He couldn't wait to pursue his heartbroken "first love." And I started dating my former high school desk mate who just returned from abroad. I thought we both had bright futures ahead of us. Until the day I sincerely wished him luck in finding his true love. He lost his mind and interrogated me: "Who gave you permission to actually forget about me?!" I don't understand. Was his amnesia fake this whole time? 01 I broke up with Wes. It happened on our two-year anniversary. We got into a car accident and both woke up with amnesia. Our close friends came to the hospital and told us we were a couple. Wes took a long, hard look at me, raised an eyebrow, and made a swift decision: "Since neither of us remembers, let's just say we aren't together anymore." I understood what he meant, but I was still hesitant: "But we'll probably get our memories back someday. What if we regret it when we do? Besides, everyone knows we're dating." He chuckled softly, sounding completely certain: "If you truly like someone, even if you forget the memories, you wouldn't forget the feeling of liking them. Plus, who's to say if we'll ever get our memories back anyway?" He had a point. Even the doctors couldn't guarantee when, or if, our memories would return. They only suggested we interact with people and things from our past, hoping it might trigger something. The doctors explained that there are many types of amnesia. Ours likely fell under selective amnesia—we only forgot specific people or events. For instance, Wes and I forgot that we were dating, and we forgot each other. But we remembered everything and everyone else perfectly fine. They said this condition was likely a defense mechanism triggered by extreme physical or psychological trauma. The brain chose to seal away bad memories. Unless the patient subconsciously wanted to unlock those memories, external intervention wouldn't do much good. When our friends came to visit and heard the explanation, they came to a sudden realization and summarized: "Ah, so basically, you can never wake a person who's pretending to be asleep." I lowered my head and breathed softly. I turned to look at Wes, who was pressing his lips together in silence. He turned his face away and scoffed: "If we're both willing to forget, it means it wasn't important." True. One person forgetting might be a coincidence. Both people forgetting means it definitely wasn't important. Originally, when I woke up in the hospital, saw him, and was told he was my boyfriend—yet I had completely forgotten him—I felt nervous and insecure. I met his scrutinizing gaze and apologized guiltily: "I'm sorry, I don't remember you." I hadn't expected him to smile as if a massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders. "It's okay. I forgot you too." And so, our two-year relationship was officially null and void in that exact moment. Wes couldn't even wait. He immediately posted a story on Instagram: [The End.] Announcing to everyone that we had broken up. The first person to comment was Chloe. She teased: "Wes, why are you always copying me? ~" Copying what? When she started dating someone, he started dating someone. When she broke up, he broke up. Chloe and Wes went to high school together. When we got to college, she became my roommate. She was the one who originally introduced Wes to me. She said: "Keep the good stuff in the family, right? First come, first served. What do you think? Is my high school friend handsome or what?" He was indeed very handsome. Tall, long legs, sharp features. Especially when he smiled, there was a cool but boyish charm about him that was incredibly attractive. So attractive that the first time I saw him, I wanted to be with him. Because of Chloe, we gradually got to know each other. On the exact night Chloe announced her relationship online, Wes confessed his feelings to me. And now, coincidentally, we were all single again. 02 Everything reset to zero. But Wes still showed up outside our dorm building every single day. He was there to see Chloe. Unlike Wes and me, whose relationship ended because of amnesia, she still remembered her past relationship and was inevitably struggling to move on. Wes tried every way possible to cheer her up. When I was walking back to the dorm from the library, I saw them outside the building. Wes placed a bag of roasted chestnuts and a box of begonia pastries—which apparently required a three-hour wait in line—into Chloe's hands. He comforted her gently: "Don't be sad. Tomorrow I'll take you to the arcade." "I'll win you as many of those Cinnamoroll plushies as you want." The next second, he looked up and saw me walking toward them. The lobby lights were too bright, so I couldn't clearly see his backlit expression, but I distinctly felt him stiffen. Probably because we had just broken up. Even if we were now strangers who were worse off than friends. Chloe, on the other hand, walked over to me with red eyes as soon as she saw me. She had clearly been crying, but she still smiled bravely and said: "Olivia, don't misunderstand. There's nothing going on between Wes and me. Once he gets his memory back, everything will be fine. Right now, he's just helping me distract myself from my breakup." This wasn't the first time she had said this to me, even though every time I would calmly tell her: "It's fine. I don't remember anyway, and we've already broken up." The next time we met, she would say it again, as if she were absolutely certain we would regain our memories and get back together. She would even sigh enviously: "I wish I had amnesia like you guys. Then I wouldn't have to be this heartbroken." She was indeed very heartbroken. So heartbroken that right after her breakup, she would often go out to get drunk. Once, she ran into her ex at a bar celebrating a friend's birthday and mistakenly thought he was with a new girl. She ran over and started a massive scene. When the guy yelled at her to stop, Wes rushed over and started a fistfight with them. Bottles and cake shattered all over the floor, ruining the birthday party. During the chaos, someone slashed Wes's face with a broken bottle, leaving a bloody gash. Looking at the wound on his face, I had panicked, losing control of my emotions and blurting out: "Wes, can you please not be so impulsive next time?!" He casually wiped the blood off his wound. "If I'm not impulsive, do I just wait for them to bully Chloe? Didn't that piece of trash deserve to be hit? Chloe is in so much pain, what right does he have to happily celebrate someone else's birthday?" I thought he was being completely unreasonable, but I still softened my voice and pleaded: "Then at least be careful next time and don't get your face hurt, okay?" I only knew about these past events because I read them in my diary. I had always kept a diary. It also recorded that shortly after we started dating, we walked past a row of claw machines after watching a movie. I excitedly wanted to try to win a little yellow butter-dog plushie. But Wes just shoved his hands in his pockets and said dismissively: "That's too childish. Claw machines are for little kids." But now, he was telling Chloe he was going to take her to the arcade and win her as many Cinnamoroll plushies as she wanted. I figured it was probably the amnesia that caused his change in perspective. Just like my diary mentioned he once said that waiting in line for three hours just for some overly sweet begonia pastries was a massive waste of time. I never won the yellow butter-dog plushie, and I never got to eat the begonia pastries. And I don't know if he meant the pastries were a waste of time. Or if I was. 03 Wes really didn't like the conversations Chloe and I had. She would say there was nothing going on between them. I would say we had already broken up. Every time he heard this, Wes would always interject in annoyance: "If a feeling can be forgotten, how strong could it have been anyway? Even if she remembers, we're not getting back together." Yeah, forgotten is forgotten. It means it wasn't love enough. The past was like smoke; one breath and it scattered. There was nothing worth holding onto. I had zero interest in how their relationship developed, but somehow I kept running into them almost every single day. Junior year coursework was heavy. Wes wasn't even in the same college as us, yet he would skip his own classes every day just to accompany Chloe to hers. I guess Wes had never done that for me, because it wasn't long before a girl asked Chloe: "Wow, is this your boyfriend? He's so handsome~" Chloe immediately smiled and waved her hands, explaining as the light in Wes's eyes noticeably dimmed: "No, no, we're just friends." The girl gave a knowing "Oh~," her gaze darting between the two of them before she said: "Friends, huh..." She didn't say the rest, leaving it entirely to the imagination. She was probably wondering what kind of "friend" would accompany her to class every day, buy her favorite boba tea every time he came, take her out to eat right after class, and purposely sit between her and any other guys. Or what kind of "friend" would, on a rainy day, shield her so completely from the rain that half his own body got soaked. Which directly resulted in him catching a bad fever. So much so that when he accompanied Chloe to class the next day, he was so sick he spent the entire time slumped on the desk, half-asleep. During the break between lectures, he suddenly spoke in a hoarse voice: "Olivia, I feel so sick..." His voice wasn't particularly loud, but it was incredibly abrupt. People around us turned to look at me sitting a few rows back. Even Chloe asked him nervously: "Wes, did... did you remember?" My pen paused. I looked up, then quickly looked back down at my notebook. After a long silence, I heard him say very quietly: "I'm dizzy. My head is cloudy." Maybe he really was delirious. Because at noon, when I went to the campus clinic to buy some Vitamin C and coincidentally ran into him getting an IV drip, he looked at me through his exhaustion and the very first thing he said was: "Is it shrimp and vegetable porridge again this time?" The moment the words left his mouth, we both froze. Of course I knew why he said that. My diary recorded that in the past, every time he got sick, I would bring him shrimp and vegetable porridge and eat it with him. He used to frown and say helplessly: "Let's get a different flavor next time." I would smile sweetly and agree, but the next time, I would still buy the shrimp and vegetable. Over time, he just got used to it. But now, he blurted it out while he supposedly had amnesia. In the silent standoff, his gaze dropped to my empty hands. Only then did he seem to snap back to reality. Meeting my slightly stunned eyes, he said stiffly: "Don't misunderstand. I didn't get my memory back. I just... it was just a muscle memory response. Yeah, it probably happened in the past." I didn't care about his stumbling explanation. I just gave him an indifferent smile, said "No misunderstanding," and left the clinic with my Vitamin C. I could feel his gaze lingering on my back for a long time. I didn't turn around. The phone in my pocket vibrated. It was the alarm for my part-time job—tutoring a high school student in math, physics, and chemistry. I grabbed my prepared lesson plans and hurried over. The moment I walked through the door, my student ran out of the study excitedly and called out: "Miss Olivia!" The next second, another figure walked out of the study. He had a clean, striking, and sharply handsome presence. Holding a test paper between his fingers, his gaze landed directly and unapologetically on my face. As our eyes met, my smile froze. My student excitedly told me: "Miss Olivia, this is the older cousin I told you about before—the one whose grades were just as trash as mine! Chase Vance. He just got back to the States today." Then she turned to him proudly and said: "This is the Miss Olivia I was talking about. she's amazing. She goes to Columbia University, my dream school." Chase stood casually by the door, one hand in his pocket. Hearing her introduction, he looked at me with a half-smile and said: "Miss Olivia..." "Long time no see." 04 It had been a long time since we parted ways right before high school graduation. So long that I thought I would never see him again in this lifetime. My high school desk mate—Chase Vance. The impression he left on me was way too deep. After all, back then, his absolutely garbage grades made him look incredibly out of place in our elite AP classes. His personality was cold, ruthless, and total delinquent energy. For a very long time, I genuinely believed he had absolutely nothing going for him except his face. Until one day after P.E. class, I accidentally got locked in the equipment room. It was a Friday evening, and the school was emptying out fast. I tried over and over to climb up to the high window, but I kept failing. Just as I was hopelessly curled up in the darkening corner, the equipment room door was violently kicked open. Light poured in. Slowly revealing Chase's silhouette. I have to admit, in that situation, backlit by the fading sun, he really did look like a god descending from the heavens. I stood up and earnestly thanked him. He stepped closer, lowered his eyes, and smiled: "Verbal thanks isn't enough, Olivia. I plan on cashing in this favor." It wasn't exactly an unacceptable form of repayment. He just wanted me to tutor him. When we first started high school, I had seen him looking frustrated at his tests that scored in the teens, and out of the kindness of my heart, I had tried to explain the problems to him. Back then, he just glared at me coldly and said acting tough: "Mind your own business. Who wants to listen to you lecture!" But the next time he encountered the same type of question, he remembered the method I had shown him and actually wrote it down. It's just that his vibe was too aggressive. No matter how kind and enthusiastic I tried to be, I eventually backed off. I never expected him to actually ask for help himself. I guess he did have some ambition after all. Later, we grew much closer through the tutoring sessions. During those years of youth where all I knew was burying my head in books and studying, it felt like my entire life consisted of nothing but schoolwork and Chase. Once, I got sick and had to take time off to stay in the hospital. My parents were too busy with work to visit, but the person who showed up in my hospital room was Chase. I lay in the hospital bed, looking at him with his backpack slung over one shoulder, completely shocked: "You skipped class?" He raised an eyebrow and looked at me: "Is that really so surprising?" True. When we first started high school, him skipping class was a daily occurrence. But ever since we started tutoring, he hadn't skipped once, so I had slowly forgotten about it. Seeing I didn't say anything else, he swung his backpack off and said calmly: "I came to listen to you lecture, Miss Olivia." I was appalled and accused him: "Chase, are you some kind of evil capitalist? I'm sick and you're still making me work through an injury! This is exploitation!" He let out a light chuckle and pulled a takeout container out of his backpack. Suddenly, his demeanor grew serious, and even his voice softened as he said: "Yeah. Compensation for exploiting you." It was shrimp and vegetable porridge. The hospital room was quiet, the faint glow of the sunset seeping through the window. He slowly and patiently sat with me while I ate my porridge. I held my spoon, tilted my head, and smiled at him: "Thank you, Chase." He was the only person who came to the hospital to see me. The comfort of peaceful days always makes people assume there's plenty of time ahead. Little did I know that tragedy always strikes when you least expect it. Right before graduation, a criminal my father—a police officer—had arrested was released from prison. Seeking revenge, the man intentionally tried to run me over with his car. At the critical moment, Chase pushed me out of the way. Amidst the chaos, I threw myself in front of him. He was covered in blood. I didn't even dare to touch him. All I remember is that through my blurred vision, he seemed to use the last ounce of his strength to pull the corners of his mouth into a weak smile: "Stop crying. Wait for me to wake up so I can cash in my favor." I didn't get to wait. Because he completely vanished from my life. The medical staff told me his family had taken him away. Honestly, I already knew. The way a kid with dead-last grades got into the AP classes, the way the homeroom teacher treated him with absolute reverence... the gap between our worlds was so massive that it was practically impossible for me to ever find him. It didn't really matter. I knew he would get the best medical care possible. I just felt a deep sense of regret. I never got the chance to properly say thank you. He saved my life. How exactly did he want me to repay him?
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