Chapter 1

Luka Jackson, my boyfriend of ten years, had a habit of recording our promises in his notes app.

"Get accepted into the same university.

Intern at a Fortune 500 company together.

Save $20,000 together.

Travel across the country together..."

Everything was about "together," as if we would never part ways.

All 99 promises were carefully checked off one by one.

Our lives were already close to perfect—except for one final piece to complete the story.

Yet, Luka hesitated when it came to the 100th promise.

He tossed and turned at night, and after revising it multiple times, he finally marked it with a red X.

That 100th promise was—getting married.

...

It was a gloomy, rainy day when Luka Jackson returned.

We had agreed to visit the noodle shop we used to frequent and order a bowl of minced pork noodles, as if I had never discovered his notes or the red X on our marriage promise.

He didn't bring it up, nor did he seem to acknowledge it.

Instead, Luka loosened his tie, changed into a sweatshirt, and prepared to head out.

I struggled to stand, a sharp pain shooting through my knee like an electric shock, leaving a numb sensation behind.

Luka extended his hand toward me, and for a moment, I thought he was going to help me up. But instead, he frowned and asked,

"Did you bring your wallet? That place still only takes cash, even after ten years. Some things never change."

I froze, then handed him my wallet after a brief pause. Luka turned and walked out the door without sparing me another glance.

He seemed to have forgotten.

Forgotten how my legs ached on rainy days because I had lived with him in that damp, dark basement for years.

Forgotten how he used to be the first to support me every time I stood up, his face full of guilt as he said,

"Andy, I'll be your crutch from now on."

Back then, no matter how late or tired he was, he'd accompany me to the bathroom at night. The bedside table was always stocked with tissues and water to spare me the trouble of getting up.

Now, as I stared at the empty stairwell where his figure had disappeared, I could only lean on the railing, inching my way down one step at a time.

The stairwell was dimly lit, and I remembered when we had just moved in, the lightbulb had been broken. Luka had replaced it himself to keep me safe.

But now, under the faint light, I missed a step and fell heavily to the floor.

The pain in my knees was nothing compared to the ache in my heart—a cold, splintering pain that spread like cracks across the surface of ice, forming a bottomless chasm. Even in the sweltering heat of June, my limbs felt frozen.

When I finally limped into the car, silence enveloped us. Luka didn't glance at the bruises on my legs, nor did he say a word.

Somewhere along the way, we had grown silent, as though a mist hung between us, making us seem close yet obscuring each other's faces. I could no longer feel his heartbeat or the warmth of his love.

I glanced around the car.

The little toys we had picked out together were gone, as was the lucky charm that used to hang from the rearview mirror. I couldn't help but ask,

"What happened to the charm?"

His voice was calm.

"Those things are just superstitions. And all the toys you bought were taking up too much space, so I donated them to kids in the mountains. You're an adult now; you don't need plush toys."

I clenched the fabric of my clothes, my hands trembling slightly. A sour sensation rose in my nose, and my eyes burned as I turned to look at the scenery outside the window.

That charm wasn't just a token for good fortune. The red string tied to it was the same one we had requested at the temple for our relationship. I had painstakingly climbed the steep, winding mountain path despite my bad leg, all because of him.

Luka had always sighed at my stubbornness.

"Why are you so persistent, Andy?"

Now, I asked myself, what else was worth holding on to?

Chapter 2

When we arrived at the noodle shop, the owner immediately recognized us and greeted us warmly.

"You like spicy spaghetti, and you like extra bacon in your noodles, right?"

I nodded, but Luka went to sit at the farthest table and immersed himself in his phone.

When the noodles were ready, Luka brought mine over.

But as I looked at the bowl in front of me, I realized it wasn't bacon noodles—it was tomato spaghetti.

I glanced at Luka, but he didn't notice. He remained fixated on his phone, seemingly waiting for someone's message.

The owner hurried over. "You took the wrong order! This isn't bacon. Let me fix it for you."

Only then did Luka lift his head, a flicker of surprise and awkwardness flashing across his face. But his lips moved slightly, and in the end, he said nothing.

The difference between bacon and tomato was obvious. Yet he had become so indifferent and inattentive toward me.

My chest tightened. The sound of rain outside was like a relentless drumbeat, pounding against the fragile walls of my heart.

Luka Jackson seemed to feel a bit guilty as he put down his phone and poured me a glass of water.

"I wasn't paying attention earlier," he said.

I nodded, lowering my head to eat my noodles.

But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't stop the tears from falling onto the table. The once-delicious bacon noodles now tasted like sand, dry and coarse, scraping my throat and leaving me speechless.

When we finished eating, I noticed the wall of photographs—pictures of loyal customers taken with the shop owner over the years.

Right in the center was a photo of Luka and me. Back then, we were wearing our blue and white school uniforms, smiling brightly. He was pinching my cheek, his eyes filled with nothing but me.

Next to the photo was a sentence written in bold letters: "Andy and I will always, always be together."

I tugged on Luka's sleeve, my eyes misty. "Do you remember this? You wrote it. Back before we graduated. You even said—"

Luka cut me off. "It's childish, don't you think? The shop probably does this for marketing. You know, nostalgia tricks to draw people in."

He walked back to the car without waiting for my response. My legs felt like they were filled with lead as I stood there, watching his figure blur in the rain.

I could barely see him anymore.

At 18, Luka had carefully penned those words with all his heart. At 28, he dismissed them with a sneer.

I opened the car door and, holding back the lump in my throat, forced my voice to sound steady.

"Luka, let's break up."

After a brief silence, Luka gave a simple response.

"Okay."

I didn't get in the car. Instead, I gently shut the door. The vehicle drove off, splashing muddy water onto my pants.

It felt like ice clung to my leg, the biting cold so intense it rooted me in place.

Each breath felt like it sapped the last of my strength, and the spinning, blurry scenery around me made it hard to focus.

Finally, I had to admit the truth—Luka didn't love me anymore.

When I woke up in the hospital, I realized I must have collapsed from a high fever while standing by the roadside. The shop owner had been kind enough to send me to the hospital.

Instinctively, I reached for the lucky charm tied with a red string that Luka and I had once shared. His was long gone, and now, so was mine.

The tension in my chest snapped like a balloon pricked with a needle.

Exhaustion overwhelmed me, and I burrowed into the blanket, curling up like a hermit crab retreating into its shell, trying to hide my vulnerability and sorrow.

Luka entered the room just then, his presence indifferent and calm.

A passing nurse frowned at him. "We called you an hour ago. It took you this long to show up? What if the patient needed an emergency signature?"

"I'm not her family," Luka replied flatly.

Those words felt like sulfuric acid, seeping into my chest and corroding my heart inch by inch.

He casually peeled an apple for me, his movements unhurried. There wasn't a single drop of rainwater on his clothes, and his shoes were spotless. It was obvious—Luka hadn't rushed to the hospital.

He didn't care about my life or death anymore.

Chapter 3

I couldn't help but think back to years ago when we were apart. The moment Luka learned I needed surgery, he had taken a red-eye flight, traveling 1,700 kilometers just to be by my side.

I still remembered how he arrived, covered in sweat and mud, even missing a shoe because he couldn't find a taxi and had to run through the streets.

That night, he told me, "Every second I'm late, you're at greater risk. I couldn't take that chance."

Back then, he was disheveled but sincere. Now, he was polished and pristine but utterly devoid of genuine care.

I caught sight of a small piece of red string sticking out of Luka's pocket.

Just as I was about to take a closer look, he turned around and put down his jacket. When I looked again, the string was gone.

It must have been my imagination. Luka hadn't been there; there was no way he could have picked up my charm.

"I left not long after, but the hospital called me," Luka said.

I glanced at my phone and realized I still had him listed as my emergency contact. Ten years was a long time—habits ingrained in my bones weren't easy to break.

Looking at Luka's indifferent expression, I couldn't help but ask in a trembling voice, "Is there someone else?"

Luka shook his head, his face unreadable.

"No."

"Then… what did I do wrong?"

Luka sighed, running his hands through his hair. His pupils seemed unfocused.

"You didn't do anything wrong, Andy. But don't you think spending ten years with the same person gets suffocating?

I can already picture my life twenty, thirty years from now—still with you. Eating the same food, having the same conversations.

I'm tired."

My fingers trembled uncontrollably, my nails digging into my palms, but it wasn't enough to pull me out of the despair that engulfed me.

Negative emotions stabbed at me like countless needles, piercing every pore, impossible to remove.

Tears streamed uncontrollably down my face. I kept wiping them away, my voice hoarse as I tried to speak.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. I just... I just..."

I seemed to have lost the ability to form coherent words, like a broken machine stuck on an endless loop.

Luka cupped my face in his hands, gently wiping away my tears.

But his hands were ice-cold, trembling uncontrollably.

In the gentlest tone, he uttered the coldest words:

"Promise me, don't do anything foolish. Move on with your life. Let's set each other free."

A tidal wave of sorrow overwhelmed me.

At that moment, I felt like someone adrift on the ocean—struggling only to sink deeper, lost and unsure of where I belonged.

Yet, deep down, I understood. A love that lasted ten years was like a kite with its string severed. No matter how tightly I tried to hold on, it was futile.

In my daze, memories from years ago resurfaced.

Back when my stepmother had thrown me out of the house, I wandered aimlessly with a torn schoolbag, eventually finding myself by a bridge.

Staring at the rushing river below, I felt like one of the fish in the water—always drifting, always at the mercy of others.

Whether it was swimming forward or being hooked to meet an untimely death, I thought it might be better to decide my fate for myself.

Just as I began to lean forward, a hand grabbed me.

Luka wiped my tears with a tissue, his movements careful and deliberate.

"Promise me, don't do anything foolish. I'll always be here for you," he said.

The same gesture, similar words—just a few altered phrases, yet the meaning was worlds apart.

Luka and I had grown up together. I used to watch him study English vocabulary in his room while I did my homework.

He was the lonely boy left behind in the courtyard, and I was the unwanted "bad-luck child" in my family.

From playing under the locust tree to leaving that suffocating place together, we had been each other's support.

Ten years of protection, ten years of love. I never imagined that what would finally defeat us wasn't life's hardships but the allure of novelty.

Luka turned to leave, his steps unsteady. Instinctively, I reached out to steady him, but he pushed me away.

Even so, I couldn't help but worry. "What's wrong?" I asked.

Luka turned, his face pale. "I'm squeamish about blood. You forgot?"

I glanced at the IV needle; it had backflowed due to my movement. But I remembered—Luka had overcome his fear long ago.