Rosalind Yardley, his junior from med school.

They interned together, worked together, took shifts in the clinic together.

Except for their days off, they were almost always side by side.

Just like he and I used to be.

At first, I didn’t think much of it.

After all, no one knows Quentin’s temperament better than I do.

One time, I went out for dinner with some coworkers and ran into the two of them.

There was nothing in their interaction that looked even remotely ambiguous.

But before I could really relax—

I heard Quentin introduce me.

“This is Whitney Fraser, my neighbor.”

Just a few words, polite and distant.

My nerves jolted. It felt like my heart had fallen from a great height.

It didn’t shatter, but the impact left me dizzy and sick.

Maybe it was because I wanted to test something, but after that I took the initiative to go to the hospital several times.

Quentin’s attitude toward me didn’t seem to change.

The only difference was that one day he actually commented, almost rare for him, “The soup you made last time was really good.”

After all these years, I still couldn’t help lighting up at a single sentence from him.

“I’ll make it again next time then!”

Unfortunately, that happiness didn’t last long.

On my way out, I ran into Rosalind.

She smiled at me, eyes bright as she said, “Miss Fraser, thank you. My cold got better all thanks to your soup.”

One look between us, and both our thoughts were laid bare.

It hit me.

So Rosalind knew that Quentin and I were more than just neighbors.

So the soup I made for Quentin had all been passed on to her.

And when she said that, she was declaring war.

I don’t remember how I got home afterward.

All I remember is that on the way back, I kept turning the same question over and over in my mind.

If there’s someone by Quentin’s side now…

Do I still hold on?

All these years, everything between us, made it impossible for me to judge calmly.

To force myself to think clearly, I didn’t contact Quentin at all for a whole week.

Maybe I’d gone quiet for too long, because Quentin came to find me first.

He stood in front of me, dark brows slightly drawn together, his tone softer than usual.

“I shouldn’t have given the soup you brought me to Rosalind.”

“You’re mad because of that, aren’t you?”

Then he added, “This one’s on me. It’s got nothing to do with her.”

That last part was the key, wasn’t it?

I looked up at him, searching his calm eyes for some other emotion.

But there was nothing.

When I didn’t answer, Quentin hesitated, then said, “How about I pay you back for it?”

My eyes burned, and suddenly I couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“Quentin, do you like her?”

If you like her, then just say it clearly, okay?

Even if it’s like being stabbed straight through the heart, it’s better than living under a blade that never falls.

He clearly hadn’t expected such a strong reaction from me. He froze for half a minute before he finally spoke.

“Don’t talk nonsense. She’s just a colleague.”

“I told you already, I’m not thinking about that kind of thing until I’m thirty-five.”

I blinked, and my tears completely slipped out of control.

“What about me? Am I supposed to wait for you until you’re thirty-five?”

After a long silence, Quentin reached out and wiped my tears away.

Awkwardly, yet with a familiarity that hurt, he changed the subject.

“Your birthday’s in a few days. Don’t think about stuff that makes you unhappy, okay?”

He paused, then added in a soothing tone, “You’re definitely going to like this year’s birthday present. It’s something you mentioned before.”

I stared at him in a daze, my heart suddenly pounding like a drum.

Every year on my birthday, I confess to Quentin. Every year, he turns me down.

Last year, I got drunk and cried my eyes out in his arms.

What did he say to comfort me back then?

“Stop crying. You’re a grown woman, this is fucking embarrassing.”

“Alright, alright, next year I’ll give you an answer you’ll be satisfied with, okay?”

So does that mean…

I suddenly didn’t dare think any further.

“Okay.”

On my birthday,

I waited from morning until night.

I waited for Quentin, full of anticipation, waiting for the gift that belonged to me.

It was nine in the evening by the time Quentin finally showed up.

“There was something at the hospital. I’m a little late,” he said.

He frowned at the ice cream cake that was already starting to melt.

“You really didn’t have to wait for me.”

I carefully cut into the cake and replied casually, “I’m used to it.”

What kind of birthday is it if you eat the cake alone?

“By the way, where’s my present?”

There was a tremor of hope in my voice. No one knew how loudly my heart was pounding in that moment.

“I was so busy I forgot. Left it at the office.”

A trace of exhaustion crossed Quentin’s face.

“I only remembered when I was almost here, and I couldn’t be bothered to go back for it.”

“I’ll bring it next time.”

He tossed the words out lightly, not noticing at all how stiff my hand had gone as I sliced the cake.

So it wasn’t the gift I wanted.

I’d been overthinking it again.

But no matter what, I wanted to fight for myself one more time.

Even though I’d already rehearsed it six times in my head, I was still nervous when I opened my mouth again.

“Quentin, this is the seventh birthday you’ve spent with me, and I…”

My unfinished confession snagged halfway out of my throat.

Because Quentin’s phone rang.

A woman’s sobbing voice came through the line in broken fragments.

Quentin’s expression grew darker and more serious.

“Stay in the duty room and don’t go out. I’m coming to you right now.”

He grabbed his coat and headed for the door, not even bothering to give me an explanation.

“Quentin!”

I called out, my voice loud and panicked, my face drained of color.

Rosalind. Again.

Even on my birthday, he still wouldn’t compromise for me?

“There’s trouble with a patient’s family. Rosalind’s just a girl; she can’t handle it alone. I have to go.”

A faint crease formed between his brows, a hint of irritation glinting beneath.

“Don’t make a scene.”

In that second, the light in my eyes went out completely.

I murmured, almost to myself, “Quentin, if you walk out that door today, from now on I’ll never bother you again.”

He paused with his back to me.

A few seconds later, he let out a cold laugh and said, “That would be perfect.”

The door slammed shut behind him.

The sound was so loud it felt like it hit my eardrums straight on.

All these years, I’d always imagined that he had at least a little bit of love for me.

But everything that happened tonight finally forced me to see the truth.

When you like someone, you could never bear to see them this upset.

So no, Quentin didn’t like me at all.

Once I understood that, my heart hurt even more.

I collapsed onto the couch and cried until I was completely spent.

I didn’t even know when I fell asleep.

When I finally woke up, it was already morning.

The birthday cake on the table had spoiled and couldn’t be eaten anymore.

I sat there in a daze for a long time before I started cleaning up the mess scattered all over the room.

Balloons, streamers, flowers…

All of it had to go.

And this relationship had to be cleaned up too.

I hadn’t just been talking tough last night.

I was truly exhausted from chasing after him for so long.

I took out everything that had anything to do with Quentin.

It took me several days to sort it all out, pack it up, and throw it in the trash.

Each time I did it, my movements grew more practiced, more efficient.

But in the dead of night, I still ended up crying into my pillow.

For the next two months, I was in bad shape.

I even came down with a few minor illnesses on and off.

If Sheldon Xavier hadn’t pointed it out, I wouldn’t have realized how shockingly pale and worn out I looked.

Fortunately, time heals everything.

Everything passes, eventually.

Until the day I ran into Quentin at the hospital again.