In that instant, I realized I didn’t know this man at all.
Half asleep, I heard someone open the door and slowly walk toward the bed.
A familiar presence washed over me. I sat up and wrapped my arms around Ethan’s neck.
Just a few centimeters from his lips, he suddenly turned his head and dodged my kiss.
That reflexive move stunned both of us for a moment and completely woke me up.
Maybe to avoid awkwardness, Ethan tugged at his tie and went straight into the bathroom.
Not long after, the patter of water sounded from inside.
Ethan had been working crazy hours lately, coming home late most nights.
Thinking he might be so busy he hadn’t even eaten, half of my earlier embarrassment and gloom evaporated.
I looked for my phone. Nope—still out in the living room charging.
I glanced over and saw Ethan’s phone casually tossed on the pillow.
Without thinking much, I picked it up, ordered from a place he’d been going to lately—a bowl of bone broth noodles.
Just as I was about to lock the screen, QuickEats sent a notification: a delivery-run order I’d placed had been completed.
The order details showed a packet of brown sugar and a box of menstrual pain relief capsules.
Then a WeChat message popped up on the screen: "The pain pills are super helpful, thanks."
I froze, my finger hovering over the screen for a long time before I finally tapped it open.
The most recent chat was from half an hour ago.
Ethan: "You looked pale when you left earlier."
The other side replied with a pitiful sticker.
Ethan: "I’ve finished the proposal."
She replied quickly: "Great. Then I can sleep a little longer tomorrow and get to the office later."
Ethan: "Okay."
A little while later Ethan asked, "You okay?"
No reply.
Five minutes passed, and he sent another: "I bought you something. Keep warm these days."
Ethan hadn’t set a nickname for her, but from the avatar and the messages, it was obvious.
Her name was Lily Zhou.
The first time I heard Lily’s name was a month ago.
That day Ethan came with me to a movie. Halfway through, I noticed he seemed distracted.
When I looked back at him, he was staring at his phone with a faint smile at the corner of his mouth, his whole face relaxed.
I watched him for a long moment before asking, "What are you looking at?"
He kept his head down, smiling, "Lily."
The air froze for an instant.
It was the first time I’d heard "Lily" come out of Ethan’s mouth.
He said it slow and soft, as if the name lingered on his tongue—strangely beautiful.
He seemed to realize something and snapped his head up to look at me.
After two seconds of eye contact, he handed me his phone and earnestly explained, "Lily’s a new colleague. She’s diligent. I just see her as someone I can mentor."
I stared at the screen. In the video, the girl seemed to be celebrating a birthday—someone smeared cake on her face and she only laughed, wide and bright.
You could tell she had a sunny personality.
"The video was posted in a group chat. I just clicked it open."
Ethan reached for my hand and squeezed it tight; his touch was warm and familiar. His voice was its usual steady calm: "Anna, trust me."
I looked at him for a long time. He looked open and convincing, not like someone lying.
But for some reason, I couldn’t get his smile out of my head.
We didn’t say another word for the rest of the movie.
I hadn’t expected that all of this had been foreshadowed.
About ten or fifteen minutes later the bathroom door opened.
Ethan had changed into pajamas; his wet hair was still dripping.
When our eyes met, he visibly stiffened. "You were looking through my phone?"
I was about to answer when a tickle rose in my throat; I covered my mouth and coughed softly.
He watched me for a while, then hesitantly asked, "Are you coming down with something?"
I gave a quiet yes.
Autumn had come. I’ve always had a weak constitution—if I’m not careful, a simple cold can turn into a bad fever.
In the five years we’d been together, every season change he acted like it was a crisis.
He checked the weather every day, told me to bring an umbrella, dragged me to the gym—always trying to prevent the worst.
I used to laugh at his anxiety, and he’d wrap his arms around my waist from behind, bury his face in my shoulder and mutter, "I don’t want you to get sick. Even a cold is bad."
But these past few days we’d been in this weird, silent fight, and he seemed completely unaware.
"Work’s been crazy. I haven’t been paying attention," Ethan said, pulling me back from my thoughts.
I didn’t notice when he’d sat at the bedside; he tucked the blanket around me, and a guilty look flickered in his eyes. "It won’t happen again."
I still had his phone in my hand and couldn’t help asking, "Just work?"
"I really don’t have anything going on with Lily."
He took a cigarette from the drawer and lit it, sounding exhausted.
I didn’t answer. I handed him the chat I’d scrolled to.
It was from three days ago. Lily seemed drunk and messaged him at midnight: "If you didn’t have a girlfriend, would you like me?"
Ethan had replied with one word: "Would."
Ethan went quiet when he saw it.
After a pause he crushed the cigarette butt and looked up at me. "I told you she’s just a colleague. I promised nothing would happen between us. Isn’t that enough?"
His face was blank, but his voice held disappointment and accusation without trying to hide it.
In that instant I felt like I didn’t know him anymore.
While we were arguing, Ethan’s phone rang again at the worst possible moment.
A message from Lily popped up asking if he’d eaten.
Then: "I guessed you probably haven’t—so I ordered you a bowl of bone broth noodles, the place I took you to last time."
I stared at that and felt my chest get squeezed by some huge, cruel hand. I could hardly breathe.
Ethan used to hardly ever eat noodles.
When he was a kid his family was poor—his father left early and his mother worked away from home. He was often left alone, sometimes not having enough to eat.
Back then Ethan was withdrawn. The neighborhood kids avoided him; only I regularly went to see him.
Once I went to bring him something and found him sitting on a bench, head down, quietly eating plain noodles—clear broth, nothing else.
When he noticed me watching, he looked briefly helpless, then composed himself and kept eating as if nothing had happened.
I looked at his thin profile and felt a sudden ache. Maybe we’d been lonely together and had comforted one another.
My mom had wanted a son. When she had me, her health suffered and doctors said she’d likely struggle to have more children. She resented me.
Those bleak, lonely years were spent getting by with Ethan—mutual solace that pulled us through.
When Ethan’s mom started a business and made it into the Business Times, she took him away, and for a long time I didn’t see him again. We met again in college.
After we got together I learned Ethan had never really eaten noodles. I guessed why—he didn’t want to revisit that poverty.
But lately I’d seen him bringing home bone broth noodles from the place on our corner.
At first I joked about why he’d suddenly started liking noodles.
He’d shrugged it off: "No reason. Just felt like it."
Back then I was relieved—he’d moved on.
Turns out it was because of her.
I told Ethan I was breaking up with him.
As I zipped my suitcase, he suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Anna, are you really leaving?"
I was forced to look up at him.
I used to love the way Ethan looked at me—gentle, attentive, like I was the only thing that mattered.
Back in sophomore year, I and my roommate had planned a trip to Dali, but she bailed last minute.
Since the plane ticket was already bought and I’d done the itinerary, I went alone.
On the second day in Dali I went hiking. When the hazy dawn light spilled through the misty peaks, I saw a familiar face.
It was Ethan.
"Weren’t you in Beijing for a competition?" I asked, surprised.
He rubbed his hands, took off the scarf from his neck, and wrapped it around me in circles.
His cheeks and the tips of his ears were red from the cold; his voice trembled a little. "I saw on Moments you were in Dali alone. I couldn’t stand it. I came back early."
"I wanted to watch it with you."
He looked at me without blinking.
The pale gold sunlight caught in his eyes, and a warm heat settled into my chest.
After Dali we became…different. Not long after, we were together.
But now everything felt changed.
I hadn’t changed—I still loved him. Yet when he looked at me now there was only irritation and impatience.
Maybe he didn’t even realize it himself.
"Pack your things. Move out tomorrow morning."
I pulled my wrist free, avoiding his eyes. "I’ll sleep in the guest room tonight."
Just after midnight I finished packing and collapsed onto the bed, exhausted.
I opened my phone and saw a new friend request: "I’m Lily Zhou."
After accepting, Lily didn’t say anything. On impulse, I opened her Moments.
Her most recent post was just now—two photos.
The first was her selfie with a steaming bowl of bone broth noodles on the table behind her.
The second was another bowl of noodles with a familiar backdrop.
The table had a diagonal checkered pattern, and a bouquet of bright roses sat on it.
The vase holding the roses was the exact one Ethan and I bought together at the supermarket.
Her caption read: "hhhh, having noodles with someone by video! (This post is visible only to a certain someone)"
Below, Ethan had liked it.
I slept fitfully that night.
In my dream I was a child, holding a cotton swab soaked in medicine, carefully dabbing the bruise at Ethan’s mouth. He didn’t react much; I started crying first because I felt so sorry for him.
Then the dream shifted to the mountain sunrise with Ethan—wind howling, his slightly cold hand gently covering mine before we slipped our hands into his coat pocket together.
In the end the scene changed to Ethan holding Lily, their bodies brushing past me with indifference, not leaving a single extra expression for me.
The dreams felt so real that when I woke and saw Lily’s face the next day, I stood there completely blank.
Before this, I’d only ever seen her in Ethan Brooks’s phone videos.
Now that I thought about it, this was probably our first time meeting in person.
Honestly, Lily Zhou was pretty—pale skin, a long, graceful neck.
She was sitting on the sofa, chin slightly tilted up. There was like a crack opened on her scalp and faint blood along the edge.
Ethan was cleaning the wound.
He kept his head down, one hand steadying her jaw, the other pressing gently on the cut at her hairline.
He was being careful.
Lily couldn’t help but hiss.
Ethan’s movements visibly slowed.
Light poured through the blinds, catching the tension and worry in his eyes so clearly you could read it.
It let me standing at the top of the stairs see everything as if it were under a spotlight.
I was holding my suitcase, and my grip loosened without me meaning to. It made a small clatter.
Hearing the noise, Ethan turned and frowned at me, but he didn’t say a word.
Lily was the first to speak—she introduced herself calmly and explained Ethan had a client meeting and she’d come by to drop off some documents.
“The elevator in your building is out. I was climbing the stairs and tripped. I’m sorry for the trouble.”
I didn’t answer. I pulled my suitcase and walked to the door.
Just as I touched the handle, Ethan’s hand closed around mine.
He looked down at me with that superior air, irritation in his voice. “Not done yet?”
His grip was strong—he clamped my wrist so hard it began to hurt. I pulled with all my might and he only tightened.
As we tugged, a gray watch slid out from under his sleeve on his wrist.
I froze.
For Ethan’s birthday last month I’d bought a silver watch to give him—only to find he was already wearing a gray one. I couldn’t see the brand, but from the design it looked expensive.
He’d brushed it off as a gift from a friend.
Ethan’s family had far more than mine, but he’d always been attentive to my feelings. That day, the difference in money made me feel small and ashamed. I hadn’t shown it much—but Ethan noticed.
He sighed and hugged me from behind, his warm lips at my ear, his voice low and soft. “It doesn’t matter what watch you wear. What matters is that it’s from you.”
From then on he put away the fancy watch and wore the one I’d given him every day.
I hadn’t expected that on the first day we broke up, he’d put the gray watch back on.
A strange, small laugh escaped me. Calmly I said, “Let go.”
Ethan seemed to realize, yanked his hand back, sounding awkward. “The client I’m meeting today is important for the company—”
Before he could finish, Lily chimed in, reminding him he needed to leave.
I glanced at her, a thought striking me, and asked Ethan, “Is that one from her?”
He went quiet.
After a long time he finally said, “Anna Chen. It’s just a watch.”
I didn’t want to argue. I picked up my phone to call, but Michael Chen was already there before the call would connect.
Michael is my little brother—five years younger than me.
Our mother never stopped trying for a son, going through treatments and remedies and spending money on acupuncture and all sorts of scams. When I was five she finally had another baby.
Over the years Mom poured all her favoritism on Michael and stayed distant toward me. Still, Michael and I were close.
“You only have one suitcase?” he asked, scratching his head.
“Yeah.”
He hesitated. “I thought girls move with a ton of stuff. I can’t do this alone—I even called Jason Cole to help.”
I blinked. “Jason?”
“Yeah. Jason just got back from a business trip in Shanghai and I dragged him over—”
Michael cut off when his phone rang. A low voice came from the call. “Are you ready?”
“Ready. Don’t come upstairs. We’re going down now.”
He picked up my suitcase. “Come on, sis.”
I followed him out without another thought.
Ethan sounded like he was calling my name behind me, but I kept walking—didn’t stop, didn’t look back.
Jason’s car was parked on the curb. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, fingers long and drumming on the wheel, lost in thought.
I found myself staring at his clean profile.
Jason Cole had been my classmate in high school—the kind everyone called a genius. He was aloof; I was quiet, so even though we’d sat together we barely exchanged words.
I’d thought our paths would never cross again—until two months ago Michael interned at a securities firm and I went to visit. That’s when I learned Jason was his boss.
“Jason,” Michael called, and the man in the driver’s seat turned. Our eyes met.
I gave a polite nod, then went to open the rear passenger door. Jason said, “Sit up front. You get motion sickness; it’s better in the front seat.”
The Night I Stood Up and Left
I was surprised he knew that but didn’t ask, closing the rear door and moving up to the passenger seat.
We didn’t talk the whole ride.
By the time we got back it was already two in the afternoon. Jason dropped us at the building, waved off coming upstairs, and drove back to the office.
My mother came out with two bowls, looking over at me coldly—her face tight. But when she saw Michael, her expression softened. “Food’s hot. Come eat.”
Dinner was stiflingly quiet.
She didn’t like me, and I hadn’t planned to stay long. As soon as I found a place, I’d move.
That evening Mom sat knitting on the couch. Maybe because she was older, maybe because her eyes weren’t good, the gray yarn ball rolled off the couch and she didn’t notice.
I picked it up silently and set it on the coffee table, about to go back to my room when I heard her ask, edged with anger, “Why did you break up with Ethan?”
I stood up slowly, said nothing.
“He told me everything. It was just a coworker who gave him a watch. He didn’t do anything. Why are you making such a fuss?”
I stared at her, throat suddenly tight.
This felt familiar. When I was a little kid and classmates tripped me on purpose, I told her and she was busy feeding Michael. She didn’t blink—she lectured me instead. “What do you expect me to do? Why do they pick on you and not others? Can’t you look at yourself?”
I was stunned. While I stood there dumbfounded, Michael—being a brat—tugged my hair. I pushed him. Before I could think, a hard slap rocked my face.
Mom soothed our crying brother and glared at me as if I’d done something shameful.
I ran out with red eyes. I don’t remember how long I ran until I had no strength left. I curled over and buried my face in my knees.
Eventually Ethan found me. He patted my back, slow and steady, said nothing. I felt my resentment melting bit by bit. I thought then that even if Mom would never side with me, Ethan would.
“Alright, be reasonable. Don’t make a scene. He’s coming by tomorrow—let him save face and let it be over,” Mom said, snapping me back.
She glanced at me and went back to knitting. “Even if you don’t think of yourself, think of your brother. Ethan’s mother—she’s got connections and resources. Your brother’s future….”
I don’t know how I made it back to my dark room. I sat on the bed, motionless, staring out the window. Loud arguing came from downstairs. I didn’t move.
After a while the door opened. Someone slipped an arm around me and pressed his forehead to my shoulder. A choked apology came out in the quiet night. “Sis, I’m sorry… I don’t know why she’s like that. We’re both her kids…”
I turned. Michael’s face—so much like mine—was streaked with tears, his eyes red.
I’d tried to hate him when I was younger—turning all my anger and the love I couldn’t get from Mom into hatred for him. But as he grew up he became more sensible and too good to me. I couldn’t even hate him anymore.
“I rented a place. I just signed the lease. I was going to live there alone—go over and stay there for now,” he said, steady. “Your future is yours. I’ll handle my own. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to for me or anyone else.”
“Tomorrow I’ll help you move,” he added. “I’ll bring you to your new place.”
That night, before bed, I got a WeChat from Lily: “If it was that watch that made you misunderstand, I can explain.”
I didn’t reply.
Ten minutes later she sent another message: “My mom brought back two watches from abroad last month. I kept one—a feminine one—and the other I gave to Ethan for his birthday without thinking.”
She added, “Ethan knows.”
I sat with the message for a while and typed, “You mean you have the same style of watch, a women’s version?”
She didn’t reply.
Early the next morning, after a quick tidy, I dragged my lone suitcase and Michael and I took a pre-booked RideShare.
Through the rearview, I saw Mom standing at the door, staring. Her lips moved but I couldn’t hear what she said.
Ethan called several times and sent dozens of messages asking where I was. I texted once: “We’re over.”
After a long time he messaged: “Anna, I didn’t agree.”
I blocked him on every channel.
Michael’s new place was a compact two-bedroom with modern-minimal decor—clean and close to my office.
We spent the afternoon moving boxes. Michael collapsed on the couch, exhausted and lazy. “Sis, you owe me a big dinner tonight.”
I smiled and said okay.
When I booked the restaurant on my phone, I thought for a moment and asked Michael to invite Jason too—just as a thank-you for helping me move yesterday.
Traffic was a mess. Michael and I didn’t get to the restaurant until more than an hour later.
Jason was already seated.
He kept his head slightly bowed, one hand resting on a bent knee, the other stirring his coffee. The noisy restaurant seemed out of step with him.
For a fleeting second I remembered a high school lunch break—woken by a nightmare, calming my breath—and my gaze drifting to Jason.
He was doing problems.
Sat up straight, holding a pen, working on scrap paper, nails neatly trimmed.
When he noticed me looking, he tilted his head, handed me a tissue, then turned back to his paper.
It took me a while to react. I wiped my forehead with the tissue and looked down—the tissue was soaked through with sweat.
Before I could pull myself together, Michael beside me clapped his hands to his head and muttered, “Crap, I was late for work already, now I made him late for dinner too. New grudge, old grudge—Jason’s gonna kill me.”
I tugged Michael over and said sincerely, “Sorry we’re late. Order whatever you want—don’t try to save me money.”
Jason studied me for a moment, then smiled. “It’s fine. I just got here, too.”
He flagged a server down and, very naturally, handed me the menu. “You pick.”
Halfway through the meal, piano music floated through the place.
That’s when I noticed a large stage in the center of the dining room with a white piano on it.
A girl was playing with her back to the tables.
Behind her, the wall was hung with lots of couples charms.
Michael cleared his throat softly. “This restaurant has a thing: couples who go up and play get a couples charm with their names on it. Lots of couples come here for the photo op.”
I made a distracted “oh” while chewing and choked on my food.
I bent over, coughing quietly, when someone gently patted my back.
By the time I recovered, a bowl of soup had been pushed in front of me.
Following that long, slender hand up, I met Jason’s dark eyes.
I froze.
He paused a beat, then quickly took Michael’s bowl and ladled soup into it too.
Michael looked confused. “I didn’t choke.”
Jason: “……”
The air turned strangely charged. Michael glanced from Jason to me, then silently went to the restroom.
The pianist finished her piece. I looked up out of habit.
She turned around.
It was Lily.
She smiled as she accepted the couples charm from the staff, wrote something on it, then left the stage and returned to her table.
As expected, I saw Ethan sitting across from her.
He was holding the charm in his hand; he was far enough away that I couldn’t read his expression clearly.
Lily leaned in and whispered something to him.
He suddenly laughed.
Maybe he noticed someone staring at them—he lifted his head and our eyes met.
For a second there was clear surprise in his eyes, then his face darkened.
The next second he strode over to our table.
His gaze flicked to Jason, then to me. “What’s your relationship with him?”
His tone demanded an answer and sent a flush of anger through me.
My eyes dropped to the thing he was clutching and I asked lightly, “Is the couples charm pretty?”
Ethan’s expression shifted. After a long moment he said, “It’s not what you think.”
I studied him. I didn’t understand why, even now, he acted as if he had all the right in the world.
The earnest, gentle boy who used to look at me with such sincere softness felt more and more like a blurred memory.
“It’s like this—”
Lily came over too, looking bold and open. “Ethan and I had a bet: if I could get the charm, he’d pay for dinner. He probably didn’t expect me to play the piano either.”
I looked at her expressionless. “So this is another misunderstanding?”
She gave a small smile. “Of course.”
Ethan seemed relieved. The last trace of unease left his eyes and was replaced by that familiar, silent reproach—as if to say, Anna, look, you’re just making a scene.
It made me laugh at myself and feel suddenly very tired.
After a long silence, I asked quietly, “Do you still love me?”
Ethan blinked and shot a quick look at Lily. Then he shifted his gaze back to me, steady and resolute. “Anna, I love you.”
That should have tightened something inside me. I knew Ethan didn’t necessarily like Lily much. I believed he loved me. But when he loved me with such force it was overwhelming, and when he didn’t, it was just as painfully obvious—even I, usually so careless, could see it.
I’d heard people say destruction is always the easiest path.
Right then, my feelings for him evaporated in the space of that look he gave Lily and that heartbeat of hesitation.
Ethan seemed to sense something and reached to touch my cheek. I turned away without a flinch.
His hand hovered midair, and panic and helplessness flashed across his face.
“Anna, I admit I messed up in a lot of ways before, and I’m sorry. But the couples charm thing is really a misunderstanding. I never wanted to be with her. Please forgive me?”
I watched him calmly and caught sight of Lily’s ashen face to the side.
A soft, sarcastic chuckle slipped out of me, low and sharp.
“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt, but I have a question for you two.”
Jason rose slowly. His eyes on Ethan and Lily were calmly detached, as if he were watching a show unfold.
“Do you know what a couples charm actually means?”
Ethan stared coldly at him and said nothing.
“Looks like you do,” Jason said, a trace of disdain in his voice. “Calling it friendship while doing couple things—you two are clearly in on it.”
Ethan went white.
……I rode home in Jason’s car.
Late-night traffic was sparse; Jason drove smoothly.
Probably exhausted, Michael was asleep in the back wrapped in a blanket.
Soft music played in the car. I yawned, and Jason’s low voice said, “About half an hour. Want to nap?”
I shook my head. “No.”
Silence settled again.
I watched him as he drove. His profile was cool and sharp against the dim night.
I thought of what he’d said to Ethan earlier.
“I want to ask you something.”
“Mm?” Jason answered.
“If you had a girlfriend and then started liking another girl, what would you do?”
He glanced at me, voice soft and slow. “I’ve always been devoted. I don’t have that ‘what if.’”
I looked away. “What if you did?”
He was quiet for a beat. “A momentary crush can be normal, but you need clear boundaries. If you fall for someone else and cross the line while clinging to your current partner—without ending it—then whether you’re a man or a woman, you’re garbage.”
I listened, and then, remembering something belatedly, teased, “You yell at people too?”
Jason answered calmly, “Only at garbage.”
I: “……”
Even getting out of the car, my head was still spinning.
Jason seemed different from the impression I’d held—more real, surprisingly approachable.
For the next month I threw myself into work.
Ethan came by a lot—waiting for me at my office building, his tone soft, his apologies earnest. Even though I never once responded, he never gave up; every day he was there like clockwork.
One night I worked late. A coworker brought up some bread and gave me a piece, hesitating: “It’s pouring outside. Your—your ex is still standing out there. He won’t come in.”
My heart clutched. I grabbed an umbrella from my desk and hurried downstairs.
When I swiped my card and stepped outside, the rain was indeed heavy.
Ethan stood in the downpour, droplets running down his jaw, his clothes soaked.
I walked over in silence and held the umbrella over him.
“Come with me.”
Under the curious looks of passersby I led him into the building and handed him a packet of tissues. He sat down slowly, smiling. “Anna, you still worry about me.”
The casual pride in his eyes made me irritated. “When the rain slows down, you should leave.”
He froze, then his voice grew soft. “I didn’t handle the Lily thing well, but I didn’t—”
At the name I felt an inexplicable weariness and cut him off coldly, “I don’t want to hear your explanations. Let’s just end it.”
Maybe my tone was too cold; his face darkened.
“What do you want, then? Are you really going to break up with me over something so small?”
I stared up at him, chilled to the core.
He seemed to realize he’d said too much and tried to backtrack. “I’m sorry… I don’t get it. Nothing ever happened between her and me—how did it become like this?”
He frowned, bewildered. “What do you want from me, Anna? Nothing happened with her. Because of one meaningless piece of information, you’ll break up with me?”
A flash of impatience crossed his face. Maybe he truly couldn’t understand: he’d let Lily get close time and again, enjoyed the thrill under a thin veneer of calm—did he think I wouldn’t notice? Did he ever think his small transgressions might push me away? Or was he gambling that I’d forgive him in the end?
I reached up and touched my face; it was cold and wet.
Ethan panicked and tried to hand me a tissue.
“Ethan, you just said nothing happened with her. Is that true?”
He hesitated a few seconds, then nodded.
I pulled out my phone and showed him screenshots: Lily Zhou’s Moments post set to “only visible to him,” and her previous explanation about the watch.
“So, now?” I asked.
“You said you two had nothing, so why do you keep doing the things couples do?” I said.
Ethan Brooks’s face drained of color bit by bit. Finally, I heard my own small, pathetic voice ask, “Ethan, you used to hardly ever eat noodles. Why have you started loving bone broth noodles lately?”
That night the rain was particularly heavy, a steady curtain that seemed to swallow every sound around us.
Ethan didn’t speak for a long time. In the end, quietly and without a fuss, he slipped away into the rain.
…Another month passed.
Ethan didn’t come looking for me that month.
Michael Chen tried to cheer me up; he took me on a few hikes, and he always invited Jason Cole along.
So lately Jason and I were on good terms — at least friends.
Mid-Autumn Festival was coming up, and work got even busier. I was working late most nights, getting home well after nine.
My dad rarely bothered me unless something big was up, but that day he sent a WeChat: “Anna, coming home for Mid-Autumn? Your mom bought a lot of hairy crabs.”
I thought about it and typed, “Work’s crazy, I might have to work late.”
My dad replied only after a long time: “Take care of yourself.”
The day before the holiday, an unknown number called me. When I picked up, it was Lily.
She asked if I had time and wanted to grab coffee.
After thinking it over, I replied, “Okay.”
The café Lily chose wasn’t far from my office, so I took a cab there after work.
The first thing she said after we sat down was, “I don’t want Ethan anymore.”
I stared at her, baffled.
I briefly wondered if she’d gone crazy.
“After we left the restaurant that day, I confessed to Ethan,” Lily said.
She paused, her tone matter-of-fact, but there was a bitterness under it I couldn’t ignore. “He explicitly rejected me.”
“This time?” I asked, pulling a face and taking a sip of coffee.
“I didn’t give up. I’ve been staying by him these past days. But he got colder and colder, and each refusal got more definite.”
“At a company dinner, some coworkers tried to pair us off. His expression went icy. He warned them not to joke—he has a girlfriend.”
Lily sneered. “But everyone knew by then that he’d already broken up with you.”
My hand holding the cup trembled a little. I couldn’t understand what Ethan thought he gained by doing that.
“The thing that killed me was…” Lily suddenly looked up, eyes rimmed with red. “After the dinner he drank a lot and called a driver. I followed because I was worried and saw him go downstairs to your building.”
She stopped for a long beat and then continued, “I happened to see you go upstairs with another man.”
I froze.
A flood of memory crashed in.
The day Lily mentioned had been last weekend. Michael and I had gone hiking. On the way down, Jason and I were joking about the weird nicknames people had in high school.
Michael chimed in: “Last week at the office I saw Jason video-calling his mom. She calls him ‘Joey’ and keeps nagging him to find someone!”
I looked at Jason in surprise. “Joey?”
Jason’s ears reddened but he pretended not to care. He mumbled an “uh-huh,” then pretended to be serious: “Don’t call me that again.”
I tried not to laugh, but something hit my funny bone and I laughed the whole way down the mountain. Jason fell silent and I kept laughing until, in the bliss of it, I twisted my ankle.
They took me home. I remembered we’d run out of iodine and cotton swabs, so Michael — who knew the area — went to the pharmacy. Jason had been the one helping me upstairs.
Ethan must have seen that and jumped to conclusions.
There was no point in explaining it now.
“I’d never seen Ethan like that before,” Lily lowered her voice, as if forcing something down. “He’s usually so neat. That night he curled up on the floor, shoulders shaking. I heard him crying.”
Lily gave a bitter little laugh. “That’s when I knew he really regretted it.”
She wiped at her eyes, then fixed her gaze on me like nothing had happened. “Too bad it’s too late. You won’t forgive him, will you?”
I looked into her eyes. Her anxiety and the test in them were obvious.
Suddenly I understood why she’d asked me out and then spilled all that — she’d never planned to give up Ethan. She just wanted to know where I stood. Could his melancholy, his regret, get me to come back?
I stood up without expression, slung my bag over my shoulder, and met her eyes. “You don’t need to bother. Ethan and I are completely finished.”
Lily froze, a look of being seen through flashing across her face before she exhaled and relaxed.
…During Mid-Autumn I didn’t take time off or go home. I stayed in my tiny apartment and worked on a quarterly plan.
Michael sent me a package: a handmade scarf. A soft, warm dove-gray, perfect for the season.
I didn’t wear it. I put it in a drawer.
After a few all-nighters, the plan still wasn’t coming together and I had a dull headache. After a while my limbs went weak and I couldn’t muster the energy to move.
Using the last strength I had, I opened my phone to call Michael. Instead, I heard Jason’s voice: “Anna?”
I realized I’d dialed the wrong person. Before I could say anything, everything went black and I fell into unconsciousness.
I woke up on a hospital bed. An IV was in my wrist and the room smelled strongly of disinfectant. A few people were clustered nearby, talking.
Jason sat at my bedside, typing on his laptop, the weak light catching the fine hairs on his pale skin and making them glow.
“My—” My voice came out hoarse.
“You’re awake?” Jason immediately closed his laptop, took a thermos from the bedside table, and poured me a cup of water. He stood near me, watching me drink, and said slowly, “On the phone this morning you didn’t say a word or hang up. I guessed something might be wrong and messaged Michael. He’s farther away, so he told me where your spare key was and asked me to go over.”
I was still a little foggy. When I’d just processed that, he continued, “The doctor said you passed out from exhaustion and low blood sugar from lack of sleep.”
I rubbed my nose, feeling an odd twinge of guilt. “Work’s been really intense lately.”
Jason watched me and then let out a small laugh. “Still working as hard as in high school.”
I blinked and, feeling awkward, asked, “Where’s Michael?”
Jason glanced away and smiled, warm and gentle. “He went to get you something to eat. Want to sleep more?”
I nodded without thinking. After a few seconds I hesitated and asked, “Did anyone else come when I was out?”
Jason was silent for a long moment and then said quietly, “Your mom was here this morning.”
I lowered my head and clenched the sheet under my fingers.
I’d vaguely seen my mother with reddened eyes, frantically asking the doctor, “Is my daughter okay?”
It was the first time I’d seen my mom cry that way. It felt unreal — I wondered if I’d been dreaming.
Somebody gently tapped my head a few times. The touch was warm and dry, soothing and almost tender.
I looked up and caught Jason’s eye. The atmosphere shifted, a little electric.
Then he seemed to notice something and froze.
Following his view, I slowly turned my head.
Ethan had been standing in the doorway for who knows how long. The corners of his eyes were damp.
In only a month he’d changed so much. He looked terrible: a wrinkled shirt, faint stubble at his jaw, deep dark circles from lack of rest.
Growing up, Ethan had always been meticulous about appearances — shirts buttoned to the top, everything neat and pleasing to look at. Being with him had always felt like a breath of spring.
This was the first time I’d ever seen him so worn down and disheveled.
A feeling I couldn’t name rose in my chest.
Did I feel sorry for him? Maybe a little.
But more than pity was the ache of knowing we could never go back. He’d clearly been moved by Lily — whether momentarily or by a real change of heart — and his inner balance had shifted toward someone else.
I wanted to believe he truly regretted it. But what difference did that make? The thorn was already lodged deep in my heart. Every time I saw him, it twisted deeper and the pain grew.
I had once had a man whose eyes were only for me. How could I go back to the one he was now?
I was still lost in thought when Ethan walked over carrying a thermos, hesitant in his voice. “Anna, I heard you were sick. I made your favorite — crab congee.”
I snapped back to attention and noticed a bandage on his finger, probably cut while cooking the congee.
When Ethan was a kid, there was no one around to teach him to cook, so he learned to fend for himself and ate alone. After his life improved, he’d rarely set foot in a kitchen. I hadn’t expected him to cook for me.
“I realized we were out of soy sauce while I was cooking. By the time I ran to get some, the congee almost burned,” he said, opening the thermos with an embarrassed smile. “I tried a few times before it turned out okay.”
I watched him in silence. For some reason I thought back to the times Ethan had taken Lily to bone broth noodles, giving her exceptions I never had.
Ethan… were you trying to make up for something?
My eyes blurred.
“We’re broken up, Ethan. You don’t have to do this.”
His body stiffened. He stared at me, looking lost and helpless.
“Please go.”
I said it.
“Anna, I really sorted things out with Lily. I promise she won’t bother our life again.” Ethan’s lips trembled and his voice cracked, almost incoherent. “It was all my fault before… I don’t know what came over me. I was like a fool, knowing how she felt but still letting myself get close to her.”
I let out a short laugh—could've been sarcasm, could've been something else.
Ethan's eyes suddenly reddened; he reached out to take my hand.
I flinched away without thinking.
His hand froze midair, stiff for a few seconds, then withdrew.
"When did you start liking her?" I asked, calm.
Ethan frowned and frowned again, like he wanted to argue but couldn't find a way. Finally he muttered, "It was during a project we were both on. She really worked hard—so driven.
With her, I saw… a lot of how you used to be."
"I know clearly that I love you, but I still did so many things that hurt you. Anna, I really know I was wrong…" His voice trailed off and his eyes darkened.
A breeze came through the window. Jason instinctively leaned in and tucked the stray hairs that had been blown across my forehead behind my ear.
There was a faint, clean scent about him—nothing overpowering, just pleasant.
My body tightened slightly and I murmured, "Thank you."
Jason straightened my blanket and tucked the corners back in with careful, steady movements. "You're welcome," he said.
I was still wondering what he meant by that when he met Ethan's gaze and, coolly, said, "Go on."
Ethan fell silent.
For a very long time he sat there, then slowly looked up at me, eyes bloodshot.
"No matter what I do now, it's useless, isn't it?"
I met his gaze steadily. "Some things I can't pretend never happened."
Ethan lowered his lids, set his thermos down on the table as if on tiptoe, voice low and rough: "I'm sorry."
He left in slow, measured steps, his shoulders slightly hunched. He reached the door only a few paces away, but it took him forever to get there.
The hospital light stretched his shadow long and lonely.
When he was gone, it was just Jason and me again.
He twisted off the thermos lid, glanced inside, thoughtful. "When you were with him, were you the one who always cooked?"
I nodded.
"No wonder," Jason said, closing the lid, a flash of sympathy for the food in his eyes. Then he looked at me. "I'm a pretty good cook."
I blinked.
The nurse came in to change my IV. Jason smoothly withdrew his gaze and went back to typing on his laptop.
After the nurse left, I pulled the blanket up to sleep, and Jason's voice sounded at my ear. "Anna."
My eyes half-closed, I answered softly.
"He said all that—weren't you touched at all?"
His voice was low, but in the quiet room it was clear as day.
I stayed silent for a long moment. "No."
Jason seemed to smile a little. "Good."
I sat up and looked at him.
He met my stare without flinching. I remembered the way he'd leaned in to tuck my hair—there was something in his eyes then, a lot of something.
My gut told me I wasn't imagining it.
On impulse I asked, "Are you—"
"Yes."
He seemed to know what I was going to say and answered plainly, decisively.
I was stunned.
He looked at me steadily, his expression soft, emotions showing in his eyes without concealment. "So Anna, what are you thinking?"
I spent two days in the hospital. Jason came to pick me up when I was discharged.
He opened the passenger door for me, one hand on the frame, waiting until I was seated before walking around to the driver's side.
I felt nervous and turned to glance at him.
I had refused him in the ward that day.
Jason had helped me a lot recently. I felt grateful, even moved—but gratitude and being moved aren't the same as being in love.
I wasn't ready to start something new before I'd truly let go of the past. To rush into anything now would be unfair to both me and him.
He seemed to expect as much; a flash of disappointment crossed his face and was gone. "I understand," he said.
Maybe my expression was too complicated, because he smiled lightly, "You have the right to refuse. You don't have to be responsible for my feelings."
He ruffed my hair and his voice softened, steady and calming. "Don't feel guilty."
The horn from the car behind snapped me back. I was about to buckle my seatbelt when a long hand reached across.
Even though the touch was cool, for a second it felt like fire and I recoiled.
Jason simply took the belt from my hands and fastened it for me, turning to do it with practiced ease.
My face warmed. I couldn't help but look past him out the window. "Didn't Michael say he'd pick me up today…?"
We hadn't seen each other since I rejected him.
"Something came up with a client in Shanghai," Jason said, starting the car, hands on the wheel, his tone gentle. "He asked for an urgent business trip."
"He told you?" I asked.
Jason's voice was low. "No."
"Then—?"
The light turned red and Jason braked. The car stopped cleanly. He turned and looked at me, trying to read my thoughts.
I shifted under his focused gaze and looked away. He smiled. "You probably don't remember."
I frowned. "Remember what?"
"In high school, once during break, we took the same bus. It was crowded. You sat by the window and there was a woman with a kid beside you."
I really couldn't recall.
"The kid fell asleep. Maybe you worried he'd get cold and you shut the window. I noticed your face turning pale, sweat on your brow. You looked like you were about to pass out, lips trembling."
"You pretended to sleep—eyes closed, fist half-clenched against the window."
He glanced at me. "Back then I thought you were fragile but stubborn."
A fuzzy memory surfaced. When my motion sickness was worst in high school, I vaguely remember a different person slipping me a tissue, opening the window. I never really noticed who it was until I felt better after getting off the bus.
"Was it you who sat next to me?" I asked.
"Yes," Jason said simply.
I felt a strange, indescribable sensation.
The light changed and he pulled away. He chuckled softly. "That's when I started noticing you."
My heart skipped.
"At first I couldn't tell if it was curiosity or something else, but I kept looking at you more."
He sighed, a little rueful. "I was too slow."
"I was slow too," I admitted.
I hadn't registered any of it.
I remembered the broken hallway light in the school; I was always the last to leave after study hall, and so was he. He likely timed his leaving to match mine, walking me through that dark hall.
"I actually went to see you once in college," Jason said, voice rougher now. "It was raining. I saw you sharing an umbrella with a guy. He had his arm around your waist, you resting your head on his chest."
I was silent.
"It hit me like a hollow ache then that made me realize what I felt for you."
We looked at each other for a brief moment and then fell quiet.
After he dropped me off, I murmured, "Thanks for bringing me home."
I was turning to go up when someone gently took my wrist, carefully avoiding the spot where I'd been injected.
I startled. "Actually, I lied to you."
He was so close I could feel the coolness in his breath. "What?"
I thought of him sending Michael away on a trip.
"I might not be as indifferent as I seem."
Jason held my gaze, earnest and burning. "After you refused me that day, I didn't sleep. I ran forty laps around the complex."
"I was really upset."
I stared at him, not sure what to do with the admission.
"Anna, if you aren't ready for something new right now," he said quietly, eyes dark and steady, "it's okay. I can wait."
After he left, I stood downstairs for a long time.
When I went back up I saw a familiar figure not far off. Under the moonlight and swaying tree shadows, Ethan stood there, quiet.
"Anna," he called in a low, pleading voice.
I walked over slowly.
He brightened when I came near and called my name again. I looked down and said clearly, "Ethan, don't come looking for me anymore."
My voice was barely above a whisper. "I'm starting a new life. I might start a new relationship."
"Ethan…" His repetition of my name sounded raw and helpless.
Maybe until this moment he still hoped we were just having a rough patch.
I didn't want to give him false hope. I forced the words out, painfully: "But it won't be you."
Ethan and I had known each other for over twenty years and had been together five. We had seen each other at our worst, shared our most embarrassing and helpless moments, and had done our best to warm each other when we could.
I used to think I’d be with him for the rest of my life.
Then, in an instant, everything changed.
He fell for someone else.
On those sleepless nights, one thought replayed over and over.
He had been the one who chased me so desperately—so why was I the only one still fighting to keep us together now?
Turning back felt wrong. Moving forward felt wrong.
I knew some people drift away over time, erased bit by bit. I just never imagined it would happen like this, end like this.
Maybe one day I’d forgive him, but I could never be with him again.
…After that day, Ethan Brooks never showed up again.
As for Lily Zhou… she once sent me a message saying she planned to leave the city. That was it—no details.
I didn’t understand why she suddenly told me that, but it didn’t matter anymore.
I’d long since stopped feeling anything for her. Whether she gave up Ethan or whether she ended up well or ruined—none of it was my concern.
Before I knew it, a year had passed.
A lot seemed to have happened in that year.
I went home twice, both times wearing that milky-gray scarf.
Later I learned the truth: the scarf wasn’t what I’d thought—my mom had knitted it for my brother, and he’d passed it to me.
From the start, my mom had actually knitted that scarf for me.
That year I also made a breakthrough at work.
After breaking up with Ethan, I pushed myself to forget. But after being together so long, traces of him were everywhere in my life. Letting go wasn’t even close to simple.
To distract myself, I volunteered for a new project, running between the office and clients until my days were full with work.
The unexpected bonus: besides the project going unusually well, I got promoted twice within the year.
Those nonstop busy days finally ground down, and one idle afternoon I suddenly realized I hadn’t thought about the past in a long time.
Meanwhile, my relationship with Jason Cole grew subtly closer.
If I came home late from the office, he’d drive over to pick me up.
On weekends we’d catch a movie, or play video games together.
I could feel us inching toward something deeper.
Jason’s company and understanding let me find a comfortable rhythm again.
I realized I was slowly starting to accept him.
The day we officially became a couple happened to be the company retreat.
Because I’d stood out and been promoted, my coworkers poured me drinks. Jason carried my tipsy self home.
When he set me down on the bed, for some reason I burst into tears.
He wrapped me in his arms, voice rougher than usual. “Why are you crying?”
Looking into his eyes, that delicate, hard-to-explain feeling swelled up again.
I rested my head on his chest, my arms around his waist, and I talked—about my mom, about Ethan, about Michael Chen… people I had loved, hated, resented. The things I’d never been able to let go of peeled away one by one and were laid bare before him.
I’ve always been reserved; I rarely let emotions show, let alone pour my heart out like that.
But Jason had this grounding steadiness that made it possible.
Finally he sighed, resting his chin lightly on the top of my head, and with gentle firmness he said, “Some wounds can’t be forgiven. But even if there’s hurt, we still have the right to love and be loved.”
That night, Jason didn’t leave.
…Time moved fast. That day was my birthday.
Jason was cooking in the kitchen, and Michael Chen helped him—watching the two of them bustling around, I felt a strange warmth rise in me.
My mom favored sons, but Michael had always been good to me.
Over the years, Michael was like a steady beam of light—quiet but strong, warming me.
By chance he joined my new company, and that’s how Jason and I crossed paths again.
Jason was like the moon after rain—calm and gentle in the way he respected and accompanied me. He made me feel right, like we fit.
Now, both of them were indispensable to me: steady, dependable, safe.
They were still busy in the kitchen while I opened an anonymous package in the living room.
A ring.
I turned it with my finger and saw two letters engraved on the inside: J & C.
There was a small note in the box: Happy Birthday. Wishing you peace year after year.
For a moment I froze.
I’d actually seen this ring a year earlier.
That day I’d just finished showering and was hunting for the hair dryer when, by chance, I opened the second drawer of Ethan’s bedside and found the ring.
I waited for him to say something—I even dropped hints deliberately.
But he didn’t give me any sign.
I couldn’t understand it: he’d bought a ring, so why wouldn’t he propose?
Then later, when he accompanied me to a movie, we caught the scene at its peak: the leading man dropped to one knee and proposed.
I finally mustered the courage to ask softly, eyes half-closed, “Ethan, you bought a ring too, didn’t you?”
He didn’t answer.
A bad feeling bloomed in my chest.
I turned my head stiffly and saw him looking down at his phone, smiling at a video. It was Lily.
Everything clicked—the reason for his hesitation suddenly made sense.
