Chapter 2

The young woman sitting next to him asked, "Chris, who's Ms. James?"

The car door had just opened, and a cold draft swept in.

As she spoke, she wrapped her arms around herself for warmth.

Chris draped his coat over her shoulders.

Then, with a dismissive shrug, he replied, "Just a college classmate who was downright repulsive to me."

Ghosts aren't supposed to feel cold.

But right now, it was like a coldness seeped into my soul.

I met Chris Grant during my senior year of college.

At the time, I'd just started an internship at a newspaper and was given a few small interview assignments.

One of my interviewees was Chris Grant, the top student representative from the law department.

He was in his early twenties, with a calm, gentle way of speaking that made him naturally magnetic.

The whole interview lasted less than twenty minutes.

But for some reason, I was nervous the whole time, and by the end, my palms were sweating.

But Chris gave me a reassuring smile and spoke softly, trying to calm my nerves.

"It's fine, Ms. James. Feel free to ask anything. We're just classmates having a chat."

After the interview, I said I wanted to treat him to dinner as a thank you for helping out.

It was supposed to be strictly professional, which made my pretext of thanking him seem all the more flimsy.

But Chris agreed right away.

We started spending more time together, and before I knew it, we were getting pretty close.

Eventually, I confessed how I felt, and he agreed to be with me.

Everything was going so smoothly, it almost felt unreal.

But after we got together, I started to sense something was off.

The guy who seemed so gentle at first started to treat me like I didn't matter, barely paying attention to me anymore.

He'd show up over an hour late for dates, get my birthday wrong or just forget it altogether.

Whenever I was sick or hurt and reached out to him, he would let my calls ring out, ignoring them time and time again.

Every time I brought these things up to Chris, he would always apologize.

The same excuse every time, "Sorry, I'll be more mindful next time."

But nothing ever changed—he'd just mess up again, like clockwork.

I just couldn't wrap my head around it anymore. One night, after a few drinks, I finally blurted it out to my childhood friend, Lucas Reed.

"Is this really how guys treat someone they actually like?" I asked him.

Lucas thought for a long moment before answering seriously, "I don't think so."

I felt a pang of sadness. "But Chris clearly had feelings for me—he even agreed to be my boyfriend."

Lucas sighed and tried to explain, "Maybe he's just naturally cold."

"Plus, with graduation coming up, he's probably swamped. It's normal for people to slip up sometimes."

What he said made sense.

Maybe once Chris graduated and settled into his career, he wouldn't brush me off anymore.

But burying one's head in the sand could only fool someone for so long.

*****

On the day of Chris's thesis defense, I stood outside the classroom, my heart pounding as I waited for him to take the podium.

Right before it was his turn to present, he abruptly checked his phone.

Looked like he got a text—he shot up from his seat, and even though the teacher barked at him to stop, he bolted out of the classroom in a rush.

He was always the type to keep his emotions locked down, never letting anyone see what he was really feeling.

That was the first time I'd ever seen him with such a dark, stormy look on his face.

He walked right past me like I was invisible.

He hurried out of the school, heading straight for the curb to hail a taxi.

I ran after him, calling his name, but he never once turned around.

I thought it must be some family emergency, so I quickly grabbed a cab and followed him to the hospital.

As soon as I stepped out of the taxi, I saw a girl with some scratches on her face throw herself into his arms outside the hospital.

Chris looked right past me—maybe he saw me, maybe he didn't.

Or rather, in that very moment, I had completely ceased to exist to him.

I watched as his hand gently patted the girl's back.

He was so tender, so attentive—like he was a different person, and I'd never seen that side of him before.

Amidst the sweltering summer heat and the relentless drone of cicadas, I faintly caught the tender murmur of his soothing voice.

My head was spinning, and my mind went completely blank. I couldn't really make out what Chris was saying.

All I heard was his drawn-out, caring tone as he called, "Sophie."

Suddenly, I remembered a text I'd gotten from Chris's mom a few months back.

[He's only dating you because you look like Sophie Sinclair.]

At the time, I didn't pay it any mind.

But right then, that text suddenly made everything click—it connected all the dots.

It gave me the most reasonable, and honestly the most laughable, explanation for everything.

After that, I told Chris I wanted to break up.

When I said it, deep down I couldn't help hoping he'd refuse, that he'd beg me to stay.

Yet he merely offered a few perfunctory questions about why before readily agreeing to the split.

It was like he couldn't wait to get rid of me. The very next day after we broke up, Chris left the country.

After that, I never saw him again.

We had only dated for barely six months—I doubt I ever left much of an impression on him anyway.