Chapter 3

Chapter 3

People used to say that even our names were a perfect match.

Elena Bennett, Ethan Carter.

But others would say they sounded too similar, like siblings.

Most of the time, I just smiled, but inside, I'd be over the moon. Yeah, our names were meant to be together. We'd been together for four years—he must like me, right?

Even if he didn't like me that much, he must have felt something, right?

Sometimes I'd wonder if I was just too stupid for him to like me.

Would we have more to talk about if I, like Sophia Wilson, had problems to ask about or formulas to discuss?

Back in our third year of high school, I'd asked him which university he wanted to get into.

Ethan had said, "C University."

For his sake, I'd studied day and night, wracking my brain, losing count of how many late nights I'd pulled—just to barely meet the admission cutoff for C University.

I'd worked so hard just to get into the same university as him, to stand by his side.

But when I sent him a photo of my acceptance letter, he took ages to reply.

"You got in too?"

"Congratulations."

I had no idea what else I could do to make him notice me.

I sat on a stone bench, burying my face in my arms, replaying every moment I'd shared with Ethan.

Just then, a basketball rolled over and hit my calf.

I looked up and picked it up.

"Hey, classmate!" a voice called out. I turned to see who it was.

The lights around the basketball court were bright. A boy walked toward me, waving. He was wearing a bright red jersey, tall and straight—eye-catching and striking.

I recognized him: Lucas Miller, the heartthrob of the Philosophy department.

I handed him the basketball and wiped my tears. He took it and gave me a silly grin: "Thanks! Did that hurt? Do you want me to take you to the infirmary?"

When he saw my tear-streaked face, he froze for a second, then quickly added: "Why are you crying? Does it hurt that bad?"

His flustered reaction made me realize he'd gotten the wrong idea.

"It's fine—it's not your fault," I said, pulling a tissue out of my bag and dabbing at my nose.

Lucas didn't leave. I'd told him it wasn't his fault, but he still looked guilty and apologized several more times.

I waved him off, saying it was really okay. It took a while to convince him to go.

The sun had completely sunk below the horizon. The orange sunset faded into twilight, and stars began to dot the sky.

I sat alone on that stone bench, not even sure how long I'd been there. The late autumn wind was starting to make me cold. Lights flickered on one by one, and the playground turned into a spot for couples to date.

More and more couples showed up. Watching them walk in groups, my heart ached with bitterness.

Ethan still hadn't gotten back to me.

He was exactly the kind of boring boyfriend people talked about—total "straight guy syndrome." He never cared about me, never thought about my feelings. We didn't even act like a couple.

Finally, after freezing long enough, I stood up and walked back to the dormitory step by step.

I tried not to wonder what he was doing—whether he was still talking to Sophia, staying with her, or if he'd already gone back.

I walked in a daze to the girls' dormitory building. Then, I saw a sight that made my mood plummet.

Ethan and Sophia were standing not far away. They seemed to have just arrived. Sophia looked like she'd touched up her makeup—her lips were bright red. She was smiling sweetly, talking to Ethan about something.

Ethan stood listening. His nose was straight, his bangs falling naturally over his forehead, half covering his dark, narrow eyes. His eyelashes weren't the longest, but they were thick, curving slightly at the ends—giving him a cold yet romantic look.

Whatever Sophia said made him nod. Then he pulled out his phone.

They were adding each other on WeChat.

I stared at them, the sight so painful it made my nose tingle.

I had no idea what Ethan was thinking—he never added girls on WeChat before.

After adding him, Sophia gave him another sweet smile and said, "See you tomorrow, Ethan."

Ethan nodded in reply.

He watched Sophia go upstairs, then turned to leave.

The moment he looked up, he saw me. A flicker of surprise crossed his face.

I stared at him, walking slowly toward him. My voice was tight with sobs as I said his name: "Ethan Carter."

Ethan looked down at me, quiet. The scattered light from the street lamps glinted in his eyes.

"You added her on WeChat? Why did you do that?" I asked, unable to hold back.

"Yeah, she said it'd be easier to ask me questions," he replied.

His words were casual, yet somehow sincere.

Ha—ask questions? As if I couldn't see through her little game.

He took my hand naturally. He must have noticed my red, puffy eyes.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

His hand was cold, as always—I could feel the sharpness of his knuckles.

"Her name's Sophia Wilson," I said, shaking his hand slightly. "She likes you, doesn't she?"

Ethan looked at me, his brows furrowing a little.

"Why else would she keep coming to you?" I pressed.

"Even if she doesn't like you, she's definitely interested, right?"

"Why won't you turn her down?"

You have a girlfriend—your girlfriend is standing right in front of you.

He looked at me like he didn't understand.

"She's just asking for help with homework. You're overthinking it," he said.

"Her questions are interesting to discuss. You know I like working on this kind of problem."

I knew—I knew that perfectly well. Because you love these mind-bending physics problems, because she shares your interests and has things to talk about with you, you're breaking your own rules for her.

"You're crying because of this?" he asked, looking at me like he couldn't believe it.

"No—sand got in my eyes," I mumbled, turning my head away.

I knew he'd react like this. He'd think I was being dramatic, making a big deal out of nothing.

At that moment, Ethan turned my head back toward him. I watched him part his lips and blow gently into my eye.

"It's been gone for ages," I said, being stubborn.

Ethan stepped back, saying nothing.

Staring at his face, I finally asked:

"Will you leave me?"

I knew I was just making small talk. He gave me a faint glance, like the question was childish.

"What are you thinking about?" he said.

I squeezed his hand, as if trying to melt the coldness in his fingers, to make our temperatures match.

To make my way into his heart.

"Ethan Carter, do you like me?"

I'd lost count of how many times I'd asked him that. We rarely fought—unlike other couples in love, we'd barely argued a handful of times in four years. And even when we did fight and stopped talking, I was always the one who went to him to make up.

Every time we made up, I'd ask that question.

"Ethan Carter, do you like me?"

And every time, his answer was yes.

In the quiet autumn night, neither of us spoke first.

His features were clear—thin lips, eyes the color of dark ink. I watched him hesitate for a few seconds.

"Yes," he said.

I never expected that Sophia lived right next door to me.

She loved dropping by other dorms. Someone in my dorm knew her, so she ended up staying over that night.

I didn't say a word to her—we only communicated through glances.

She kept looking at me.

Finally, she couldn't hold it in anymore. She swiveled her chair around, looked up at me lying on the top bunk, scrolling through my phone, and gave me that same sweet smile: "Um, Elena Bennett..."

"Hmm?" I looked down at her.

She waved her phone, grinning from ear to ear.

"I added Ethan Carter on WeChat. You don't mind, right?"

She was asking me now—days after she'd already done it?

What a good actress.

"Who he adds is his business. It has nothing to do with me," I said, giving her a cold glance.

Sophia laughed happily, turning back to chat with my roommate—as if declaring her victory.

All I could do was sneer and curse her in my heart.

The next day, Ethan and I went out to eat. Halfway through the meal, he went to the bathroom and left his phone on the table.

Just then, the phone buzzed, lighting up the screen.

I didn't mean to look, but I couldn't resist. I reached over and picked it up.

Sophia Wilson's name popped up.

[Ethan, are you free? I'll treat you to dinner tonight?]

That was the latest message. Above it were more:

[Ethan, I can't figure out this problem. Can I ask you about it tomorrow?]

[I saw you in the library today.]

[Ethan, the weather forecast says it'll rain today. Don't forget your umbrella!]

...

Ethan came back just then. He pulled a few tissues out of the box and wiped his hands.

"Ethan, dinner together tonight?" I said.

He looked up at me, confused: "What are you talking about?"

I tossed his phone to him.

He glanced at it.

"I didn't agree," he said, his voice calm. He handed the phone back to me.

[Busy.]

As we walked out, I couldn't stop thinking about Sophia's messages to him.

It was true—Ethan hadn't agreed. But Sophia, just like me, sent him countless messages: asking about homework, reminding him about the weather, even saying good morning. And Ethan's replies were always cold—he was like that with everyone, whether it was me or Sophia.

"Ethan Carter, can you delete her?" I said, holding his hand as we walked down the street.

"She acts like such a fake—sending you all those messages every day, even telling you every little thing she does."

"Am I your girlfriend, or is she? She's more 'dutiful' than I am."

"Please don't just add random girls like that, okay?"

I was angry, but more than that, I was panicky and confused. I was scared—scared of losing Ethan. If there was one Sophia Wilson, there would be more.

I couldn't hold onto his heart. He'd never really been mine to begin with.

The late autumn wind was cold. I talked on and on, unable to hide my fear of losing him.

As I rambled, he just stood there quietly, watching me.

His eyes were dark—no one could tell what he was thinking.

"I'm not saying you can't have female friends, but you can't be with someone like her..."

Suddenly, he put his arm around my waist, pulling me into his arms.

Then he tilted my head up and kissed me.

We'd kissed before, of course—we'd been together so long.

But not very often.

I was a chatterbox, and whenever I tried to reason with him, Ethan would do this—find a way to shut me up.

I'd wanted to talk to him seriously, to make him understand, but he wouldn't listen.

He just wanted me to be quiet.

I wasn't sure if he was getting annoyed.