend.
But my passion got no response. What I got back was always his aloofness and restraint.
Over time, the ache of wanting what I couldn’t have and the exhaustion of hoping almost crushed me.
When I found out I hadn’t gotten into the same college as him, all those pent-up emotions reached a boiling point. For the first time, I thought about giving up.
On the night of the breakup dinner, he didn’t come.
When it ended, a male classmate confessed to me. I turned him down. He looked disappointed but still insisted on walking me home.
I hesitated—walking home that way would pass Ethan’s house—but somehow I agreed.
The moon was beautiful that night. The classmate walked beside me, trying every topic he could think of.
I answered everything earnestly until we passed that familiar gate and my feet stopped. I looked up and saw Ethan standing on the balcony, staring coldly at us.
The Moment My Crush Fell Apart
Back home, after a shower, I was on my phone and saw someone had posted a video of my classmate’s confession in the class chat.
The audio was noisy and hard to make out. The clip ended with the two of us leaving the private room together.
People who hadn’t gone were gossiping in the group.
Then I got a message from Ethan: “Do you want to repeat a year?”
I immediately understood the subtext—he wanted us to go to the same university.
Even though he never said it outright, that was the signal he was sending me.
For an instant, my heart felt like it had been quenched after a long drought, and yet it twinged with pain.
He always did this—after I accumulated disappointment, he’d hand me hope.
So now, when he had a girlfriend and used that dinner to sever ties with me, what did the look in his eyes mean?
As I hung on that thought, my breath caught; I leaned forward to read his expression more clearly. My roommate suddenly shifted and blocked part of my view, then took his hand—interlaced fingers.
Ethan seemed startled for a moment, then looked down at her. His eyes and the corners of his mouth softened.
In that moment I realized the last tiny piece of hope inside me had been utterly destroyed.
Strangely, I felt a calm I’d never known before.
I lowered my gaze and turned away, looking at the boy across from me.
He met my eyes unexpectedly and froze, then became even more nervous. He stammered the question again, “Senior, you—you can chase me?”
The crowd burst into laughter.
He hadn’t realized what was happening.
Someone who knew him teased with a grin, “Caleb, you’re the one confessing—how are you letting someone chase you?”
He stared at me blankly, like he’d finally caught on. His face flushed all the way to his ears. “I-I…”
“Okay.”
I cut him off.
This time, I didn’t look back at Ethan to see his reaction.
Amid the noise, I watched Caleb. I saw his Adam’s apple bob, the red spread down from his ears to his neck.
I smiled and couldn’t help repeating, “Okay.”
…Caleb really was the most blushing person I’d ever met.
After I said “Okay,” he grabbed my hand without asking and pulled me away. He took me to a dessert shop nearby and ordered several treats, laying them out in front of me.
When I stared, surprised, he looked down, gripping his spoon tightly. After a moment he looked up and smiled, “I saw you didn’t eat much back at Red Lantern Hotpot. They say sweets make people feel better.”
I looked at him.
Suddenly I realized someone had been quietly watching me that night, not far away—someone who could see my unspoken embarrassment and humiliation, the lonely, hollow place I was trying to hide. He’d whisked me away.
Something in me stirred.
Dessert really did lift my mood. I felt good all evening.
At dusk, Caleb and I walked across the campus field. The wind lifted our coats and the sunset painted the clouds in streaks of fire. Caleb carefully reached for my hand.
I tilted my head; all I could see was the clean outline of his face and the tips of his ears flushed by the sun.
That good feeling lasted until Ethan messaged me asking where I was.
I didn’t reply.
He didn’t message again.
I exhaled a long breath like I was blowing out years of pent-up frustration.
Caleb and I stayed out late before heading back to the dorm. After washing up I revised my paper. Only after sending the final version to Professor Lang did I unlock my phone.
At eleven that night, Caleb messaged asking if I was free tomorrow.
After a moment, I replied, “I’m free.”
He quickly answered, “Okay. Good night.”
I blinked and checked the time—it was three in the morning. I stared at his message, then smiled. I drank a glass of milk and was about to sleep when I noticed my roommate’s bed was empty and the blanket neatly folded.
She hadn’t come back that night.
The next morning I slept until ten. After washing and getting ready, I was applying lipstick when I heard the key in the door.
My roommate had returned.
I studied my reflection; my expression was calm, my eyes steady.
When I’d previously caught them kissing, my chest had hurt so badly I could barely breathe—like being torn apart and put back together, bone by bone. But the night I learned they were together, possibly doing more intimate things, I felt only a small pang. The imagined, tearing pain never came. I fell asleep easily and dreamlessly.
I didn’t know whether that meant I’d finally let Ethan go, but I knew it was a good start.
I pressed the lipstick flat and blended it. My roommate’s tired voice came from the bed, “He went back to the office.”
She looked pale and haggard.
I reached out to check her forehead for a fever, but she turned away, avoiding my touch. “I’m fine.”
I frowned.
She stared at me, voice thick, “I slept with him.”
I said nothing.
After a long pause, a complicated expression crossed her face. “Grace, is it possible between you and Caleb?”
I was silent because I was thinking hard about the possibility. After a while I met her eyes and smiled, “Yes.”
She looked startled, and the dark cloud in her face lifted as a look of relief replaced it.
Going downstairs, I found Caleb waiting outside the dorm.
He held soybean milk and buns in his left hand and porridge in the right, his broad shoulders and long legs making him look like a human poster boy. He drew a few admiring glances.
I walked over. “How long have you been here?”
His long lashes dropped. Blushing, he said, “Not long.”
Then, quickly, “I bought two kinds of breakfast. You pick first; I’ll eat the other.”
I glanced and said, “I want porridge.”
I paused after saying it.
Caleb paused too. His heated gaze landed on my face, his Adam’s apple rolled, and he turned even redder.
…I didn’t expect Caleb to take me to the Pacific Aquarium.
The lights inside were dim; fake seaweed and coral lined the walkway. Fish drifted near the tunnel, curious about the humans.
I tapped the glass on a display tank. A tiny transparent jellyfish darted away and I smiled.
When I turned to speak to Caleb, I found him taking photos of me with his phone.
I raised an eyebrow and moved closer. “Let me see.”
The photo was a half-body shot. I wore a white dress; my collarbone and shoulders were exposed, skin pale and luminous against the blue water. A few strands of hair lifted in a natural, beautiful mess.
It was clearly taken by someone who knew how to capture light and angle.
I leaned in and said, “You’re really good at this—”
My words cut off.
Caleb’s eyes were deep and he was very close.
So close I could feel how tense his body was, his warm breath, and the scent he wore.
Suddenly my face felt hot and my breath quickened.
Around six-thirty we took the bus back to campus. The window was open and the wind roared past.
I kept thinking about how his lips had seemed about to brush mine, then had restrained themselves.
He’d been breathing a little fast and told me earnestly that he could wait.
I glanced over and saw Caleb sitting up straight, staring ahead like a gentleman.
I’d looked him up on the campus forum after getting back to the dorm. There were countless posts from girls confessing to him, and detailed write-ups about his past achievements.
I watched him a moment, then blurted, “Why do you like me?”
He looked surprised I’d asked.
I fixed my gaze on his and bit my lip. “You’re excellent—why would you like me?”
His brows knit in a seriousness I’d never seen on him. “Senior, why would you think that?”
I said nothing.
He pressed his lips thin and after a long moment sighed. “The first time I saw you wasn’t at Red Lantern Hotpot. It was at the Pacific Aquarium.”
I was stunned. “The aquarium?”
He nodded softly and said, “That day you were holding two skewers of candied hawthorns, like you were waiting for someone.”
I watched your expression shift from hopeful to disappointed, my eyes stinging, but I forced myself to hold it together.
Until a little girl accidentally bumped into you. She covered her nose and wailed in pain. You crouched down, flustered, fumbling for tissues to wipe her tears. As you wiped, your own tears began to fall.
There you were, crying with the little girl, handing tissues back and forth until you both had no energy left. Then you split a candied hawthorn skewer between you.
The way you felt at that moment—
Caleb paused, thinking, and his face flushed. “Both pitiable and adorable.”
I lowered my eyes; heat crept up my cheeks for no reason.
I remembered then that Ethan had happened to be on a business trip nearby. He promised to make time to take me to the aquarium the day he finished and was heading back.
I waited for him, excited, for a long time—and all I got was a dry WeChat message: “Sorry, I overslept. Afraid I’ll miss the train. I’m leaving now.”
Ethan would never rearrange his plans for me.
I tilted my face up and looked at Caleb, surprised to learn he’d known me since then.
Caleb met my gaze calmly, his eyes gentle. “Later, the college held a lecture, and I saw you speaking on stage. That’s when I realized you were a year ahead—Grace Miller from the finance department.”
…By the time I got back to the dorm it was after nine. The lights were off; everything was dark. Maya seemed to be sleeping extra early tonight.
I didn’t turn on the light either. I closed my eyes and buried my face in my pillow, emotions churning until I could barely control them.
Today I realized that in chasing Ethan all these years, I’d been living in shame.
Even when I did everything right, his repeated coldness and neglect, his occasional teasing—it wore me out. I kept doubting and denying myself, like a cocooning insect, sealing myself up so tightly I couldn’t see any light.
I never expected someone like Caleb to show up and say, slowly and earnestly, “You’re great. Why can’t I like you?”
Something in my chest felt scalded, then warmth spread, little by little.
I took a deep breath, sat up, and posted to Moments: “You’re great too,” with the photo Caleb had taken of me earlier.
A few seconds later, Ethan messaged: “You took him to that aquarium?”
Then: “Are you with him now?”
The accusation was obvious in both messages—there was even a hint of jealousy.
My heart skipped.
Next second, Ethan called.
Seeing that familiar number—etched into me—I frowned.
Used to be, a perfunctory message from him would make me happy all day. Now, his call made me recoil.
It felt like even talking to him held no interest anymore.
I stared at the number for a few seconds, closed my eyes, and tapped Decline.
He called again and again; I hung up each time without hesitation.
After several repeats, I grew impatient and typed, “I’m in the dorm. Your girlfriend is asleep.”
That line must have flipped a switch—Ethan finally quieted down.
After that, Caleb and I grew closer.
We ate together every day, went to the library, walked on the track, watched new movies. Gradually we grew familiar enough that silence wasn’t awkward, yet conversation still came easily.
But our relationship remained like a thin sheet of paper over a window—unbroken.
Meanwhile, something seemed off between Ethan and Maya. I hardly saw them on calls anymore; the clingy closeness had ebbed away.
Maya kept things light on the surface, joking and laughing, but more than once I heard her suppressed sobs late at night.
I guessed it might be because of me.
After hesitating, I took Ethan off my blocklist and called him.
He picked up quickly; hearing his slightly hoarse voice, all my rehearsed words stuck in my throat.
He said, “Grace, you finally answered.”
For a moment I was stunned.
I used to say that to him—back then my tone was timid, helpless, as if I were scraping pride and dignity from my bones, grinding them into dust. I was humiliated to the core.
Luckily, someone appeared and pulled me out.
The image of Caleb’s gentle, handsome face flashed through my mind and I couldn’t help the small curve to my lips.
“…Grace, are you listening?”
Ethan’s voice sounded rawer.
I came back to myself. “…What did you say just now?”
Silence on the other end.
I thought for a moment and spoke calmly, “Ethan, I loved you for ten years.”
I heard heavy breathing, then finally Ethan said, “I know.”
Though I’d suspected it for a long time, hearing him admit it out loud made my chest ache—like being struck by a blunt instrument.
Not because of him, but because of how ridiculous my ten years of unspoken longing looked.
I drew a steady breath, deciding. “But after that dinner, I realized I don’t love you anymore. I only wish you well. Someone has come into my life whom I want to hold onto.”
I sighed lightly. “Ethan, we should both cherish the people beside us.”
He was silent longer this time.
Just when I thought he wouldn’t speak, he asked in a steady, oddly relieved tone, “Grace, are you with him to get back at me?”
His question lodged in my chest like a stone.
Not shameful, not exposed—just a raw, suffocating irritation.
How low had I stooped for ten years that he assumed I’d sacrifice my feelings to spite him?
I blocked him again after that, but the ache didn’t go away.
One night, after Caleb and I came back from a movie, that line flashed through my head again. I tripped on a stone and almost fell, saved only by a pair of steady hands.
I looked up at Caleb’s worried face and smiled. Then a sharp twist of pain shot through my ankle; I gasped.
“Did you sprain it?” Caleb frowned.
I nodded. He helped me to a bench and examined my ankle.
“Luckily it’s not dislocated. Let me rub it for you.”
Before I could react, a cool, gentle touch began at my ankle. His fingers pressed and kneaded with a soft, rhythmic motion that made me tingle. I let out a short, involuntary, “Ah.”
Caleb paused. From my angle I saw his Adam’s apple bob. My cheeks warmed.
Slowly the pain ebbed. I heard him ask softly, “Does it still hurt, Grace?”
“N-No,” I said, noticing my voice sounded hoarse.
He smiled slightly and set my foot down, looking up at me.
Moonlight outlined him—deep eyes, a straight nose, lips tinted red—his gaze open and focused.
A sudden thought popped up: this is it.
Before I knew it, I’d looped my arms around his neck. His hands found my waist. That was our first kiss.
I don’t know how long we were there. When he pulled back a little, breathing hard, his stare was so hot it felt like it might melt me.
“Grace…”
Something in my head snapped at the sound of his whisper.
I opened my mouth, about to say something, when a big hand grabbed my arm and hauled me off the bench.
I yelped.
Turning, I met a familiar pair of eyes—bloodshot, filled with shock and rage.
To be honest, I was taken aback to see Ethan. Especially seeing him like this: pale and furious, as if I’d done him some unforgivable thing.
It felt absurd.
He’d gotten used to my ten years of devotion, my unreciprocated kindness. When I stopped being meek and stopped looking at him, suddenly he was unhappy.
The most ridiculous part was that he could be distant and draw a line between us, but he couldn’t stand me letting go and moving on.
As he squeezed my arm, it burned; I glanced down and saw it was reddening.
I tried to move, but he tightened his grip. Then he turned toward Caleb with an expression that looked like hunger and hate.
I stepped slightly to shield Caleb.
Ethan froze a moment, his eyes even redder. After staring at me for a long time, he rasped, “Grace, we’ve known each other ten years. How long have you known him? Are you defending him like this?”
I looked at him, voice flat. “Caleb is my boyfriend.”
Ethan stiffened.
I watched his pale lips and said, “You’re hurting my arm.”
He seemed to come back to himself and slowly loosened his hold.
The instant he let go, I lost my balance and stumbled into Caleb’s outstretched arms.
A sharp pain stabbed my ankle. I looked at the swelling—only then did I realize that Ethan’s rough yank might have actually dislocated it.
Something in me wanted to laugh, and I did.
Ethan stared at my ankle, suddenly unsure. After a long beat he mouthed, “…Sorry.”
I didn’t want to deal with him. Tugging Caleb’s sleeve, I said, “Take me to the hospital.”
Caleb knelt and nodded. “I’ll carry you.”
I was about to climb onto his back when Ethan’s hand shot forward, then froze—fingertips trembling—hovering millimeters from my wrist.
I met Ethan’s gaze. His usually cold eyes looked bewildered.
After a moment he withdrew his hand and, voice rough, said, “Grace, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”
I declined quickly. "No need to trouble yourself. Thanks."
Then I leaned against Caleb Turner's shoulder and wrapped my arms around his neck, letting him carry me.
When we reached the corner, I glanced back at Ethan Caldwell.
He stood there in a white shirt and black slacks, motionless as he watched us. Tall and straight-backed, but with a lonely air about him.
We took a taxi to the nearby hospital. The doctor set my bone back in place, prescribed some medicine to promote circulation and reduce bruising, and glanced over both my face and Caleb’s with a clinical detachment. He told me to rest for the next two weeks and avoid strenuous activity.
My face stayed warm from the moment we got out of the taxi.
I pressed my cheek against Caleb’s back, feeling his heat, and heard him say, "Grace, for now, why don't you move into the apartment I rent?"
The doctor’s warning flashed through my head and my heart thudded. "Wha—what? Live with you?"
Caleb paused, smiling. "I mean, your dorm is on the fourth floor and your foot's injured. Stairs aren't convenient. My place has an elevator and it's decent. Move in with me, I can take care of you during the day. As for nights—"
He chuckled low, "I'll move back to the dorm."
My face flushed instantly. I mumbled a soft yes.
By the time we returned to the dorm it was around eleven-thirty. I hadn't expected Ethan to still be there.
He opened his mouth when he saw me, like he wanted to say something. I furrowed my brow and turned my head away.
As we passed him, Caleb suddenly said, "Grace, just pack a few things tonight. I have everything else at my place. I'll pick you up in the morning."
I turned slightly and caught Ethan shudder.
"Okay," I said.
When my roommate heard I was moving into Caleb's apartment, she didn't seem surprised. She just smiled and said, "Caleb's a good guy."
I watched her face regain some color and asked, "What about you and—"
"Are over."
She seemed to know what I was asking. Her expression was calm, her eyes steady. "After that night, when he called you thirteen times, I decided I couldn't like him anymore. I broke up with him the next day."
I froze. "How did you know…?"
I hadn't answered any of his calls.
My roommate pursed her lips. "I accidentally saw you set a 'love story' ringtone for his calls."
Silence. I didn't deny it.
She smiled. "That ringtone never played again. You probably changed it or blocked him."
I nodded. That night I hadn't just blocked him; I changed the ringtone to 'goaway.'
She lingered looking at my face for a moment, then sighed softly. "Grace, he's not worthy of my affection. And he's not worthy of yours either."
…Honestly, Caleb was really good at taking care of people—at least, good at taking care of me.
During the half-month I lived at his place, besides preparing for my thesis defense, I spent my time playing games and eating Caleb's cooking. I gained a few pounds.
I set down the mirror with mock indignation and looked up at Caleb peeling a tangerine for me.
He'd been coming back and forth from the dorm a lot; he looked leaner, his features even more defined—strangely handsome in a quiet way.
I blinked, flung myself at him, and buried my face in his chest. "Once my foot's fully healed, I'm going to lose weight!"
Caleb smiled but didn't comment. He popped a wedge of tangerine into my mouth.
That night a sudden downpour started. As Caleb grabbed his umbrella to go out, I closed my eyes and whispered, "Tonight… don't go back, okay?"
He stared at me a long moment. When I didn't add anything more, he tightened his grip on the umbrella and rasped, "Okay."
I woke in the middle of the night to thunder and turned my head. Caleb was still sleeping soundly beside me.
I smiled and prepared to drift back to sleep, then noticed the window was ajar and a fine rain was drifting in.
A few days earlier, Caleb had bought me a plaster shoe online because he worried I'd bump the injured foot. My sprain wasn't that bad anymore; in this half-month I'd recovered enough to take several steps without it.
I put on my nightgown and went to shut the window. When I glanced down, I saw a familiar figure.
My fingers froze.
The night was deep and dark. Under the dim streetlight I could make out his pale face and the glow at his fingertips as he smoked. Ethan was smoking.
I'd liked Ethan Caldwell for ten years. He rarely smoked—only when he was frustrated, at his worst—did he light up like that.
Lately, every weekend his silhouette had been appearing near my building so often it made me wonder if he was unemployed.
I knew Ethan saw me. I didn't want to look again. I closed the window, drew the curtains, and slowly walked into the living room to pour a glass of water.
Then the phone that had been left on the living room table started ringing.
An unknown number.
I hesitated, sighed, and answered.
His voice on the line was low, hoarse, raw with a kind of bewildered restraint. He said nothing but kept calling my name: "Grace… Grace…"
A sudden ache washed over me.
It wasn't pity, pain, or hatred. It was a dry, hollow sadness that only the word 'sad' could capture.
I thought of the lyric from "love story": "Cause we were both young when I first saw you."
When I first met him, we were both so young. I had been drawn to that cool, taciturn boy. I'd pretend to pass his classroom door, I memorized vocabulary for hours just to get into his class.
Back then, I didn't care about the outcome. Just a glimpse from afar filled me with happiness.
Later I grew cautious and anxious, worshipping him like an idol. He neither rejected nor approached me.
Gradually I realized the hurt he'd given me had nearly matched the awe and strength he'd once inspired.
In that moment, as he called my name again and again, something inside me shifted and all my feelings evaporated.
I heard myself speak. "Ethan, I used to—really, really—like you."
"But now, I really, really don't love you anymore."
After I hung up, I lay back down. Suddenly an arm looped around my waist and pulled me close; my head rested on his chest.
"There's a new chain that opened downstairs selling fish noodle soup. It's supposedly a ten-year-old shop, really flavorful, and they have tons of regulars. Want to try it for breakfast tomorrow?"
Caleb's tone was calm, but I heard a restrained edge underneath.
I raised an eyebrow and blurted, "No, no, no!"
He paused, ruffled my hair, and asked, "What, you don't like fish noodles?"
I tilted my face up, hooked my fingers around his neck, and grinning through my words said, "Right, I don't like them. I like porridge!"
