On the day of our date, there were only three tickets left. Two seats together, and one alone in the back corner.

Benedict Barnes handed me the single ticket like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"It's an English-language film today. Your English isn't good, so you wouldn't follow it up front anyway."

"Sit in the back. That way, if you get bored, you can just slip out. Easier for you."

I'd lost count of how many times this had happened. A date meant for two, and I was the one left out.

They were both top students, admitted on early scholarships. They talked about studying abroad, IELTS scores, books in the original English, and even their parents had been friends for years.

I was just a small-town kid who was good at test prep, and I could never break into their world.

I wanted to walk through the night market and grab something to eat, and he said that kind of thing was pointless.

Instead he took me to a study-abroad info session, sat with Mila Swanson through an afternoon of lectures, and spent the whole day helping her pick schools.

Even today's movie. I'd begged him more than once. I wanted to see the new indie drama.

But at the theater, he chose the all-English historical film that Mila loved.

"Mila's English is good, so she can sit with me and we can talk through the plot together. You don't mind, right?"

He was already picking up the couple's combo as he said it, walking into the theater with Mila.

I dropped the back-row ticket into the trash.

This three-person movie date, I wasn't going.

And Benedict, I didn't want him anymore either.

……

By the time I got back to the rental, it was already dark.

I switched on a night lamp and started pulling my clothes out of the closet, one piece at a time.

The place was tiny, just one bedroom and a living room I'd turned into a storage dump, and the rent was frighteningly high.

After graduation, my parents had kept hoping I'd come home.

They said we had a house and a car back home, that life wasn't so hard there, that I wouldn't have to work myself to the bone.

Even if I didn't land a government job, an easy job would be more than enough for me to live well.

But I couldn't bring myself to let go of Benedict.

To stay with him, I'd gritted my teeth and stayed in this fast, high-pressure city, packing onto the subway every day, working overtime, renting the cheapest place I could find, telling myself all of it was worth it as long as I could be a little closer to him.

Thinking about it now, how stupid.

I laid the suitcase open and picked out his things one by one, setting them into a paper bag by the door.

What came faster than the heartbreak, oddly, was relief.

My phone buzzed. A message from Benedict.

"I'm not coming back tonight. Mila has an interview with a university abroad tomorrow, so I'm helping her prep the questions."

A few seconds later, he added one more line.

"Don't read into it. I'm sleeping in the guest room."

I stared at the words, and then I laughed a little.

A message from Mila popped up in the group chat almost right away.

"Relax, Dawnie!"

"Even if the two of us shared one bed, nothing would happen! Back on the study-abroad trip, there weren't enough rooms, and we actually did share a bed once. I woke up curled right into him in the morning, and he still didn't do a thing!"

Benedict didn't push back. He just sent a helpless little face.

Then the two of them started talking about that trip again.

Talking about the nights they'd stayed up together in the bedroom rushing deadlines, and the midnight snacks Benedict made for her.

Talking about the night he'd carried her home on his back after she drank too much.

Here we go again.

Another conversation I could never be part of.

I used to keep trying to work my way in.

They talked about IELTS, so I downloaded an app and memorized vocabulary.

They talked about books in the original English, so I bought them and looked up every word, page by page.

They talked about applying abroad, so I secretly read guides and wrote down the names of schools I couldn't even pronounce right.

But every single time I opened my mouth, all I got back was a short, awkward silence.

Benedict would say, "If you don't get it, don't force yourself to keep talking."

And Mila would smile and step in for me. "Dawnie's really trying. She's from a small town, after all. She wouldn't know these things."

Back then I was actually grateful to her.

Only now do I understand that every time she stepped in to save me, she was reminding everyone that I didn't belong to their world.

This time, I sent back a single word: "Okay."

I turned off the phone and went back to packing.

The suitcase was half full when the video call from my parents came through.

The screen lit up, and the first thing Mom did was frown.

"Why don't you have the lights on?"

I reached for the switch, and the room flooded with light, laying bare the mess of clothes and the suitcase in the frame.

Mom panicked at once.

"Dawnie, what are you doing? Did you and Benedict have a fight?"

Beside her, Dad set down his tea, his voice going gentle.

"Is it too much pressure? Don't bottle it up on your own. Whatever it is, tell your mom and me."

Seeing the state of me, Mom coaxed more carefully.

"Don't be scared. The wedding fund his family mentioned, your dad and I have been talking it over these past couple of days."

"If it really comes to it, we'll sell this house and put together what we can for you first."

"As long as he treats you well, we'll figure out the money somehow."

My nose stung, and the tears nearly spilled over.

I wiped the corners of my eyes and forced a smile.

"Dad, Mom."

"I've decided to come back home, to the state capital, and look for work."

When they heard it, they were quiet for a long time.

In the end they didn't ask anything. They just said it over and over.

"Coming home is good too."

"Your mom and dad have missed you for so long."

After the call ended, the room went quiet again.

I sat on the floor, staring at the suitcase I hadn't closed yet, drifting off, when my phone lit up again.

Mila had updated her social media feed.

The photo was dim, wine glasses and dice on the table.

She showed only half of her face in profile, smiling beautifully.

The wrist that had made it into the frame was hooked around her neck, holding her against him.

On that wrist was the birthday watch I'd bought with half a year of my internship pay.

It was Benedict's.

The caption read: 【*Study-abroad crew reunion, get over here.*】

Comments came in fast underneath.

"Is the out-of-town one coming?"

Mila replied with a head-shaking sticker.

The thread lit up instantly.

"Thank God. Every time she's around none of us can relax."

"The thing is, she doesn't get anything we say, and we still have to protect her feelings. So exhausting."

"A small-town grind getting to sit at our table, she really does try hard. But what's the point of trying? She's still just a country bumpkin."

I stared at those few lines for a long time.

And silently tapped Like.

I lowered my head and kept packing.

In the storage box at the very bottom of the closet were all the gifts Benedict had given me over the years.

I used to hate to use any of them, keeping every single one carefully, as if I were keeping his affection for me.

But now, digging them out one by one, I saw that most of them were cheap little trinkets.

An apron. He gave it to me for my birthday.

And that same month was Mila's birthday. He gave Mila an evening gown.

He'd said, "Of course a gift should be practical. An apron for you, so it's easy when you cook and do the dishes every day. Mila needs to go out, go to parties, so this dress suits her."

There was a pair of shoes too.

He said a friend had brought them back from overseas, and the packaging was beautiful. But I only found out later that they were knockoffs.

The real ones, he'd given to Mila.

Same style, same color.

When Benedict took me along to dinner with his friends, they pointed at the shoes on my feet and the ones on Mila's, at how obviously different they were, and burst out laughing.

Benedict even explained it gently.

"It's not that I couldn't bear to buy you the real thing. I just worried they'd be too expensive, and then you'd be afraid to wear them."

Back then, I actually defended him in my head.

I told myself he'd already been good to me, that I was the one who shouldn't feel small over things like this.

I was afraid my discomfort showed too plainly, afraid he'd notice that I did envy her after all, so I kept finding reasons for him, over and over, and carefully glued my broken pride back together.

But only now did I understand that from beginning to end, he had never seen me as an equal.

Just like those friends of his, who had never truly thought much of me either.

I packed all of it into a cardboard box.

But as I sealed it shut, tears suddenly hit the tape.

I don't know how long it was before I fell asleep leaning against the side of the bed.

My dreams were full of the past.

I thought of my first year, dragging my suitcase as I stood in the bullet train station, unable to make sense of the subway lines, completely out of place in that city.

It was Benedict who lifted my suitcase, who took me to get my transit card and helped me find my dorm, who told me it was fine not to understand, that I could take it slow.

I thought of freshman year too, when I worked up the courage to sign up for a foreign-language speaking class, and then froze so badly during my first presentation that no sound would come out. Someone in the room laughed, and he stood up to cover for me, saying the unfairness of how education was distributed was no reason to laugh at anyone.

Back then, Benedict really was gentle, and really was patient.

He took me to concerts, taught me how to order at a nice restaurant, sat beside me the first time I ever flew.

He showed me so many things I'd never seen before, things I'd never even imagined I could touch.

Until Mila's exchange program ended and she reappeared beside us.

They were old friends, the same kind of people, raised in the same world.

The cities and schools and films and books they tossed around in conversation, I had to go home and quietly look up for ages before I could half-follow along.

And Benedict changed too, from that early patience into impatience.

He'd say:

"How do you not even know this?"

"Never mind. There's no point explaining it to you."

It was around then that I finally began to realize, bit by bit,

that between Benedict and me there was a gulf I could never cross, no matter how hard I tried.

The sound of the lock turning suddenly broke the dream.

When I opened my eyes, Benedict was walking in with the cold clinging to him, smiling as he said:

"Why are you sleeping here? Hurry and get ready. I've got a surprise for you today."

I looked at him dully.

It took me a long moment to remember that today was our third anniversary.

I nodded and said nothing.

I'd get through this anniversary properly.

At least give this relationship, already at its end, a decent ending.

But I never expected that his so-called surprise was taking me to a private-kitchen restaurant.

The moment the private room door swung open,

I saw Mila sitting inside, and beside her that whole crowd who had mocked me in their posts the day before.

I stood in the doorway, my fingers stiffening for a second.

Benedict seemed not to notice anything off about me, and explained in a low voice:

"Mila posted yesterday, and everyone got carried away with what they said, so you took it the wrong way. She was upset all night. She put this together today just to apologize to you."

When he finished, he even smiled and asked:

"Surprised?"

He took hold of my wrist and drew me a little further inside.

"All right, stop scowling. Mila's already come to you first. Just forgive her."