In the year I could barely feed myself, I picked up a battered, brilliant, and destitute boy from a filthy alleyway. His eyes were hollow. "Do whatever you want with me. I don't care." I didn't do anything. I just wiped the grime off him and helped him into a crisp, dry white shirt. Stuttering, I told him earnestly, "L-live. Live well." Years later, he got into the best university on his own and became the youngest tenured professor they'd ever had. On a typical summer night when I went to pick him up, he coldly rejected the bright, sunny girl who adored him. And for the first time, I heard him ask, his voice tight and lost: "Why don't you like it?" I saw the expensive brooch she had given him clutched in his hand. That was when I knew I had to leave. 01 When I finished packing my bags to leave, I looked back at the cramped apartment I had lived in for years. It was narrow and suffocatingly hot. The only good thing about it was the single potted cactus on the windowsill. I bent down and straightened Holden's slippers on the top tier of the shoe rack. Bang. The heavy metal door clicked shut, stirring up a thin layer of dust in the sunlight. 02 Before Holden left for his academic seminar, he showed me a property deed at the dining table. It was a brand-new, beautiful luxury condo right in the heart of downtown. I had no idea how long he had been saving up to buy it. He said, "I'll pay you back, little by little." "N-no need. To pay it back." When I saved him, I never expected anything in return. He said coldly, "Once it's paid, we're even." I silently pushed a plate of sautéed shrimp and a cold salad toward him. Holden kept his head down as he ate, but the sharp, superior lines of his profile were as striking as ever. Looking at him now, I could still catch glimpses of the teenage boy who used to stand at the debate podium, his lean, aloof silhouette cutting through the breeze. Liking someone doesn't mean they have to know about it. There's no rule that says every sacrifice requires a reward. From now on, he would be exactly as I had always imagined—radiant, successful, and entirely out of reach. Just having spent these years with him was enough for me. I rested my chin quietly in my hand, looking at him earnestly, and suddenly blurted out something completely unprompted: "Holden. From now on, you have to l-live well." It's just a pity my stutter never went away. I just hope that when I go back to my rural hometown for blind dates, the guys won't find me too repulsive. 03 I thought back to that night. "Professor! Wait for me!" A beautiful, carefree girl waved as she ran toward him. She had been chasing Holden relentlessly for six months. I stood quietly in the shadows beneath a tree by the entrance. Just as I admired Holden, I envied her. She expressed her love boldly, like a little sun. She had a flawless, wealthy family background and a vibrant, outgoing personality. Standing together, they looked like a match made in heaven. At first, Holden had been cold and impatient, avoiding her like the plague—exactly how he treated me. But later, his defenses began to crack. She was the only one he lowered his boundaries for, allowing her to laugh and playfully touch his arm. Eventually, holding a gift she had forced into his hands, he asked me nervously: "What does it mean to like someone?" I walked beside him into the moonlight, looking down as his tall shadow overlapped and swallowed mine. What did I answer back then? I stuttered, but I was deadly serious: "To like someone probably means... when you s-see him, your heart races. And when you t-think of him, the corners of your mouth... go up." — "So you're the one who saved Holden? You're such a bitch! You like him? Then we'll let you like him all you want!" The same thugs who had brutally beaten Holden shoved my head violently into a filthy mop bucket in the school bathroom. "Liking someone makes you anxious... and overly sensitive." — "Holden! I'm taking you to the E-ER! Don't you dare fall asleep! You still have to r-repay me!" In the dead of winter, I screamed until my throat tore, carrying him on my back as he bled out from his slit wrists, stumbling blindly toward the hospital. "Liking someone means caring about them... wanting to share every word, every moment with them, f-first." — "I worked five jobs and made a hundred and twenty bucks. I b-bought a cake. Happy birthday, Holden." I stood in the entryway holding the cake box, so happy I forgot to take off my shoes, beaming at him. "Liking someone means feeling jealous, getting mad, but still feeling... s-sweet inside." The traffic light clicked red. I looked up, and Holden happened to look right into my eyes. 04 Ding! My phone's notification sound snapped me awake. My face felt itchy. When I touched it, my cheeks were wet with tears. The intersection of dreams and reality left me dazed for a long time before I finally unlocked my phone. It was a text from Holden. Just two words: [Home late.] Scrolling up, our chat history was incredibly sparse. Looking at it now, there really was nothing left between us. I had stuttered since childhood, so I hated speaking. And because of Holden's personality—and what those people did to him later—he spoke even less. Usually, when we were at home, we just minded our own business in total silence. If he didn't like me, he didn't like me. Back then, I actually delusionally thought we could take it slow, that love would grow over time. It was time to kill that hope. Suddenly, a rapid sequence of cheerful pings chimed from my phone. [Your advice worked perfectly! He finally agreed to go to dinner with me~] [I actually thought you and he were dating. You really scared me back then.] [When the time comes, I'll definitely bring a gift to thank you in person. Don't worry, he absolutely won't suffer by being with me.] She ended it with an adorable emoji swooning with happiness. Her joy was contagious; it made me curl my lips into a slight smile. I was a ghost from Holden's past. I was the mud and the broken tiles, the witness to all his humiliation, the symbol of his darkest days. But Harper was different. She could stand tall with him. Her love was proactive and warm, and she had the resources and connections to meet him at the top of his field. Holden's walls were crumbling. The little sun had finally melted the block of ice. I couldn't stop him from running toward someone better than me. But the next second, a tear splattered across my screen. I belatedly raised my hand to wipe my eyes. How pathetic. I couldn't even wipe my own tears clean. 05 After sitting on a Greyhound bus for over thirty hours, I arrived back in my rural hometown. The first thing I did was place flowers at my mother's grave. I sat there in a daze before finally heading to the small house I had rented. The landlady told me that my deadbeat, gambling, alcoholic father had his leg broken by loan sharks and had fled town. I didn't have much luggage. I unpacked everything in a single afternoon. Sitting on the edge of the bed and closing my eyes, I could still see Holden's despairing, powerless eyes from back then, his body covered in sticky, vile liquid. He used to tell me calmly, "I want to die." In a dead-end, rust-belt town, having good grades, a handsome face, and no parents was the original sin. Especially for a genius like Holden, who stood out like a sore thumb. The story was a cliché. A gang leader's girlfriend liked him. When he rejected her, she framed him for harassment. When a group of guys cornered him in an alley, even fighting back felt like a joke. In the nights that followed, Holden's body, curled up on the bed, would spasm and shake uncontrollably. Even his subconscious was torturing him. Back then, to support Holden through school, I worked five part-time jobs, running myself into the ground. We lived in a crappy apartment with frequent power and water outages. I ate fifty-cent pickled vegetables just to save a few dollars for him. Later, when he started getting a stipend, our lives improved a bit, but I refused to spend his money. I kept working at the diner downstairs. It seems like you're always like that in front of someone you love. Pride dictates that, no matter what, you refuse to let yourself feel inferior. That afternoon, I found a job as a prep cook in a local diner. The pay in a small town wasn't high, but it was enough for me. It wasn't until after a chaotic dinner rush that I finally had time to check my phone. There were only two messages from Holden: [Where are you?] The next one was sent at 4:00 AM this morning: [You don't want me anymore, do you?] My eyes burned reading it. It wasn't that I didn't want him. It was that I didn't want us to drag each other down. I saved him, and he was forced to stay by my side. That relationship dynamic was toxic to begin with. And pushing thirty, I really just wanted to settle down. Explaining all of this felt too dramatic. I typed out a lot of words, but in the end, I deleted them and just sent: [Take care of yourself.] There was no response. When I clicked his profile, I saw that Holden had posted an Instagram update. A photo of two hands, fingers intertwined. The caption was: [From now on.] It was official. Holden had a girlfriend. I stared at it for a moment, then double-tapped to like it. In my heart, I said silently: "Happy Birthday, Holden. From now on, may you and the person you love have everything you wish for." 06 As I locked my phone and walked up to my door, my neighbor was standing in the hallway looking miserable, holding his door open to air out his apartment. A strong smell of burnt food wafted out. I recognized him. He seemed to be the new teacher who joined the local underfunded school district through Teach for America. We had briefly crossed paths when I moved in. He was polite and elegant, soft-spoken, but possessed a pair of deeply expressive, romantic eyes that didn't quite match his mild demeanor. I felt awkward just walking past him, so as I put my key in the lock, I made polite conversation: "Haven't eaten yet? If you want, my place..." He looked up gratefully. Before I could even finish my sentence, he said warmly, "That would be wonderful, thank you." "..." I didn't expect him to be so forward. I gave an awkward smile. I had no choice but to open the door and invite him in. Since I had a guest, I whipped up a few simple dishes. Carter's reaction was incredibly exaggerated. After taking one bite, tears literally started falling from his eyes. He explained, "I'm sorry. It's just been a very long time since I've had a normal, home-cooked meal. And your cooking is amazing." "Thanks." Thinking about the burning smell coming from his place, I ate my food in silence, just waiting for him to finish and leave. But I didn't expect him to volunteer to wash the dishes. I frowned slightly, watching him wear my Winnie-the-Pooh apron, standing at the sink with his back to me. From the side, I could see his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed. The veins on the back of his hands were pronounced, and his broad shoulders stretched the clearly undersized apron. "..." I looked away, subconsciously swallowing hard. Maybe the room was too quiet, because the sound was distinct. Carter paused his movements, lowered his eyes, and continued washing the dishes. When he finished, he coughed softly and finally revealed his true motive: "Could I... maybe come over to eat with you from now on?" Seeing my frown, he quickly added: "I'll pay you more than the diner does. I just need you to cook for one extra person, and I'll do all the dishes." I hesitated for a moment. The landlady had mentioned him to me: "That new teacher neighbor of yours? He's already paid out of his own pocket to rescue five stray cats and help two kids afford school supplies." How bad could a guy like that be? Besides, being all alone in this familiar yet foreign place was becoming too hard to bear. 07 From that day on, Carter came over to my place every day after work. It evolved from bringing fresh groceries every day, to bringing his pet cat over. He smiled perfectly seriously and said, "My cat can do backflips." Meanwhile, Holden went from total radio silence to sending me a text every few days, though they were always in the dead of night. [Where's the hand cream?] [I can't find that white dress shirt.] [Did you take the ceramic dog we made together?] ... Things like that. At first, I patiently replied: [In the TV stand drawer. In the bottom cabinet under the coat rack. That ceramic dog broke when we moved a long time ago...] [You should move into the new condo. This apartment is too far from your university, and it's uncomfortable. Don't make Harper suffer with you. You're just used to having me around. Sooner or later, you have to learn to live on your own.] He would always stay silent for a while before sending back a freezing cold voice memo: [Don't flatter yourself.] I took care of everything for him, and he completely dismissed it. Carter asked curiously, "An old friend?" Who was he? I lowered my eyes, staring blankly at the dough on the cutting board. "Just... someone who doesn't matter anymore." Carter looked at the lock screen photo on my phone. It was a picture of a teenage boy and girl sitting quietly side-by-side on a swing set, both with neutral expressions. It was obviously taken by a passing stranger. They weren't close; there was even a bit of distance between them. But Carter suddenly lost all desire to ask further. Late that night, Holden FaceTimed me directly. In the video, his face was deathly pale. He was curled tightly on the sofa, his pupils slowly losing focus as he stared at the camera. I felt like I had been hit over the head with a baseball bat. I shot up from my chair, an unspeakable terror sweeping through my entire body. The fingers holding my phone were shaking violently. "Holden! What stupid thing are you t-trying to do!" His pale lips pressed together. He struggled to lift his eyelids, only for them to fall shut heavily as he finally lost all strength. The phone spun through the air, dropping. My screen was filled with nothing but blinding, piercing red! 08 What if Holden dies... What do I do if he dies? I couldn't stop my body from shaking. I bought the fastest bus ticket back, terrified out of my mind. Just as I finished throwing my clothes into a bag, my phone rang again. I swiped open the message frantically. It was Harper. [He's out of danger, but he's still unconscious.] [I thought you were with him. He took a leave of absence from the university and hasn't eaten in five days.] [I found antidepressants on his coffee table. The doctor said he had a severe depressive relapse.] [What exactly did he go through in the past...] I couldn't read any further. I just stared at the words "severe depressive relapse" for a long time. An indescribable agony spread from my stomach to my chest. In the end, I gripped the back of the sofa, dry-heaving in sheer physiological distress. "Mom! Please! I'll be g-good, I'll listen! Dad is a monster, but you still have m-me!" "I'll take you away from here, don't jump! Please! Mom!!!" The blaring car horns, the howling wind on the rooftop, deafening. It felt like I was back in that hospital reeking of bleach. Holden had just woken up in the hospital bed. He clenched his hands in a daze, and the exertion almost tore his stitched wrists open again. They both had severe clinical depression. It turns out people who suffer find their way to each other. I knew that tying one person's life to another was stupid. Who would care? But I had no other choice. I looked up at him, my eyes red, and said: "Holden. Just pretend you're l-living for me. You have to repay me. Take me to see the view from the t-top." What the hell was I doing back then! He had an infinitely bright future ahead of him. He had finally pulled himself out of the darkness. Just as he was about to reach the peak, why should his life and brilliant career be destroyed just because of a light, passing sentence I said years ago? I couldn't save my mom. And I couldn't save him. My dad was right. I was a jinx. Anyone who got close to me... Was doomed to suffer. 09 Without me, with Harper there, he would pull himself out of it much faster. I canceled my bus ticket. Hugging that pile of clothes, I sat quietly on the sofa, staring blankly for the entire night. It wasn't until Harper texted me: [He's okay now.] I finally let out a breath. Blood rushed back to my head, and I finally felt like I was alive again. I replied casually: [That's good.] At the same time, Holden also sent a message. [You didn't come.] Then he unsent it, and sent a new one: [I haven't repaid you yet. We aren't even.] I froze, an unstoppable wave of sorrow and bitterness rising in my throat. [We are even.] He replied with a question mark. Holden really had forgotten. When my dad dragged me by the hair and beat me at the school gates, everyone watched, too scared to do anything but enjoy the spectacle. I was going through puberty at the time. Imagine the humiliation. My clothes were torn, my skin exposed. My dad cursed me out in front of my teachers and classmates, calling me a "slut," a "waste of money," and "cheap." The only person who stepped up was Holden. He pulled my dad off me, draped his jacket over my shoulders, and shielded me firmly behind his back. Holden was too dazzling back then—the aloof, handsome genius. Almost every girl in school had a crush on him, competing for him openly and secretly. I held back tears, looking at his thin back. Filled with self-loathing, I lowered my head, trembling all over as I gripped his jacket tightly. When you like someone that much, you'd gladly trade your own life for theirs. He was fundamentally a good person. So a good person like him didn't deserve to fall into the mud. I wanted to lift him up, to watch with my own eyes as the god I worshipped returned to the heavens. The moon belongs beside the sun.
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