Chapter 2

That night, I sat alone on the balcony for hours.

I remembered how Alex called me his girlfriend in public but never admitted we lived together, and how his social feed held endless work photos, team-building shots, and coworker dinners, but never a single picture of us.

I remembered the night I worked until three in the morning and called him to pick me up, only for him to say he was with a client and tell me to take a cab home.

I remembered smelling Julia's perfume on his clothes the next day and hearing him brush it off as something that rubbed off during a team-building game.

I remembered last Christmas, when I asked if I could go home with him to meet his parents. He told me to wait, until his career was more settled.

Then this past March, he took Julia to the company Family Day. His excuse? “Her parents don’t live here. It’d be sad for her to spend the holiday all alone.”

Later, I saw a photo of Julia and him. Julia had her arm linked through his, grinning brightly.

Someone commented: [Mr. Carter, your girlfriend is gorgeous.]

He replied: [Just a coworker. Don't make things up.]

Just a coworker.

Then what did that make me?

Was I just a coworker too?

I booked a plane ticket and flew home the next day.

My mom Grace met me at the airport and asked why I'd come back so suddenly.

I said it was nothing, that I just missed her cooking, but halfway through dinner she carefully asked what was really going on between me and Alex.

Without looking up, I said, "We broke up."

Grace froze.

I set down my chopsticks and looked at her. "Mom, I'm getting married."

She thought I was speaking in anger and spent the whole night trying to talk me down, saying things like, "Eight years isn't easy," "Couples fight all the time," and "Don't do something you'll regret on impulse."

I didn't explain anything.

The next day, I went to see Ryan Goodwin.

He was my high school classmate and the son of one of Grace's coworkers.

We used to attend cram school together, and he sat behind me, always borrowing my notes to copy.

Later, he got into a college out of town, and we lost touch.

Last Christmas, Grace sent me a photo and said he'd come back to town, asking if I wanted to have dinner with him, but I couldn't make it home.

Before this trip, she sent me his contact again and asked if I wanted to talk.

When I checked his social feed, I found out he lived in my city and worked as a product manager at a tech company.

His latest post was a night view from the office with the caption: [When am I ever getting off work?]

I added him on WhatsApp and sent: [It's the girl whose notes you used to borrow. Remember me?]

He replied at once: [Emma Nolan? Of course I remember. When are you giving me back that eraser you owe me?]

I couldn't help smiling.

We talked for hours, from high school memories to overtime complaints.

At two in the morning, he asked me to see a new movie with him the next week, and I said yes.

After the movie and dinner, he suddenly asked, "Did you come back because of me?"

I told him the truth. "No. I came back because I don't want to wait anymore."

He nodded and didn't press.

We met again, then again, then a fourth time.

On that fourth date, he took me to meet his parents.

His mother said, "Em, I’ve watched you grow up since you were little. You’re such a good girl.”

I burst into tears at the dinner table, and Ryan silently handed me a tissue and gently patted my back.

After dinner, he walked me home. He stopped me downstairs and asked, "Emma, would you marry me?"

Then, looking straight at me, he said, "I know there might still be someone else in your heart. It’s alright. I can wait. But if you’ve made up your mind and don’t want to wait anymore… marry me."

I asked him, “Aren’t you afraid I’d only marry you just for the sake of getting married?”

He smiled. "I am. But I'm even more afraid of missing my chance with you."

That night, I called Sophie.

After a long silence, she asked, "Are you sure? Eight years of feelings, can you really let it go that easily?"

I said, "it wasn't just eight years, but every single day in those eight years."

She never tried to talk me out of it again.

A few days later, she texted: [I've got my bridesmaid sorted. Are you still saving me a spot at yours?]

I replied: [Don't worry. Same week. I keep my promises.]