I pulled three consecutive all-nighters to finish my research project early. I wanted to clear my schedule to celebrate Oliver’s birthday. But instead of a text from him, my sister Zora’s Instagram DM popped up first: "Oh my god, Chicago is so much fun!" The photo showed her and Oliver, heads tilted together, smiling. My smile froze. "You're in Chicago?" "Yeah! Got here three days ago. Wanted to surprise Oliver for his birthday!" I stared at the screen, then calmly called Oliver. "Isn't your defense in two days? I thought you said you were drowning in prep work and couldn't make time for anything?" Oliver’s voice was perfectly level. "It's not that hard for me, Lydia. But Zora rarely gets to travel. I knew you were buried in your lab work these past few days, so I figured I'd take care of her for you." My eyes stung. A wave of bone-deep exhaustion finally crashed over me. To keep up with Oliver, I had never allowed myself to stop. What took him a day to master took me five. I thought if I just kept my head down and ran fast enough, I would eventually catch up and find a place in his heart. But the truth is, you don't have to run for someone who actually wants you. I remembered the way he used to ruffle Zora's hair, calling her "silly but cute" with a gentle warmth in his eyes that he had never, not once, shown me. I fell silent for a moment. Then, I opened my inbox and replied to the offer letter from Los Angeles that had been sitting there for three days. 01 I turned off my phone and crashed. The research project had been brutal. Starting from scratch, I had poured my heart and soul into getting these results. The deadline wasn't even until tomorrow, but my lab partners knew I had planned a birthday surprise for Oliver. They had pushed themselves to help me wrap up early. When I finally woke up, my phone was blown up with over a dozen missed calls. From Zora, from Oliver, and from my mother. I only called my mother back. "What is wrong with you?" her voice boomed through the receiver. "Your sister rarely visits Chicago, and you're throwing a tantrum? Call them back right now." I blinked rapidly, trying to swallow down the sudden lump of hurt in my throat. "Mom, I didn't even know Zora was coming. I just pulled three all-nighters. Am I really expected to drop everything and cater to her mood right now?" "She didn't want to disturb you because she knew you were busy! She told Oliver, didn't she? Why are you being so difficult today, Lydia?" "Difficult." Growing up, "easy" and "mature" were the only words anyone used to describe me. I studied hard—I was mature. I got straight A's—I was mature. I never fought for anything, never demanded attention—I was just so mature... But no one ever stopped to ask me if I actually wanted to be. My mother kept talking, but her words blurred into static. Except for the last sentence—the one I knew by heart. "Zora’s health isn't great, you know that. Just look after her." I calmly hung up. "I've looked after her enough." My mom always said Zora was an unexpected miracle. She had been born sick, a constant visitor to hospitals. Naturally, my parents' entire world revolved around her. And I, very early on, had learned to live in the quiet corners of their neglect. I opened Instagram. It was a photo dump. Nine photos, and Zora looked stunning in every single one. Right in the middle of the grid was her and Oliver. She was radiant, her smile splitting her face; his eyes were filled with soft, indulgent warmth. Underneath, a neighbor had commented: "Zora, your boyfriend is so handsome!" Zora had replied: "Oh stop, Mrs. Davis! That's my sister's boyfriend—my future brother-in-law!" To which the neighbor replied: "Ah, my bad... my eyes must be failing me." I let out a soft, humorless laugh. Her eyes weren't failing her. Mine were. 02 When did Oliver start looking after Zora like it was his job? Probably around the same time everyone else decided she was the only one who needed taking care of. Her name was Zora—meaning "life". My mother used to say they didn't expect Zora to achieve greatness; they just wanted her to stay healthy and be happy by their side. At first, I felt the same way. I worked twice as hard, trying to give her the best of everything. But gradually, everyone forgot that I had needs, too. Our birthdays were only two days apart, but the family always celebrated them as one. When we were kids, I didn't mind. Until the year Oliver brought over two gifts. Zora immediately grabbed the pink cashmere gloves. "I love these! Thank you, Oliver!" I froze. Oliver had promised me those exact gloves weeks ago. I looked at him. For a second, he seemed taken aback, too. But then he simply smiled, ruffling Zora's hair. "If you like them, they're yours, Zora." I blinked back the sting in my eyes and lowered my head. "That's fine," I whispered. "I actually like the blue ones anyway." A tear slipped down my cheek, splashing onto my phone screen. Just then, my screen lit up with a text. It was from Henry, my senior in the lab. Henry: "I ran that dataset one more time for you. You can use it directly—no errors." I stared at the message, a bit stunned. It was the set of data I had rushed through without double-checking in my hurry to finish. I hadn't realized Henry had caught it. I bit my lip, and on a strange, sudden impulse, I typed back: "Thank you, Henry. Can I buy you lunch tomorrow to make up for it?" 03 My screen went quiet. Then, the bubble popped up: "Henry is typing..." It took him a long moment to reply. "Tomorrow? Aren't you supposed to be celebrating Oliver's birthday?" I smiled sadly. "No need." As soon as I sent it, I felt a wave of guilt. It felt cheap, like I was using Henry as some sort of shield. I was about to unsend the message and explain, when his reply flashed on the screen. "Sure." Now I was the one left speechless. Oh well. It was just a lunch. No big deal. Besides... Oliver probably wouldn't bother reaching out to me tomorrow anyway. The next morning, I woke up with a bad case of cold feet. I wanted to back out. But before I could text him, Henry beat me to it: "What are we eating? Meet at noon?" Locked in, I had no choice but to get ready. I washed my hair, put on some makeup, and arrived on time. Henry was already there. When he looked up and saw me, he paused. "You look beautiful today." "Thanks, Henry." I felt a sudden flutter of awkwardness and avoided his eyes. But he caught me off guard by asking, "Is the look for Oliver?" I opened my mouth, surprised. Henry was our advisor's star student, the golden boy of the department. He was one of those naturally gifted geniuses I could never hope to compete with. We weren't particularly close. I honestly hadn't expected him to accept my invitation, let alone ask such personal questions. Usually, I was too intimidated to even speak to him. "Not really..." I mumbled. Seeing my discomfort, Henry didn't push. We ate in comfortable silence. But when the dishes arrived, I realized they were all my favorites—spicy, bold flavors. "How did you know...?" Henry smiled gently. "I noticed during our lab dinners. I tend to observe people." It didn't feel invasive. Instead, a quiet warmth bloomed in my chest. It had been a very long time since anyone had remembered what I liked. "Thank you," I said, my voice suddenly thick. Henry noticed my glassy eyes but didn't pry. He simply placed a piece of chili-seared beef onto my plate. Just then, the restaurant doors opened, and a familiar burst of laughter echoed through the space. I froze. I turned my head. It was Zora and Oliver. They stopped dead in their tracks when they saw me. "Lydia!" Zora squealed, running over to wrap her arms around my shoulder. "What are you doing here? You didn't answer my calls, I was so worried!" Oliver's eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Henry. A flash of something like hostility crossed his face before vanishing. He stepped closer, his voice cool and measured. "Lydia, what's going on with your phone?" I forced a small smile. "Must be broken." It was a terrible excuse, but it was a way out. Zora gasped, looking at Henry. "Wow, hello! You're gorgeous. Are you my sister's friend?" Henry ignored her outstretched hand, giving her a polite, distant nod. "Nice to meet you." Zora looked momentarily embarrassed, but she quickly bounced back, turning to me with a bright smile. "Lydia, isn't this place amazing? Oliver brought me here specifically! If we're eating this for lunch, what are the plans for tonight?!" "Specifically." I looked at Oliver. I knew he hated spicy food. He was highly disciplined, preferred bland, healthy meals, and couldn't stand Sichuan cuisine. But Zora loved it. And so did I. But what I liked had never really mattered. 04 "I'm treating Henry to thank him for his help," I said, trying to diffuse the sudden chill in the air. "Since you're here, why don't you join us? Henry, do you mind?" Henry smiled warmly at me. "Not at all." The four of us sat down. Zora immediately took over the conversation, chatting animatedly about her sightseeing over the last few days. She was like a hyperactive puppy. That description wasn't mine, of course. It was Oliver’s. It's funny how, once your eyes finally open, all the ignored details of the past start rushing back to hit you. How had Oliver ever described me? "Lydia, you're always so sensible." That was it. Nothing more. They ordered more dishes, none of which were things I liked. Actually, I used to like them, but once Zora claimed them as her favorites, I stopped. Maybe it was just a pathetic, unspoken rebellion of mine—declaring I didn't care for them until I actually believed my own lie. Take the sweet and sour ribs, for instance. I always claimed they were too greasy. But suddenly, a golden-brown rib was placed gently in my bowl. I looked up. It was Henry. As Henry served me, I saw Oliver's jaw tighten. But why should he care? He had been busy putting food on Zora’s plate the entire time. The lunch ended on an awkward, strained note. I was the one to cut it short. "Thank you for coming, Henry," I said. My words were polite, but my eyes carried a deep apology. Henry smiled, his gaze soft. "My pleasure. See you around, Lydia." He didn't bother saying goodbye to the other two. "Lydia, is he..." As soon as Henry walked out, Zora leaned in with a sly grin, nudging my shoulder. She knew Oliver was standing right there. Oliver, who was supposed to be my boyfriend. But Oliver wouldn't care. I could see it in his eyes. He had never once lost his composure because of me. That evening, I dragged myself through dinner with them, followed by a walk and a movie. By the end of the night, Zora insisted she wanted a drink. I frowned. Even Oliver said, "Zora, don't be reckless. Your heart." "Oh, come on, Oliver! Just a little bit. I'm so happy today!" Oliver glanced at me, then sighed. "Fine. Just a sip." I turned and walked away without a word. I didn't touch a drop of alcohol. Zora didn't have to face the consequences of a hangover, but our master's defense was tomorrow. I couldn't afford to mess up, and I assumed Oliver couldn't either. But he drank with her anyway. And he drank a lot. By the end of the night, my job of "looking after Zora" morphed into dragging both of them back to the hotel. I was angry. I threw Oliver onto his bed, ready to leave. But as I turned toward the door, I heard him mumble. "Zora..." I froze, cold dread seeping into my bones. I didn't play the part of the tragic heroine who runs away crying. Instead, I marched back to the bed and grabbed Oliver by his collar. "Oliver. Who did you just call?" Oliver was too drunk to answer. I had never checked his phone before. I had always thought it was beneath me. But tonight, I chose to be cheap. His text logs were clean. Everything looked normal. Until— I found a hidden album in his gallery. There were only two photos in it. I recognized the first one instantly. It was from when we were ten, playing in the snow. Zora was wearing a bright orange puffer jacket, looking like a little burst of sunshine against the white winter. The camera was centered entirely on her. I was barely visible, a blurry shoulder in the far corner of the frame. The second photo was a digital note. The top line was written in Zora's messy, childish handwriting. The line beneath it was in a young Oliver's sharp, elegant script. The background was decorated with cute, childish doodles. But to me, it looked like a knife. "Zora Loves Oliver." "Oliver & Zora." I let out a quiet laugh. It was so incredibly pathetic. But as I laughed, tears began to stream down my face. I didn't close the album. I dropped his phone onto the mattress beside him. Then, I pulled out my own phone and sent him one last text. "Oliver, let's break up." 05 The brutal reality of adulthood is that even if you spend the night crying until your chest aches, you still have to wake up, put on a professional outfit, and deliver a flawless master's defense the next morning. I channeled all my grief and anger into my presentation. The sheer adrenaline made my delivery sharper than ever, earning a round of thunderous applause from the committee. Down in the auditorium, my lab mates were waiting with a bouquet of flowers. Henry stood near the back, giving me a quiet, reassuring nod. I had never been the star student, but today, I had outdone myself. Oliver, on the other hand—the boy who was supposed to breeze through his defense—faltered. He was visibly unprepared, his voice flat and distracted. When he finished, the applause was sparse and polite. He apologized to the panel, his eyes scanning the crowd until they locked onto me. But I had already turned my back, walking out to get ready for our department's celebratory dinner. By the time I changed and walked down to the lobby, Oliver was waiting for me. He looked exhausted, a cigarette burning between his fingers—a habit he rarely indulged in. "Can we talk?" I kept my eyes forward. "There's nothing to say." Oliver looked down at his shoes. "About the photos... I can explain." "Explain what? We grew up together, Oliver. Do you think I don't recognize Zora’s handwriting? Or did you just think I was too stupid to care?" "Lydia, do you have to be so hostile? Zora rarely gets to visit. You're ruining everything over a tantrum—" "Ruining everything?" I let out a harsh laugh, the dam inside me finally breaking. "I'm throwing a tantrum? Oliver, are you serious? Did Zora even bother to tell me she was coming to Chicago? I pulled three all-nighters just to clear my schedule for your birthday, and you think I'm the one throwing a tantrum? Did you mention to me, even once, that you were spending all your time with her? And those photos—did I hidden-archive them on your phone, or did you?" All the resentment I had buried for years spilled out in a bitter rush. Oliver stared at me, stunned. He had never seen me like this. He didn't know what to do with a Lydia who wasn't compliant. Then, he muttered, "She's your sister. How can you be jealous of her?" "How can I be jealous?" I wiped a tear from my cheek, a cold, empty smile spreading across my face. The years I had spent chasing him suddenly felt like a massive joke. "I am jealous, Oliver. Go ahead and call the cops on me. To be honest, I've been jealous for a very long time." I turned on my heel, ready to walk away. But then I stopped and looked back. "Oh, and don't lay the blame for your terrible defense today on our breakup. You got cocky and lazy. That's on you. And one more thing—I used to think you were brilliant. Today? You were mediocre." I walked away, leaving him standing there in the cold wind. 06 I hurried away, only to collide with someone around the corner. I looked up. It was Henry. The bravado I had shown Oliver crumbled instantly. My mascara was running, and I was a total mess. Embarrassed, I tried to push past him, but his hand gently caught my wrist. "Where are you running? You looked so fierce a second ago." He pulled out a tissue and gently dabbed at the tears on my cheeks. I stared at him, frozen. "Henry, do I look hideous right now?" I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. Henry's gaze held mine, his expression intensely serious. "No. You've always been beautiful. And I don't just mean your face. You were beautiful during your defense today, you were beautiful when you were angry just now, and the way you work so hard... that's the most beautiful thing of all." I stared at him, my mouth slightly open, completely speechless.
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