1 My boyfriend wanted me to come home with him for the holidays to discuss our wedding plans. Before we left, he dragged me along to buy gifts for his family. As we entered the subway station, his adopted sister, Stella, suddenly pulled him ahead, rushing into the train car. By the time I reacted and tried to catch up, the heavy doors slammed shut, nearly trapping my hand. They exchanged a knowing glance, a shared smirk, as if I were putting on a clown show just for them. The subway began to pick up speed. Just as it was about to disappear from my sight, Stella locked eyes with me, then turned and planted a triumphant, exaggerated kiss on my boyfriend, Eason’s, cheek. Eason didn't flinch. His arm, almost instinctively, wrapped around her waist. When I finally got home late that night, he offered me a bowl of plain noodles and said, “Stella’s just a kid, you know, playful. Don't mind her.” I glanced at the bland, oil-free noodles, then quietly arranged to meet a friend for a late-night bite. Only then did I turn to him, calmly, “It’s fine. You two grew up together, it’s normal to be close. It was just a kiss on the cheek, not like… sleeping together. I get it.” Eason, clearly taken aback, seemed to struggle to process my words. I hadn't flown into a rage, screaming and crying over Stella, as I usually did. He watched as I moved to leave again, blocking my path. “You’re… not upset?” he questioned, a tremor in his voice. I used to lose my composure, weeping and raging over Stella, countless times. Yet, he never once distanced himself from her. If he was never going to change, what was left for me to be upset about? This time, I didn't want him, either. … I didn't answer Eason’s question. Instead, I turned and put my jacket back on. He stood there, holding that bowl of plain noodles, his gaze oddly lost. Eason was undeniably handsome, the undisputed campus heartthrob back in college, and his family was well-off. When he pursued me, he spared no effort, lavishing me with attention and grand gestures. My friends all told me I was lucky to have found such a boyfriend. But no one knew that he always had Stella, his "sister," trailing behind him. Eason set the bowl down and reached for my hand. “Today, at the subway station, Stella was just messing around with me. She’s still young, you know, just likes to play pranks. I’m her brother; I have to look out for her…” I gently pulled my hand away, offering him a faint smile. “I know. I’m not angry.” Eason froze. In the past, every one of Stella’s "pranks" would send me into a fit of hysterical tears. She’d deliberately save suggestive texts on his phone, suddenly whisk him away from our dates with a feigned cough, or linger in his room in her nightgown until late at night. When I finally reached my breaking point and confronted him, Eason would always use that helpless tone: “I found Stella abandoned outside the orphanage. She has no family; she only has me to rely on. You’re going to be my wife; you’re practically her older sister. What’s wrong with being a little understanding?” Each time I conceded, Stella’s provocations grew bolder, more brazen. “I’m going out for a bit. Meeting a friend for late-night food.” I picked up my bag, circumnavigating him towards the door. “Going out this late? I made you noodles, didn’t I?” Eason’s voice held a hint of displeasure. I looked back at him. “My taste buds are a bit more… adventurous. I don’t really care for your noodles.” Eason stiffened. “But you used to say you loved my cooking most?” Yes, when you love someone, even your tastes subtly shift to match theirs. It was a shame my affection was never truly cherished. I pulled open the door and stepped directly into the night. Eason, persistent, called out, “I can make you something else!” “No need.” I closed the door, hearing the distinct clatter of a bowl and chopsticks being set down heavily on the other side. 2 My best friend, Claire, gasped when she saw me. “Oh my God, Violet! What’s wrong? You look awful. Did Eason upset you again?” Sitting in the steamy hotpot restaurant, I calmly recounted the day’s events. Claire was so incensed she nearly flipped the table. “My boyfriend holds my hand when we go out, afraid I’ll get lost or squashed. He even lets me get on first! What the hell was Eason doing, grabbing his ‘sister’ like that? Is he crazy? Is she his sister or his girlfriend?” I dipped a piece of tripe into the broth, speaking slowly and deliberately. “You get used to it.” Claire stared at me for a long moment, then lowered her voice. “You’re different.” My hand, holding the chopsticks, paused. I said nothing. Claire continued, “Normally, you’d be crying your eyes out by now, swollen like walnuts, asking me what to do. Why are you so calm today?” I took a sip of my drink. “I’m tired of crying. The tears have just run out.” The truth was, it wasn't that I didn't want to cry; it was that I couldn't. My well of tears had dried up. Six months ago, on Eason’s birthday, I’d meticulously prepared a candlelit dinner. He’d promised to be home early, but by ten at night, there was still no sign of him. I called, and Stella answered. “Violet, we’re at the hospital. I have a fever, and Eason brought me to get an IV.” In the background, Eason’s gentle voice drifted through the phone: “Stella, put down the phone. Come drink some hot water.” He took the phone, not bothering to explain why he was at the hospital with Stella without telling me. He simply said, “She has a fever of 100 degrees; I can’t leave her alone. You go ahead and eat. Don’t wait for me.” That night, I waited until two in the morning for him to return. Seeing me still in the living room, he frowned. “Why aren’t you asleep?” “Waiting for you.” “I told you not to.” “It’s your birthday today.” Eason paused, his tone softening. “I’m sorry. Stella was sick; I really couldn’t leave.” I said nothing, silently retrieving the cake from the fridge. It had softened a bit, and the candles on the holder were tilted. Eason sat down, took a reluctant bite, then put down his fork. “Actually, Stella and I already had cake at the hospital today.” He pushed the plate away, rubbing his temples tiredly. “You shouldn’t bother with this anymore. It’s a waste if we don’t finish it.” I sat alone in the living room, staring at the melted cake. Suddenly, everything felt utterly pointless. From then on, I stopped arguing with him over Stella. I quietly watched their “sibling affection,” watched him cancel our dates countless times for Stella, watched Stella increasingly assert her claim over him in front of me. And Eason, from his initial explanations, to growing impatience, to now, a sense of entitlement. He thought I’d finally matured. But what he didn't know was that I’d reconnected with a former professor who had consistently encouraged me to join his research team, and I was beginning to prepare my application materials for graduate school abroad. My undergraduate grades were excellent, and the professor had always pushed me to pursue further studies. At the time, for Eason’s sake, I had given up a scholarship opportunity and chosen to stay in the city for work. Thinking back, I was incredibly foolish. Returning home after our late-night meal, it was already one in the morning. Eason was still awake, sitting on the living room sofa, his face dark. “So, you finally decided to come home?” I changed my shoes without looking at him. “Had a good chat with a friend, stayed out a bit longer.” “Which friend?” “Claire.” “A guy?” I paused, turning to him. “Do you really think so little of me?” Eason’s expression faltered, as if he realized he’d spoken out of turn. But I had already caught a glimpse of his phone screen, displaying a message from Stella. The latest one glaringly read: “Brother, Violet was so mad today and went out so late. Do you think she went to meet some other guy?” I forced a tight smile. She truly missed no opportunity to smear my name. 3 Eason stammered, his voice softening. “I was just worried about you.” “You’d do better to worry about your sister.” I said flatly. “A young woman calling you drunk from a bar in the middle of the night, isn’t that more concerning?” Eason’s face changed. “How did you know?” Last month, Stella had called him at three in the morning, weeping dramatically, saying she was being harassed at a bar. Eason rushed out without a second thought and didn’t return until dawn. He explained that by the time he arrived, Stella was passed out drunk, so he had to get a room for her to rest, and he stayed by her side all night. “Her phone died, so she used the bar’s landline to call me.” Eason had said then, “I couldn’t just leave her, could I?” I hadn't argued or made a scene, just nodded. “Of course not. She only has you as a brother.” Now, Eason looked at my calm face, a strange unease growing in him. “Violet, Stella and I are really just siblings. She grew up following me around; I only feel familial affection for her.” I smiled. “I know.” These three words had been escaping my lips with increasing frequency lately. Eason became even more anxious. “Then why have you been so cold to me these past few days?” “Have I?” I tilted my head, thinking. “Perhaps because I’m preparing for a business trip.” “Where to?” “Seattle, for a training program.” I lied without batting an eye. In reality, I was going for an online interview with Harvard. My professor had already written a recommendation letter for me; if all went well, I’d receive an acceptance letter in a few months. Eason breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I thought…” “You thought what?” I asked. He shook his head, saying nothing. I knew what he was thinking – that I was throwing another tantrum because of Stella. How ridiculous. He knew perfectly well what I was upset about. But in his mind, I was always the unreasonable, petty girlfriend, while Stella was the innocent, vulnerable sister who needed his protection. On the day of my “business trip,” Eason offered to drive me to the airport. I declined. “No need. Your work is more important. I’ll just take a taxi.” “It’s only half a day off. I’ll take you.” In the end, I let him, simply not wanting to become fodder for the neighborhood gossip. We barely spoke on the way. As we neared the airport, Eason suddenly broke the silence. “Violet, when you get back, let’s talk seriously about the wedding. I’ve already discussed it with my parents; the dowry, the house—everything’s fine.” I turned to look out the window. “No rush. Let’s wait a bit longer.” I was actually waiting for my Harvard acceptance letter. Eason’s grip on the steering wheel tightened. He looked at me, his eyes full of surprise. For three years, I had been the one pushing for marriage. Now that he’d finally conceded, I was the one playing it cool. Eason was silent for a while, then said, “Are you still angry with me because of Stella?” He cleared his throat. “I promise I’ll be more careful in the future. But she is my sister, after all; some level of care is unavoidable.” “I understand.” I responded mechanically. At the airport, Eason tried to help me with my luggage, but I evaded him. “This is fine. You should go back to work.” He stood there, watching me walk towards the terminal, then suddenly called out, “Violet!” I turned back. “Come back soon,” he said. I nodded, turning to enter the main hall. During my days in Seattle, I successfully completed the interview. The interviewers were very interested in my research direction and immediately expressed a positive attitude. Back at the hotel, I checked my phone to find a dozen missed calls, all from Eason. And several WeChat messages: “Did you arrive?” “Why aren’t you answering your phone?” “Violet, are you mad at me?” “Stella came to see me today. I told her to be more careful in the future, and she cried for a long time, saying you don't like her.” I didn't reply to any of them. A little while later, Eason sent another message: “Violet, you’ve changed.”
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