Chapter 2
My coldness cut into Jonathan like a knife.
All the color drained from his face. He swayed slightly. The madness in his eyes faded, leaving only raw, heavy pain.
The music was still loud around us, but between us, everything went strangely quiet.
Emily rushed over and pulled me behind her, like a mother hen ready to fight.
"Who the hell are you? Are you crazy? Let go of Vivian!" Emily snapped.
The guy who'd been hitting on me froze, looking at Jonathan, then at me, completely lost.
Jonathan ignored everyone. His eyes stayed on me.
He stubbornly stood in front of me, blocking the guy with the drink.
He couldn't remember a thing, but driven purely by instinct, he refused to let any other man get close to me.
That was his love: possessive, selfish, and suffocating.
I used to drown in it, but I felt it was ridiculous now.
"Jonathan, if you don't move, I'm calling security," I said, my voice icy as I pulled out my phone.
He looked at me. His lips moved, like he wanted to say something, but nothing came out.
Without a word, he grabbed my wrist and dragged me out.
I struggled, tried to pull free, but he was too strong.
He didn't let go until we reached the dorm building.
The night breeze was cool, brushing past me.
He finally let go of me.
A clear red mark circled my wrist, burning.
He was back to his usual cold, superior professor self, looking down at me with a lecturing tone.
"Ms. Lee, you're a student," Jonathan said.
"Students should behave like students.
"That kind of place isn't where you should be."
I almost laughed at his double standards.
At the hospital, he thought I was trying to take shortcuts. Now he said I was not acting like a proper student.
Who does he think he is, lecturing me like this?
An ex-boyfriend who didn't even remember me, or a teacher who disliked me?
"Professor Stone," I said, lifting my chin and meeting his eyes.
"Remember, you're a professor.
"So act like one.
"And stay out of my life."
With that, I turned and walked straight into the dorm without looking back, leaving his shock and hurt behind me.
The next day was Jonathan's class.
I chose the very back corner on purpose.
He walked into the classroom and, out of habit, his eyes went straight to the front row, my usual seat.
It was empty.
His gaze paused for a moment, but then he acted as if nothing had happened and started the lecture as usual.
But I could still feel it. His eyes kept drifting toward my corner, again and again.
His voice was still cool and clear, but I could sense a trace of irritation beneath it.
During the Q&A, he adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses and scanned the room.
Then, almost as if his hand had a mind of its own, he pointed right at me.
"You in the back, the one in the black hoodie. Answer this question," he said.
All at once, everyone in the class turned to stare at me.
I stood up, a cold sneer crossing my mind.
It was the exact question I was best at. The one we used to talk about late into the night.
Deep down, he still knew how good I was.
I answered calmly and confidently, with clear logic and a fresh perspective.
Jonathan stared at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes, and he stayed silent for a long moment.
Only when the bell rang did he finally snap back.
"Nicely done. Sit down," Jonathan said.
As I sat down, a graceful figure walked to the front of the classroom.
It was Linda White, the new administrative staff member.
Linda wore a soft beige dress, light makeup, and held a cup of coffee. With a sweet smile, she handed it to Jonathan.
"Jonathan, you've worked hard. Have some coffee," she said.
Her voice was soft, almost too familiar. And she glanced at me, pretending it was casual.
I knew her.
When Jonathan was in the hospital, she came almost every day. She said it was work, but it was obvious she was there for him.
Jonathan took the coffee and nodded politely.
But the moment he caught a whiff, his brow furrowed ever so slightly.
He casually set the coffee on the podium. "Thanks, I don't like this," he said flatly.
Then he picked up his notes and walked out of the classroom. He didn't look at the coffee again.
Linda's smile froze on her face.
But inside, I couldn't help but sneer at myself.
That coffee was a hazelnut latte.
It was my least favorite flavor, and even the smell made me uncomfortable.
For two years, Jonathan gave up his favorite hazelnut latte for me and drank countless bitter black coffees instead.
His body remembered more than his mind ever did.
That afternoon, I went to the campus supermarket for snacks.
Through a row of shelves, I saw Jonathan.
He was pushing a shopping cart, carefully picking things in the snack aisle.
I saw him take a bag of strawberry chips and drop it into the cart.
Then he grabbed a container of strawberry yogurt and tossed that in too.
Then came strawberry sandwich cookies, strawberry gummies, strawberry chocolate...
He kept going until his cart was full of strawberry-flavored things.
I stood still and watched him check out with that overloaded cart. My feelings were all over the place.
He never ate sweets.
Especially not strawberries. He used to hate anything too sweet.
But I was the opposite. I loved strawberries.
He had forgotten me, but not my favorite things.
That kind of unconscious preference felt like a thin needle, pressing into something I thought had already healed.
It didn't hurt. Just a little ache.