Chapter 1

My "boyfriend", Martin Duncan, sent me a photo of a luxury necklace on my birthday and asked, "What do you think?"

I looked at the outdated bow-shaped necklace and smiled. "It's beautiful."

Before I could even thank him for the gift, he called me.

His voice was sharp with disbelief. "Are you serious? My girlfriend says it's tacky as hell."

That was when it hit me. The necklace wasn't for me, and I wasn't his girlfriend.

The hickeys he'd left on my neck the night before were still there, and in that moment, I felt like the punchline to a joke I didn't know I was in.

I blurted out, "Wait, are you serious? Since when do you have a girlfriend?"

"Of course, I'm serious," Martin said casually. "Took me ages to get her."

I couldn't help but ask, "Then what am I to you?"

He paused, then laughed. "You're my best buddy. Honestly, it's about time you found a nice guy and got married."

I did exactly what he suggested.

I started going on blind dates, and that was when his composure finally cracked.

*****

It was the tenth year since I'd known Martin, and a night of heavy drinking pushed us past the line that had always defined us as just friends.

He never apologized, and I never blamed him.

We went back to having meals together and sleeping together, acting as if nothing had happened and never bringing up that night.

However, as soon as midnight hit, he would start wanting sex again.

He always liked things adventurous and intense, and I endured it all in silence so I would not spoil his mood.

He never once tried to make things official between us, but I foolishly believed we had something real.

I convinced myself that once the timing felt right, he would finally ask me to be with him.

I forgot that Martin had always been a playboy, someone whose girlfriends during college never lasted more than a month.

Just a few years without dating, and I lost all common sense over him.

I was foolish enough to believe that wanting him was all it took.

When he called me a "buddy", it hit me harder than any insult.

I tried to smile it off, but the laugh came out wrong, and the tears just wouldn't stop.

He had a million chances to tell me he was seeing someone else, but he waited until my birthday, the one day I was actually excited about, just to drop it on me as the most messed-up birthday present ever.

Then what were those months of intimacy meant to be, nothing more than a beautiful illusion he handed me?

Just days ago, he whispered in my ear, "You'd look so hot in black stockings. Wanna try it next time?"

And now he said, "Nicole is a good girl, and I don't want her to misunderstand. Rosalyn, you get what I mean, right?"

My hand trembled around my phone, and after a long pause, I finally said, "Okay."

It started raining again outside, and just a minute ago, I had been worrying about whether he would get wet on his way home.

I was so pathetic.

I had thought he meant to confess his feelings on my birthday.

Well, he did confess, but not to me.

Yeah, in those ten years, Martin never really saw me.

I opened the window, letting the wind and rain rush in. After a long silence, I whispered, "Martin, if you say we're just buddies, then buddies it is."

Then I hung up and threw my phone away.

The dishes I had carefully prepared had gone completely cold, and so had my mood.

In the end, I spent my birthday alone. I went to the movies alone, finally watching the film I'd begged Martin to see with me, but he never did.

After the movie ended, I walked around by myself. Snowflakes started falling, and before I knew it, winter was here.

It was my fifth year living in the north on my own, all because of something he once said while drunk. He said, "Rosalyn, stay with me."

I had been trapped in this place for six years.

Only then did I realize how much time had passed. I hadn't become the person I wanted to be, and love had failed me, too.

I muttered to myself, "This is really pathetic."

Just then, my phone softly buzzed with a notification. I checked it and saw it was from my grandma.

It was a voice message. "Rosalyn, happy birthday."

Of course, it was her. Who else would even remember it was my birthday?

My eyes welled up with tears, but I couldn't bring myself to tell her that I wanted to go home so badly.

I just didn't want to make her worry.

I stopped at the red light without thinking. I clenched my coat, held on for a few seconds, and still, the tears came.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. I turned away and leaned against a streetlight, my shoulders shaking with sobs as I just stood there, crying.

The cold cut so deep that I couldn't imagine warmth returning.

And in that moment, all I wanted was to go home.

The north was fine, but I didn't belong here.

Martin, it was so cold here. I had to leave.

On my way home, I bought a small cake and made a careful wish. "I'm done liking Martin."

I made the same wish every year, and it never seemed to work.

Maybe even the universe got sick of it and handed him a girlfriend.

That was a good thing. At least now I could move on.

I must have cried for too long, because I dreamed about Martin again.

It was my freshman year, back when I had just met him. He roared past me on his motorcycle, splashing mud all over me.

I was just a clueless newbie back then, so I totally lost it and started yelling at him.

Startled by me, Martin lost focus, his handlebars swerving as he and the motorcycle went down together.

He came to confront me later, and I pointed at my dirty white dress and told him to pay up.

I complained that because of him, I missed my coffee, lost a shift at my part-time job, and now had no idea how I was going to get through the week.

Everything collapsed at once when the call came. My grandmother was hurt and needed to be hospitalized.

Hearing that, even someone as tough as me felt my throat tighten, my voice suddenly shaky with tears.

I didn't bother with him anymore and walked off, rushing to figure out how to get a ticket back home as fast as possible.