Chapter 2
I met Ryan during my sophomore year at Westbridge University, but I'd already heard his name long before that.
He was the campus heartthrob, with a face that could turn heads, and he'd dated more girls than I could count.
The fact that I ended up as his official girlfriend felt like fate had a hand in it.
Back then, Ryan had ended things with his previous girlfriend.
Being there for him was what he needed to get through it.
No one else was ever as good to him as I was.
My friends always warned me not to fall too hard. Ryan and I were from different worlds.
I always knew what I wanted and took every step with purpose.
Ryan, on the other hand, drifted through life, always going with the flow and never worrying about what came next.
Yet somehow, the two of us stayed tangled up, stumbling through seven messy years together.
The first time I saw Ryan was at a club event.
He was looking down at his phone, his profile so striking that I couldn't help but glance at him a couple more times.
The younger girl next to me noticed and gave me a knowing smile.
"He's waiting for his girlfriend," she said.
I followed her gaze and saw a tall girl with long, wavy hair, but I couldn't see her face.
Still, I figured she must be pretty.
The next time I saw Ryan was late at night, outside the campus.
I'd finished representing Westbridge University in an intercollegiate competition and stepped out of the cab into the pouring rain.
By the campus gate, I found him passed out in the corner, drenched from head to toe.
Without thinking, I had the taxi take him straight to the hospital.
The doctor said he'd had way too much to drink, and the storm left him with a fever.
I stayed by his side all night until he finally woke up.
I joked about how much the hospital bill and cab ride had cost, and then, of all things, asked for a babysitting fee.
Ryan narrowed his eyes at me with a teasing smile, and my heart skipped a beat.
Six months later, we were having dinner at a restaurant off campus.
I was peeling shrimp for him when Ryan arched his brow at me and said, "Emily, do you want to make it official?"
My hand froze for a moment, but I played it cool. I replied, "Sure."
After we got together, I felt harder for Ryan.
His carefree vibe felt like pure romance to me.
I ended up being devoted to him, and nobody could match that.
I loved him for seven whole years.
When I woke up the next morning, it was already eight o'clock.
I rarely slept in this late. Guess I was wiped out from the night before.
I felt a chill and snuggled deeper under the covers.
Ryan always cranked the AC down to 60°F. He couldn't stand the heat.
When we first moved in together, I couldn't get used to it. I'd wake up shivering in the middle of the night and instinctively snuggle up to him for warmth.
At first, he'd always push me away, but he stopped fighting it and let me be.
But lately, I realized it's been forever since I last woke up in his arms.
He was right there beside me, but I didn't instinctively reach for him anymore.
That was not a good sign.
Today, for once, Ryan was up before me.
Barefoot, he wandered out onto the balcony, slouched against the sliding glass door, smoking.
His brow was furrowed as if he had something heavy on his mind.
We locked eyes through the glass until he stubbed out his cigarette, slid the door open, and stepped inside.
I said offhandedly, "You should cut back on smoking." He mumbled a response after a while.
Then he went out to grab breakfast. He brought back the same bread I used to get for him all the time.
I asked, "What kind of filling?"
"Shrimp," Ryan replied, reaching out to pat my head.
Out of nowhere, I felt so tired. I turned my head, dodging his hand.
"I'm allergic to seafood," I said.
Ryan blinked, caught off guard.
His hand froze mid-air. After a moment, he took a deep breath, his expression settling back to calm.
"What kind of filling do you want? I'll go get it for you," he said.
I shook my head and replied, "It's fine. I'll make myself a fried egg."
I noticed his hand at his side, tightly clenched into a fist.
"You never used to be picky," he said.
He was right. I never used to be picky.
I loved him so much that I accepted every part of him, including his quirks, his moods, and even the worst of his temper.