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."

Mila sat in her seat and stuck her tongue out at me, then turned and pointed at the group.

"Aren't you going to apologize? Running your mouths like that, dragging me into it and making Dawn misunderstand me."

The group immediately raised their glasses, all giggles.

"Sorry, sorry, our mouths got out of line."

Their eyes were bored, impatient. Not one of them actually thought they'd done anything wrong.

My chest felt tight and heavy, but I still let Benedict pull me down into a seat.

The whole table was spicy Tex-Mex, layer after layer of red chili oil, the heat sharp enough to close my throat.

Mila loved spicy food.

But I was from up north. I couldn't handle even a little heat.

Benedict served Mila her food with practiced ease, peeling her shrimp for her, then pulled a hair tie from his pocket and gathered up the strands that had come loose, tying them back like it was second nature.

Mila patted his chest and complained with a laugh.

"Look at him, fussing over everything, treating me like I'm your wife. So annoying, honestly."

Someone beside them jumped in right away.

"Benedict, that's cold, man. Taking care of another girl right in front of your girlfriend."

Only then did Benedict seem to remember me at all. He picked up a bit of shrimp with his chopsticks and dropped it into my bowl.

The shrimp still had its shell on.

He seemed to have forgotten too. I'm allergic to seafood.

I looked down at the shrimp in my bowl and thought how absurd it was.

The conversation quickly circled back to their own familiar world.

I sat off to the side, like someone dragged in at the last minute just to fill a chair.

Until someone suddenly turned the topic to me.

"Where's Dawn headed after graduation? Found a job yet?"

Another one laughed. "Don't tell me she's actually going to live off Benedict?"

Benedict laughed too, as if smoothing things over for me.

"Don't be ridiculous."

Then, as if he'd finally remembered something, he turned to look at me.

"Weren't you prepping for that interview at the foreign company? How'd it go?"

The hand holding my chopsticks tightened, little by little.

The night before that interview, I was so nervous I couldn't sleep at all, because my spoken English was weak, so weak I stumbled through even my own introduction.

I took my script to Benedict, wanting him to listen to me run through it once.

But he had his earbuds in, on a video call with Mila, editing her application essays.

I stood there waiting a long time before he finally took out one earbud and looked at me, irritated.

"I'm helping Mila with her essays right now."

"Your speaking is too far behind. Me drilling with you won't help, it's just wasting time."

He looked back down at his laptop and said, offhand,

"Why don't you sign up for a beginner's class, start from the basics."

Afterward I practiced on my own for a long time, recording myself on my phone every day, correcting my pronunciation line by line.

But on the day of the interview, I got cut anyway.

I was heartbroken then, but I never told him.

I kept thinking I'd wait until I found a job, until I was a little less of an embarrassment, and then give him some good news.

The private room was still waiting for my answer.

Mila watched me, a trace of pity in her eyes.

Benedict watched me too, pushing for a reply.

I said calmly,

"I didn't get it."

I lifted my eyes and looked at Benedict.

"So I'm not staying."

"After graduation, I'm going home."

"Benedict, let's break up."

The room suddenly burst into laughter, drowning out my voice.

Someone had dug up a photo of Mila from her high school study-abroad trip somewhere.

"Never thought our Miss Mila could ever look that rough."

Mila flushed instantly, draped herself over Benedict's back, tugged at his ear, and ordered him in that coy, whining way of hers,

"Benedict, go deal with them, quick!"