The man I secretly loved for ten years, during a video call with me, fell for my roommate at first sight and then asked me to help him pursue her.

On the phone, his voice was as deep and pleasant as ever. “I’ve never liked anyone like this before, Xiao Jing. Please help me.”

But I didn’t hear a trace of pleading in his tone. It was as if he was utterly certain I wouldn’t refuse. When it came to me, he always held all the cards.

1

Song Qianyu and my roommate were kissing.

Intensely, passionately, completely absorbed in each other.

I stared, frozen, feeling like my heart was tearing open. I knew this could happen the moment I agreed to help him. But seeing it, actually witnessing it, still shocked me, still left me utterly devastated.

The two were so engrossed, they didn’t notice someone standing behind them.

“Come back to my place tonight?” Song Qianyu’s voice was rough in the quiet night.

My heart plummeted into an icy void, freezing solid at his words. So, they were already at that stage?

My roommate seemed to playfully hit his chest, her voice laughing. “What are you thinking? Tonight I promised Xiao Jing I’d help her review her thesis!”

They leaned their foreheads together, murmuring intimately for a while longer. Even from a distance, their closeness was palpable.

After watching her enter the dorm building, Song Qianyu turned and finally saw me.

“He Jing?” The smile vanished from his face.

I turned my head stiffly, unable to look at him. Suppressing the turmoil inside, I walked towards the dorm entrance. The impact of that scene was overwhelming. Waves of sourness and resentment surged through my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I had been by Song Qianyu’s side as a friend for ten years. I’d never seen him show genuine affection for any girl. Towards me, he was always cool, detached, rational. So clear-cut that I sometimes doubted if, in his eyes, I was even distinctly female—just a vaguely gendered companion.

But just now… that was the first time I’d ever seen him look truly impassioned.

And they had only known each other for ten days.

Ten days.

While I had loved Song Qianyu for ten years, encompassing almost my entire youth.

After failing the college entrance exams, I couldn’t attend the same university as him. I spent a year retaking the exams, finally got in, but due to a mistake in my application choices, ended up in a different city. Throughout university, we barely spoke.

Now, his career was just stabilizing, and I was buried in my graduation thesis. Our contact dwindled to almost nothing. Whenever I suggested visiting, he would flatly refuse, “He Jing, I’m busy.” Sometimes, I’d impulsively call him on video; often, after just a few words, he’d have to go. I knew I had no right to complain. To him, I was just an old acquaintance.

Until ten days ago. My roommate borrowed my phone to take pictures and accidentally stumbled upon photos of Song Qianyu in my gallery.

Her finger paused. She smiled. “This guy is handsome. He Jing, do you know him?” I clearly saw the spark of interest in her eyes.

I didn’t answer, making a flimsy excuse to leave. Even knowing their paths shouldn’t cross, I lay awake that night. A powerful sense of crisis threatened to drown me. My roommate was the faculty’s acknowledged beauty—strikingly beautiful, pure yet sensual, causing a stir since freshman year. But she was always aloof, keeping people at arm’s length. In four years, hardly anyone caught her eye.

I never imagined a single photo would spark her interest in Song Qianyu. And I certainly never imagined that when I finally mustered the courage, my heart pounding, ready to confess to Song Qianyu… the famously detached Song Qianyu would, during our video call, fall in love at first sight with my roommate through the screen.

I remember his eyes shining, his usually sharp features softening as his gaze focused solely on her. That look… I knew it too well.

It was instant attraction.

The day after the video call, Song Qianyu called me. He asked me to help him pursue my roommate. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Xiao Jing. Please.” It was the first time he’d ever asked me for something, the first time he’d ever called me “Xiao Jing.”

But again, no plea. Just absolute certainty I wouldn’t refuse. With me, he always held the winning hand. The realization brought a wave of sourness and heaviness spreading through me. But what could I do? I couldn’t stop him from liking someone else, just like I couldn’t stop myself from liking him. Against my better judgment, spellbound, I agreed. Agreed to be their matchmaker. Agreed to play the fool.

What followed was inevitable. Because of me, they exchanged contact info and chatted late into the night every night. Song Qianyu, who was always “too busy” for me, took three days off specifically to meet my roommate. Today was their first official date.

And judging by what I just saw, they were already inseparable.

Sure enough, the moment I pushed open the dorm room door, my roommate’s voice reached me. “Xiao Jing! He and I… we’re together now.”

2

“Oh. That’s… great.”

I managed a quiet reply, pretending nonchalance as I walked to my bed, sat down, and opened my laptop to edit my thesis. It took me several tries to correctly type the word “I.”

My roommate laughed lightly. “All thanks to you, our amazing matchmaker!”

My fingers tightened on the keyboard. A sharp pang shot through my heart, making my hands tremble. Yes. I had brought them together. I was the one who told Song Qianyu all her preferences, suggested topics for their chats. I was the one who told my roommate that Song Qianyu had never had other women around, that he was completely smitten with her.

For ten days, I watched as Song Qianyu showered her with attention, saw the unconscious smile grace her face when she talked about him, witnessed their love blossom. Late at night, burying my head deep in my pillow, I still heard his voice messages on her phone: “Be good, don’t stay up late. Goodnight.” His tone was warm, amused, the low timbre impossibly seductive. It was a tenderness, an intimacy, I had never received.

In that instant, I realized with painful clarity: I regretted it. I even thought, if I had lied to Song Qianyu then, told him my roommate already liked someone else… with his pride, he would have given up. Then maybe… just maybe… I’d still have a chance…

“To thank you—” My roommate’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. She had walked up behind me and now draped an arm over my shoulder, leaning close. “—Qianyu and I want to take you out to dinner tomorrow, Xiao Jing. You won’t refuse, right?”

My heart stuttered. I opened my mouth to refuse.

She didn’t give me the chance. “Qianyu has to go back to his company the day after tomorrow. Once I get my diploma next month, I’ll move in with him. So… after this dinner, the three of us probably won’t have many chances to meet again.” She nuzzled her head against my neck, her breath warm. Her voice was soft, light. “Xiao Jing… it’s what he wants too.”

If last night I’d held onto a sliver of hope, now I understood Song Qianyu’s meaning perfectly.

In the hotpot restaurant near campus, the broth bubbled fiercely, steam rising. Song Qianyu was peeling shrimp for my roommate. He bent his head slightly, his long fingers deftly removing heads and tails, every movement focused. I suddenly remembered: Song Qianyu hated peeling shrimp. He had a near-phobic aversion to the slimy texture; it made him feel sick.

Last year, for his birthday, I took a four-hour bus ride to see him. I bought a cake, painstakingly cooked a table full of dishes, clumsily burning my hand. Song Qianyu looked at the angry red mark on my hand, his expression complicated. “He Jing, if you can’t cook, you don’t have to.” Before I could respond, he took my hand, applied ointment, and gently tended to the burn. That rare gentleness left me dazed and flustered.

Looking at the plate of steamed shrimp on the table, I asked impulsively, “My hand hurts. Could you peel the shrimp for me later?”

Song Qianyu frowned, rejecting me instantly, his gaze even carrying a hint of reproach. “He Jing, you know I can’t stand peeling shrimp.” His words instantly changed the atmosphere. Normally, I wouldn’t have minded. But that day, a wave of inexplicable grievance washed over me, tears falling uncontrollably. In the end, ignoring my injured hand, I gritted my teeth against the burning pain and peeled every single shrimp on that plate. Song Qianyu watched me silently, opening his mouth several times but saying nothing.

Pulled back to the present, I saw Song Qianyu place the neatly peeled shrimp within easy reach of my roommate. He wiped his hands meticulously with a wet wipe, then slowly turned his gaze towards me. Meeting his eyes, I finally understood.

He was doing this deliberately. The small scar left by last year’s burn was a mark between us. Now, Song Qianyu was ripping it open, pouring salt on the wound, all to make me give up completely. He had known all along how I felt. Known I saw him as more than a friend. This dinner, peeling shrimp right in front of me—it was his way of telling me: Stop dreaming. Don’t disturb his life.

A sharp pang hit my chest. I lowered my head, avoiding his gaze, my chopsticks trembling slightly in my hand.

The meal dragged on endlessly. No matter how affectionate they were, I kept my head down, speaking little, until a commotion erupted nearby.

I looked up. A young man, his face flushed red, was apologizing profusely to Song Qianyu. He explained his table was playing truth or dare; he’d lost and had to ask the prettiest girl present for her contact info. He hadn’t realized my roommate had a boyfriend. Song Qianyu’s expression was thunderous, but he couldn’t make a scene. The guy, knowing he was in the wrong, apologized again and slunk away.

I glanced at my roommate. She loved hotpot but couldn’t handle much spice. Her beautiful face was flushed, a sheen of sweat on her forehead, her lips looking particularly alluring. Many eyes in the restaurant lingered on her; several guys still looked tempted. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of another tall, well-built figure approaching our table. A slight smile touched my lips. The knot of bitterness inside me seemed to loosen a little.

Youth meant courage. Even with a clear warning sign, they still wanted to test their luck. Curious, I looked back at Song Qianyu. Sure enough, his face had darkened again. Suddenly interested, I put down my chopsticks and leaned back, settling into full spectator mode.

Then I saw the approaching guy, just a meter from my roommate, take a long stride… and walk right past her, stopping directly in front of me.

I jumped.

The guy looked straight at me, eyes bright, a hint of nervousness on his face, but his smile was open and clean. “Senior, can I… can I ask you out?”

I blinked, stunned. Instinctively, I looked towards Song Qianyu. Was it my imagination, or had his expression turned even colder?

3

A flurry of thoughts and images flashed through my mind.

During this ten-year, one-sided pursuit, I hadn’t been entirely unwavering. I’d seen firsthand how Song Qianyu rejected girls who confessed to him—swiftly, cleanly, offering no comfort. So, I carefully harbored my love, hiding it, content to be his gentle, considerate friend. But pouring out my heart earned me no response, only his cool reserve. Over time, the pain and exhaustion of unrequited love nearly crushed me. When I learned I hadn’t gotten into the same university as him, my pent-up emotions peaked, and for the first time, I thought of giving up.

At our farewell dinner, he didn’t come. Afterwards, a male classmate confessed to me. I refused, but he was persistent and offered to walk me home. I agreed, realizing the route would pass Song Qianyu’s house. The moonlight was beautiful that night. The classmate walked beside me, trying to make conversation. I responded politely to everything he said, until the familiar gate came into view. I stopped, my gaze lifting to the balcony where Song Qianyu stood, watching us coldly.

When I got home and checked my phone after showering, I saw someone had filmed the confession and posted it in the class group chat. The audio was too noisy to make out, but the video ended with me and the classmate leaving together. Classmates who hadn’t attended were teasing us online.

Just then, a message from Song Qianyu popped up: “Are you going to retake the exams?”

I instantly grasped the subtext: He wanted me to go to the same university as him. Even though he said nothing explicit, to me, it was a signal. My heart felt like parched earth finally receiving rain, yet also ached faintly. He always seemed to do this—give me hope just as I was gathering disappointment. So now, with a girlfriend and determined to use this dinner to sever ties, what did the look in his eyes mean?

As I thought this, my breath hitched. I tried to read his expression more clearly, but my roommate shifted, partially blocking my view. She took his hand, interlacing their fingers. Song Qianyu seemed momentarily surprised, then looked down at her, his entire demeanor softening. In that moment, I realized the last tiny flicker of hope deep inside me had been extinguished. Strangely, I felt an unprecedented calm.

I lowered my eyes, withdrawing my gaze, focusing on the young man standing before me.

He met my eyes unexpectedly and grew even more flustered, stumbling over his words again. “Senior, you… you can ask me out?” The surrounding crowd burst out laughing. He still hadn’t caught his mistake. Someone who knew him chuckled, “He Zhou, you’re the one confessing! Why are you asking her to chase you?” He stared at me blankly, realization dawning, his face flushing crimson from his ears down. “I… I…”

“It’s okay,” I interrupted him. This time, I didn’t look at Song Qianyu’s expression.

Amidst the noise, I looked steadily at He Zhou. I saw his Adam’s apple bob, the red spreading from his ears to his neck. I smiled, unable to help myself, and repeated, “It’s okay.”

…

I discovered He Zhou was quite possibly the most blushing-prone person I’d ever met.

After I said “okay,” he grabbed my hand without a word, his face practically dripping blood, and practically dragged me out of the restaurant. He took me to the nearest dessert shop and ordered several sweets, placing them in front of me.

Under my surprised gaze, he lowered his eyes, gripping his spoon tightly. After a moment, he finally looked up, a small smile curving his lips. “I saw you didn’t eat much at the hotpot place. They say sweets make you feel better.” He looked at me.

Suddenly, I realized: During that unbearable dinner, there had been someone watching me from afar. He saw my unspoken awkwardness and pain, saw my carefully concealed desolation, and so he rescued me. I felt something stir in my heart.

Sweets really did improve your mood. My spirits lifted significantly for the rest of the day. That evening, walking with He Zhou on the sports field, the wind tugging at our clothes, the sunset staining the clouds fiery layers, he cautiously took my hand. I tilted my head to look at him, seeing only his clean profile and the sunset-pink tip of his ear.

This good mood lasted until Song Qianyu texted me: “Where are you now?”

I didn’t reply.

He didn’t ask again. I took a deep breath, as if expelling all the pent-up frustration of these years. He Zhou and I stayed out late. Back in the dorm, after washing up, I worked on my thesis edits. Only after finishing the edits and emailing the formatted version to my advisor did I finally check my phone. He Zhou had texted me around 11 PM: “Are you free tomorrow?”

After a moment’s hesitation, I replied: “I am free tomorrow.”

He responded almost instantly: “Okay. Sleep well.”

I blinked, checking the time: 3 AM. I stared at his message for a while, then suddenly understood and smiled. After drinking some milk, I prepared for bed and noticed my roommate’s bed was empty, neatly made. She hadn’t come back tonight.

4

The next day, I slept until ten. After washing up, I started applying makeup. Just as I was putting on lipstick, I heard the key turn in the lock.

My roommate was back.

I watched my reflection in the mirror: calm eyes, no trace of disturbance. Seeing them kiss last time had felt like my bones were being shattered and reassembled. But last night, knowing they were together, probably more intimate… besides a faint ache, the expected heart-wrenching pain hadn’t come. I’d even fallen asleep quickly, dreamlessly.

I didn’t know if this meant I’d finally let go of Song Qianyu, finally freed myself, but I knew it was a good start. I pressed my lips together, evening out the lipstick. My roommate’s tired voice reached me: “He went back to the company.”

I turned. She looked pale, utterly exhausted.

Concerned, I reached out to feel her forehead for fever. She turned her face away, avoiding my touch. “I’m fine.”

I frowned.

She stared at me intently, her voice strained. “We slept together.” I looked at her, silent. After a long pause, a complex expression crossed her face. “Xiao Jing… is there a chance with you and He Zhou?”

I was silent, but I was seriously considering the possibility. Finally, I met her gaze and smiled. “Yes.”

My roommate seemed momentarily taken aback. The heaviness in her eyes lifted, replaced by visible relief. As I went downstairs, I spotted He Zhou waiting for me at the dorm entrance. He held soy milk and steamed buns in one hand, congee in the other. Tall and well-built, he stood like a human billboard, drawing plenty of attention from passing girls.

I walked over. “How long have you been here?”

He Zhou saw me, his long lashes lowering as he blushed. “Not long.” Then he quickly added, “I bought two kinds of breakfast. You pick first, I’ll have the other.”

I glanced casually. “I want the congee.”

The words were out before I realized. He Zhou froze. His gaze burned against my face, his throat moved, his blush deepening.

…

I hadn’t expected He Zhou to take me to the aquarium.

The lighting inside was dim. Simulated seaweed and coral lined the walkways. Fish swam curiously near the tunnel glass. I tapped the thick pane; a tiny transparent jellyfish darted away, making me smile. I turned to speak to He Zhou and found him taking a picture of me with his phone.

I raised an eyebrow and leaned in. “Let me see.” It was a half-body shot. The girl in the white dress, her exposed collarbone and shoulders pale against the blue water, strands of hair flying—a natural, effortless beauty. The photographer clearly knew what he was doing—the light, the angle, everything was perfect. I tilted my head, grinning. “So you’re good at—”

My words cut off. He Zhou’s eyes were deep, looking at me from very close. Close enough to feel the tension in his body, his warm breath, the pleasant scent of him. Suddenly, my face felt hot, my breathing quickened.

Around 6:30 PM, we took the bus back to campus. The window was open, wind rushing past our ears. My mind kept replaying the moment He Zhou’s lips had almost brushed mine before he deliberately turned away. He’d been breathing heavily, telling me seriously he could wait.

I couldn’t help but turn to look at him. He Zhou sat bolt upright, back straight, eyes fixed firmly ahead. The picture of propriety. I remembered searching his name on the campus forum last night after returning. There were many girls’ confession posts about him, even detailed profiles listing his achievements and awards.

Watching him for a moment, I suddenly spoke. “Why do you like me?”

He Zhou seemed startled by the question. I stared into his eyes, biting my lip hard. “You’re so accomplished. Why me?”

He Zhou’s handsome brows knitted together, his face unusually serious. “Senior, why would you think that?”

I just looked at him.

He Zhou pressed his lips together tightly, then sighed after a moment. “The first time I saw you… wasn’t at the hotpot place. It was at the aquarium.”

I was stunned. “The aquarium?”

He Zhou nodded quietly. “That day, you were holding two sticks of candied hawthorn berries, waiting for someone. I watched your expression shift from expectation to disappointment, your eyes turning red, but you held it in. Then a little girl bumped into you. The girl covered her nose, crying loudly in pain. You crouched down, flustered, grabbing tissues to wipe her tears. As you wiped… your own tears started falling uncontrollably. So, you and the little girl cried together, wiping each other’s tears until you were exhausted. Then you shared the candied hawthorn berries.”

“The impression you gave then—” He paused, blushing again. “—was pitiful and adorable.”

I lowered my eyes, my face inexplicably warming. I remembered. Song Qianyu had been on a business trip nearby then. On his last day, he’d promised to squeeze in time to go to the aquarium with me. I’d waited for him, filled with joy… only to receive a text: “Sorry, overslept. Need to rush for the train. Leaving now.” Song Qianyu never altered his plans for me.

I lifted my face to look at He Zhou. I just hadn’t realized he’d known me since then. He met my gaze openly, his eyes gentle. “Later, at a faculty lecture, I saw you speaking on stage. That’s how I found out you were He Jing, a senior in Finance, a year above me.”

…

It was past nine when we got back to the dorm. The room was dark; my roommate seemed to have gone to bed very early. I didn’t turn on the lights. Closing my eyes, I buried my face in my pillow, a tumult of emotions surging inside me, almost overwhelming.

Only today did I realize how deeply insecure I’d been during all those years chasing Song Qianyu. Despite doing my best, his repeated coldness, neglect, and occasional teasing had worn me down, making me constantly doubt and negate myself. Like a silkworm weaving its own cocoon, I’d sealed myself off, shrinking back, seeing no light. I’d never imagined someone named He Zhou would appear, telling me slowly and solemnly, “You are good. Why wouldn’t I like you?”

Something deep inside seemed to warm, a gentle heat spreading slowly. I took a deep breath, sat up, opened my phone, and posted a message: “You are good too,” accompanied by the photo He Zhou had taken that day.

Within seconds, a text from Song Qianyu arrived: “You took him to that aquarium?”

Immediately followed by another: “Are you with him?”

5

The accusation in these messages was blatant, laced with a subtle jealousy. My heart skipped a beat. The next second, Song Qianyu called. Staring at the number etched deep into my memory, carved onto my heart, I frowned. Before, even a dismissive text from him would have thrilled me. Now, his call stirred only a strange resistance within me. It seemed I’d even lost interest in speaking to him.

I stared at the number for a few seconds, then silently lowered my eyes and declined the call. He called again. And again. Each time I declined without hesitation. After several attempts, irritation flared. I texted: “I’m in the dorm. Your girlfriend is asleep.”

That sentence acted like a switch. Song Qianyu finally stopped.

In the following days, He Zhou and I grew closer. We ate together, studied in the library, walked on the sports field, watched new movies. Gradually, we became comfortable in silence, yet always had plenty to talk about. Our relationship hovered, the thin barrier between friendship and romance still unbroken.

In contrast, something seemed wrong between Song Qianyu and my roommate. I rarely saw them call each other now; the previous intense closeness had vanished like a receding tide. My roommate appeared unaffected, laughing and chatting normally, but I heard her stifled sobs late at night more than once. I could guess why: probably because of me.

After much hesitation, I unblocked Song Qianyu and called him. He answered instantly. Hearing his slightly hoarse voice, my prepared words caught in my throat. “Xiao Jing,” he said, “you finally answered my call.”

I was momentarily stunned. That was a line I used to say to him often. But my tone back then had been far more cautious, helpless, as if I’d carved out my pride and self-respect, crushed them, and sunk into the dust. Thankfully, someone had pulled me out just in time. The image of He Zhou’s gentle, earnest face flashed in my mind, making me smile unconsciously.

“…Xiao Jing? Are you listening?” Song Qianyu’s voice was even rougher now.

I snapped back. “…What did you just say?”

Silence on the other end.

I gathered my thoughts and spoke calmly. “Song Qianyu, I liked you for ten years.” A heavy breath came through the phone. After a pause, Song Qianyu replied, “I know.” Even though I’d guessed, hearing him admit it felt like a dull blade stabbing my heart. Not for him, but for my own shadowed, laughable decade of unrequited love.

I took a deep breath, my voice firm. “But after that dinner… I realized I don’t like you anymore. I only wish you both well now. And someone else… someone I want to hold onto tightly… has come into my life.” I sighed softly. “Song Qianyu, we both need to cherish the person beside us now.”

This time, the silence stretched longer. So long I thought he wouldn’t respond. Then, in a tone of absolute certainty, tinged with relief, he asked slowly: “He Jing… are you with him to get back at me?”

…

Song Qianyu’s words left me deeply unsettled. Not guilty, nor flustered, just profoundly, frustratingly blocked. Was I really so insignificant, so lacking in dignity over those ten years, that Song Qianyu could so casually assume I’d use my own feelings to spite him? Though I immediately blocked him again after that call, the frustration lingered.

A few days later, walking back to the dorm with He Zhou after a movie, those words flashed through my mind again. Distracted, my foot caught on a stone. My knee buckled, and I almost fell, but a strong hand steadied me.

Meeting He Zhou’s worried gaze, I gave him a reassuring smile. Then, a sharp pain shot through my ankle. I gasped.

“Twisted it?” He Zhou’s brow furrowed. I nodded. He helped me sit on a nearby bench and carefully examined my foot. “Lucky, not dislocated. Senior, let me massage it.” Before I could react, I felt the cool touch of his fingers on my ankle. He held it gently, massaging with a soothing rhythm. A slight tingle spread, and I let out a short “Ah!”

He Zhou paused abruptly. From my angle, I saw his Adam’s apple move. My face flushed. As the pain gradually subsided, I heard him ask softly, “Senior, does it still hurt?”

“N-no…” My voice came out hoarse. He Zhou seemed to smile faintly. He gently placed my foot down and looked up at me. Under the moonlight, his eyes were deep, his nose straight, his lips a vivid red, his gaze steady and focused. Looking at him, a single thought burst into my mind: I’m done for.

I don’t know who moved first. Who responded to whom. In the next instant, my arms were around his neck, and his hands were on my waist.

This was our first kiss.

…

Time blurred. When he finally pulled back slightly, breathing heavily, the heat in his eyes felt like it could melt me. “Jing Jing…” A nerve in my brain snapped cleanly at that soft murmur.

I opened my mouth, wanting to speak, but my arm was suddenly seized by a large hand, yanking me roughly off the bench. A pained gasp escaped me. Turning, I met a pair of familiar, bloodshot eyes.

6

Honestly, seeing Song Qianyu shocked me. Especially his livid face, filled with shock and fury, as if I had betrayed him. It felt utterly absurd and ridiculous.

He’d grown accustomed to my decade of devotion, my unconditional kindness. Now that I was no longer humble or compliant, now that my eyes weren’t fixed on him, he felt aggrieved. More laughably, he could distance himself, draw boundaries, but couldn’t tolerate me letting go, freeing myself from hopeless obsession. It seemed he couldn’t bear to see me happy.

His grip on my arm was painfully tight. I glanced down; it was already red. I tried to pull away, but he only tightened his hold, giving me no chance. He stared at me for a moment, then his gaze snapped to He Zhou, filled with a violent intensity, as if he wanted to tear him apart. I frowned, shifting slightly to shield He Zhou with my body.

Song Qianyu froze for a second, his eyes reddening further. After staring at me for what felt like an eternity, he rasped, “He Jing, I’ve known you for ten years. How long have you known him? And you’re already shielding him like this?”

I met his gaze, my voice flat. “He Zhou is my boyfriend.”

Song Qianyu stiffened as if struck. Looking at his suddenly pale lips, I added, “You’re hurting my arm.”

He seemed to snap back to reality and slowly released me. The moment he let go, my ankle buckled again. Stumbling, I fell against He Zhou, who caught me instantly. A sharp, sickening pain shot from my heel. Looking down at my rapidly swelling ankle, I realized: Song Qianyu’s rough pull from the bench had probably dislocated it.

A strange urge to laugh bubbled up, and I actually laughed out loud. Song Qianyu followed my gaze to my ankle. Understanding dawned, followed by a flash of panic in his eyes. After a long pause, he moved his lips. “…Sorry.”

I had no desire to engage with him. I tugged He Zhou’s sleeve. “Take me to the hospital.” He Zhou nodded immediately and crouched in front of me. “I’ll carry you.” Just as I was about to climb onto his back, a hand shot towards me, then suddenly stopped, trembling, mere millimeters from my wrist.

I looked up, meeting Song Qianyu’s gaze. Those usually cold eyes now looked dazed, lost. After a moment, he withdrew his hand, his voice thick. “Xiao Jing, I’ll drive you to the hospital.”

I refused instantly. “No need, thank you.” With that, I leaned onto He Zhou’s shoulders, wrapped my arms around his neck, and let him lift me.

As we turned the corner, I glanced back. Song Qianyu stood there in his white shirt and black trousers, motionless, watching us. Tall and straight, yet radiating profound loneliness.

We took a taxi to the nearby hospital. The doctor reset the bone and prescribed medicine to reduce swelling and bruising. His gaze swept dispassionately over He Zhou and me before firmly instructing me to rest completely for the next half month, avoiding strenuous activity. My face stayed flushed the entire taxi ride back. I rested my cheek lightly against He Zhou’s back, feeling his warmth, listening to him. “Senior,” he said as we got out, “for now… move into my apartment.”

My heart skipped several beats. Images of the doctor’s warning flashed. “Wh-what? Live with you?”

He Zhou paused, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I mean, your dorm is on the fourth floor. It’s hard to climb stairs with your foot like this. My building has an elevator, it’s comfortable. You can stay there; I can look after you during the day. As for nights—” He chuckled softly, “—I’ll move back to the dorm.”

My face flamed. “Okay,” I murmured softly.

It was nearly 11:30 PM when we got back to the dorm entrance. Unexpectedly, Song Qianyu was still there. He opened his mouth to speak as he saw us. I frowned and looked away. As we passed him, He Zhou spoke up, his voice clear. “Jing Jing, just pack a few clothes for tonight. I have everything else you might need at my place. I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning.” I saw Song Qianyu flinch violently out of the corner of my eye.

“Okay,” I said.

My roommate wasn’t surprised when I told her I was moving to He Zhou’s place. She just smiled and said, “He Zhou is a really good person.” Seeing the color returning to her face, I asked, “You and—”

“Over.” She anticipated my question, her expression calm, eyes steady. “From the night he called you thirteen times… I decided I didn’t like him anymore. I broke up with him the next day.”

I was stunned. “How did you know…?” I hadn’t answered any calls.

She pressed her lips together. “Before… I accidentally noticed you’d set a special ringtone just for him. ‘Love Story’.” I remained silent. “Later, that ringtone never played again. I figured you changed it… or blocked him.” I nodded. That night, I’d not only blocked him but changed his ringtone to ‘Go Away’. Her eyes lingered on my face for a moment before she sighed softly. “Xiao Jing… he wasn’t worthy of my liking. And he definitely wasn’t worthy of yours.”

…

I have to admit, He Zhou was incredibly good at taking care of people. Or at least, at taking care of me. In the short half-month I stayed at his place, between preparing for my thesis defense, playing games, and eating the meals He Zhou cooked, I gained several pounds. I put down the mirror with a look of deep despair and looked up at He Zhou, who was peeling an orange for me. Running between the apartment and the dorm had thinned his face slightly, defining his jawline. He looked effortlessly handsome.

I blinked, then threw myself forward, burying my face in his chest. “Once my foot is completely healed, I’m going on a diet!” He Zhou just laughed, feeding a segment of orange into my mouth.

That night, a sudden storm broke. As He Zhou picked up his umbrella to head back to the dorm, I closed my eyes and murmured, “…Stay tonight?”

He Zhou stared at me intently for a long moment. Seeing I wasn’t taking it back, his grip on the umbrella tightened. His voice was husky. “Okay.”

Around midnight, a loud clap of thunder jolted me awake. I turned my head; He Zhou was still sleeping soundly beside me. Smiling, I tried to go back to sleep, but noticed the window wasn’t fully closed. A fine drizzle was drifting in. He Zhou, worried I might trip, had bought me supportive shoes online. But my injury wasn’t severe; after half a month, I could walk short distances easily now. I slipped on my nightgown and walked over to close the window. As I did, I glanced down and saw a familiar figure below.

My fingers paused on the window frame.

The night was deep, darkness enveloping everything. Under the dim streetlight, I could make out his pale face and the glowing ember of a cigarette between his fingers. He was smoking. I’d known Song Qianyu for ten years. He rarely smoked, only when deeply agitated, at his most volatile. Lately, every weekend, I’d seen him loitering near the apartment. He seemed so idle, I almost wondered if he’d lost his job.

I knew Song Qianyu saw me too. But I had no desire to look at him any longer. I closed the window firmly, drew the curtains, and walked slowly to the living room to pour myself a glass of water. Then, my phone, left on the living room table the night before, rang.

It was an unknown number.

I hesitated, sighed, and answered. The voice on the other end was low, rough, filled with suppressed confusion and despair. He didn’t say anything coherent, just repeated my name over and over: “Xiao Jing… Xiao Jing…”

A sudden wave of sadness washed over me. Not heartache, not pain, not hatred. Just a stark, simple sadness, a momentary dryness in my heart. I suddenly remembered the lyrics from ‘Love Story’: “Cause we were both young when I first saw you…”

When I first saw him, we were young. I was drawn to that cool, quiet boy. I’d pretend to casually pass by his classroom. I’d study vocabulary day and night, pushing myself to get into his class. Back then, I didn’t care about the outcome; just catching a glimpse of him filled me with joy. Later, I became cautious, anxious, worshiping him like a deity. And he… never refused, never drew near. Slowly, I realized the hurt he caused was beginning to outweigh the initial wonder and strength he’d given me. Now, all my feelings for him… in this moment, as he called my name… vanished, miraculously, completely.

Finally, I heard my own voice, clear and calm: “Song Qianyu, I once… truly, deeply… liked you.”

“But now… I really, truly… don’t love you anymore.”

…

After hanging up, I returned to bed. Suddenly, an arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me close. My head rested against his chest. “There’s a new fish noodle place downstairs,” He Zhou murmured, his voice calm but carrying a subtle edge. “Heard it’s a famous ten-year-old chain, super fresh, lots of regulars. Want to try it for breakfast tomorrow?”

I raised an eyebrow quickly. “No!”

He Zhou paused, ruffling my hair. “Why? Don’t you like fish noodles?”

I lifted my face, looped my arms around his neck, and smiled. “Nope! Don’t like it. I only like congee!”