Chapter 2
Sixteen years ago, in Riverdale, at the University District, there was a coffeehouse at the end of an alley.
Lily was twenty, a sophomore.
She wore a faded hoodie, her hair pulled back in a ponytail, typing away at a paper in the corner.
Her laptop was old—the fan wheezed, and it stuttered sometimes.
The shop was quiet. Three in the afternoon, sunlight slanted through the windows.
She typed intently, brow slightly furrowed.
The bell above the door chimed.
Someone walked in.
Lily didn't look up.
But she heard the footsteps—leather soles on wood floors, a steady, unhurried rhythm.
Then the footsteps stopped right next to her table.
"Mind if I sit here?" The voice was low, a little raspy.
Lily looked up.
A man stood there. Shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, a briefcase in his right hand.
He had sharp features, a clean jawline, and high brow.
He wasn't a student.
From the way he dressed, he looked like he worked in an office.
"There are other seats," Lily said.
She wasn't used to sharing a table with strangers.
The man looked around.
Sure enough, the shop had other empty tables.
But he smiled. "This one's got the best light."
Lily stared at him for two seconds.
Then she moved her bag and books to the left.
"Sit," she said.
He sat.
He ordered an Americano. Black. No sugar.
Lily went back to typing.
About ten minutes of silence passed.
"What are you writing?" he asked suddenly.
Lily didn't stop typing. "A paper."
"What field?"
"Architecture."
"Oh." He leaned back. "That's a good major."
Lily glanced up. "What do you do?"
"Finance."
"Busy?"
"Off today."
Lily didn't ask more. She kept typing.
He sat there, drinking his coffee, occasionally looking out the window, occasionally looking at her.
Lily noticed his gaze.
But she didn't say anything.
Because his look wasn't uncomfortable.
It wasn't the sizing-up kind, the evaluating kind.
It was more like curiosity.
Like seeing a particularly straight tree and wanting to look a little longer.
She found out later his name was Henry.
He was the eldest son of Hawthorne Capital, twenty-seven years old, from a world completely different from hers.
*****
The second time they met was a week later.
Same coffeehouse. Same time.
He sat beside her again.
"Still the paper?" he asked.
"Yeah."
"New topic?"
Lily stopped and looked at him. "You saw what I was writing last time?"
Henry smiled. "I caught a few words. 'Emotional Memory of Urban Space.'"
Lily wrinkled her nose. "The professor shot that one down."
"Too bad. It sounded interesting."
Lily looked at him a moment longer. "You know architecture?"
"Not really." He said. "But I know what emotional memory is."
Lily didn't reply.
She turned her eyes back to her laptop screen.
But the corner of her mouth seemed a little looser than before.
Third time. Fourth. Fifth.
He came almost every week.
He always ordered an Americano.
And every time, he'd sit right next to her.
Their conversations grew from papers and architecture to movies, food, cities, and travel.
Lily found she really liked talking to him.
It wasn't because he was good-looking or because he was rich.
Because when she spoke, he listened.
He didn't jump in with opinions or try to give advice.
He just listened.
Sometimes he'd nod, sometimes he'd smile.
She felt like every word she said was being caught.
By the third month, Henry would walk Lily back to campus.
They walked under the plane trees. Autumn. Half the leaves had turned gold.
Lily's steps slowed.
"Henry," she called out.
"Yeah?"
"What... do you mean by this?"
Henry stopped walking.
He looked at her.
The streetlight stretched his shadow long.
"What do I mean?" he asked back.
Lily shoved her hands into her hoodie pocket, not looking at him. "Coming to see me every week. Sitting next to me every time. Walking me back. What do you mean by all that?"
Henry was quiet for two seconds.
Then he laughed.
It wasn't just a polite laugh. It was the kind that came from deep in his eyes, a relieved kind of laugh.
"Exactly what you think," Henry said.
Lily pulled her hands out of her pockets.
"Then you need to hear one thing first," she said.
Henry's smile faded. He looked at her seriously. "Go ahead."
Lily pulled her hands out of her pocket.
Her gaze fell on the plane leaves on the ground.
"My dad cheated. When I was thirteen," Lily said.
Her voice was flat as if she was telling a story past its expiration date.
"My mom found out. She didn't divorce him. She was worried it would affect my studies.
"She put up with it for four years.
"The day after my SAT, she went to the courthouse.
"My dad got on his knees and begged. Said he'd never do it again.
"My mom didn't say a word. She signed and left."
Lily lifted her head and looked at Henry. "From that day on, my mom never smiled again. I'm not exaggerating. It's been seven years. I haven't seen her smile once."
The night wind blew through, sending plane leaves spinning between them.
"So—" Lily's voice was steady and clear. "If you want to be with me, I have only one rule.
"Don't ever change your heart.
"I can't stand a man who isn't loyal."
Henry looked at her.
Her eyes in the streetlight were dead serious.
This wasn't flirting or wasn't a test.
It was an ultimatum.
"If you ever betray me—" She paused. "I will disappear from your world forever.
"No fighting. No chance to make it right. No second chances.
"Think hard about this."
Henry stood in front of her.
He stepped closer, one step at a time.
Then he bent his head and pressed his lips to her forehead.
It was a gentle and solemn kiss.
"Lily," he said. "I won't.
"For the rest of my life. Only you."
Lily closed her eyes.
She believed him.
The plane trees were so gold that day.
The wind was so cool.
His lips were so warm.
She thought that was the beginning of forever.
She didn't know their love only lasted thirteen years.