I was with Asher for ten years. I even had his favorite flower, the gardenia, tattooed over my collarbone. He finally agreed to marry me, only to keep an 18-year-old girl on the side. In the days leading up to our wedding, he indulged her in a "breakup countdown." He took her skydiving, skiing, to Iceland to see the Northern Lights. But what he didn't know was that I didn't have long to live. I booked a flight out of the country, donated every penny he had to his name, and had the tattoo lasered off. For every day he counted down to our wedding, I was counting down the days to leaving him forever. 1 The day I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, the little girl Asher was keeping on the side came to find me. “I know I’m the other woman.” Her opening line was terrifyingly sincere. She bit her lip. “Ma’am, I know you’re about to get married, but—” “Asher doesn’t love you anymore.” “I’ve been with him for a year. We’ve slept together seventy-eight times. Fifty-three times in hotels, twenty-one at my place.” Her voice dropped, laced with a cruel sort of triumph. “And four times at your place. In your bed.” She looked me straight in the eye. “If Asher still loved you, I wouldn’t even exist.” I almost had to laugh. I lit a cigarette, watching her through the haze of smoke. “What else? Go on.” She pulled out her phone and played a video. The angle was discreet, clearly filmed in secret. The girl, Janice, was curled up in Asher’s arms, sobbing. “Even if you have to marry her out of duty, can you please not leave me?” Asher pushed her away and tossed a credit card onto the table. “Find a decent guy. Being with me is no good for you. It’s too dangerous.” “I don’t want to!” She wrapped her arms around his waist, her voice a sweet, pleading whine. “I’m not afraid of danger.” “Please, don’t get rid of me.” “Asher, I’ll never be a liability to you. I swear.” Asher froze. His gaze swept over her face, and for a moment, he seemed lost in a memory. Then, he leaned in and kissed her. 2 I stubbed out my cigarette. The girl was eighteen, her face brimming with the soft glow of youth. Pure innocence. And I knew, the moment I saw her. She looked just like me. Just like the eighteen-year-old Elara. “You were right about one thing,” I said, my voice steady. “If Asher still loved me, you wouldn’t exist.” I pushed myself up from the chair. A sharp pain lanced through my abdomen, but I braced myself against the tabletop, careful not to let it show. “But let me give you a piece of advice: don’t fall too deep. Asher doesn’t love you. And he doesn’t love me, either.” “He only loves the memory of Elara.” The innocent, beautiful girl who died a long time ago on the bloody path he climbed to the top. “In a few years, he’ll find a new replacement, and you’ll end up worse off than me.” That was a lie, of course. I was already dying. How could she possibly have it worse than me? The worst she’d face was being tossed aside when Asher finally got bored. 3 I was eighteen when I got with Asher. I grew up without a mom or a dad; the grandmother who raised me passed away when I was fifteen. That’s when Asher appeared. He pursued me relentlessly, throwing money at me like it was nothing, acting as if he wanted to lay the entire world at my feet. Asher was handsome, and he gave me a sense of security I’d never known. I fell hard and fast. On my nineteenth birthday, he coaxed me into bed. That night was a blur of pain that slowly melted into pleasure. We became one. The very next day, Asher took me to meet his crew. I’d never been in that kind of scene before, and I clung to his sleeve, shyly mumbling greetings as he introduced me. Their eyes raked over me, full of amusement and disdain. “Asher, where’d you find this little doll?” “Too sweet. She’ll just be dead weight.” Back then, I had no idea what “dead weight” really meant. I couldn’t help but whisper a defense, “I won’t.” “I’ll never be a liability to Asher.” I swore it. But as I was slowly drawn into Asher’s world, I began to understand the life he led. It was a life lived on a knife’s edge. To avoid dragging him down, to be able to stand by his side, I had no choice but to force myself to adapt. Ten years. I cut my hair short, dyed it, started smoking, got tattoos. My body became a roadmap of scars. My ruthlessness earned me a place as his second-in-command in the city’s underbelly. But Asher never seemed happy about it. Countless nights, he’d hold me close, his fingers tracing the scars on my skin before kissing each one. “Elara.” He’d bury his face in my chest and sigh. “I miss the girl you used to be.” And every time, after a moment of stunned silence, I would push him away and light a cigarette. I’d laugh, a bitter, smoky sound. “Asher, you say that like you have a goddamn soul.” 4 Asher came home in the dead of night. I was lying in bed, wide awake, staring into the darkness. He slipped under the covers and pulled me into his arms. “Still awake?” He leaned down to kiss me, but I turned my head away. He paused, then reined in his temper and held me tighter. “Who pissed you off? Tell me and I’ll go take care of them, okay?” “Asher.” “Yeah?” The room was so dark I couldn’t see his face. But I could smell it on him. The cloying scent of gardenias. “Let’s break up.” Asher’s body went rigid. He released me, rolling onto his back. “What is it now?” He rubbed his temples, his voice thick with irritation. “You’re not a kid anymore. What’s with the drama?” “Break up?” He scoffed. “Elara, you’re not getting any younger. Who’s going to marry a woman who smokes, drinks, has tattoos, and is tougher than most men?” A sharp pain pierced my chest. I pressed my hand to my heart, but the ache wouldn’t subside. Last year, I’d needed twelve stitches in my arm. I had an allergy to anesthetics, so they stitched me up raw. I bit down on my teeth and didn’t make a sound. But a few careless words from a drunk Asher were enough to make my eyes burn. “Asher,” I couldn’t stop myself from asking, “if I were terminally ill, would you…” “Elara.” He cut me off, his impatience flaring. “Don’t ask such pointless questions.” “If you were really dying, I’d kill myself right alongside you, alright?” He rubbed his brow again. “I’m swamped with the wedding and business right now. I don’t have the energy to coddle you. Stop acting out.” Just then, his phone buzzed. Asher irritably declined the call. It rang again. After a few rounds of this, he finally got out of bed and answered it. “What?” A girl’s crying filtered through the receiver, faint and distorted. Asher swore under his breath. “Such a goddamn pain.” But even as he complained, he was already pulling on his clothes. “Something came up with business. I have to go deal with it.” “Get some sleep. Don’t wait up for me.” 5 Our wedding was set for the third of next month. A simple ceremony. I never told Asher about my diagnosis. It was terminal. There was no cure. I also never told him that I had no intention of marrying him. I could accept everything about Asher. Everything except betrayal. The thought of him holding another woman, kissing her face, searching her features for the ghost of my younger self, made my stomach churn with nausea. I got with Asher when I was eighteen. It had been exactly ten years. Now, the doctor was telling me I had maybe six months left. By that math, I’d wasted nearly half my life on him. With what little time I had left… I just wanted to be Elara. I booked a flight out of the country. I wanted to see the world I loved but had never had the chance to explore, while I still had the strength. The ticket was for the third of next month. 6 In the morning, I crossed another day off the calendar. Ten days left until I was gone. The front door opened behind me. Asher strode in, bringing a gust of winter air with him. He shrugged off his coat and wrapped his arms around me from behind. He still hated my short hair. His eyes followed mine to the calendar, to the date circled heavily in red. A smile touched his lips as he gently pinched my cheek. “Can’t wait to marry me, huh?” He counted the days. “Ten days left.” He buried his face in my neck. “How about I make some time in the next couple of days to take you to get your hair dyed back to black? Maybe get some extensions?” “You’d look beautiful at the wedding.” “No need.” I stared blankly at the calendar. “It’s only a few more days.” “Short hair is fine.” Asher was quiet for a long moment. “Alright.” He let me go and picked up his jacket from the chair. “Things are crazy with the wedding. And Leo’s place got trashed yesterday. I’m going to be busy, so I won’t be back for a while.” He watched me as he spoke. As if he was waiting for me to back down. Waiting for me to say, Okay, let’s go dye my hair. Let’s get extensions. But I just met his gaze with a cool indifference. “Go.” “After all, there are only ten days left.” Asher didn’t say another word. He turned and walked out into the night. He didn’t look back. 7 Seven days until the wedding. I went to a tattoo shop on the outskirts of the city. The owner was a woman in her thirties. She was well-maintained, but her eyes held a world of weariness. She glanced at me. “What can I get for you?” I rolled up my sleeve, pointing to the ‘A.V.’ on my wrist, then revealed the gardenia below my collarbone. “I want them gone.” She studied them. “It’ll hurt. A lot. And it’s going to scar.” I smiled. “I’m not afraid.” Pain was the one thing I wasn’t afraid of anymore. As for scars… My body was already covered in them. What were two more? Besides, in six months, this body would probably be nothing but a pile of ash anyway. We chatted as she set up. “Breakup?” I smirked. “Yeah. Soon.” “Seven days.” She let out a low whistle. “That’s some ceremony. A countdown to a breakup?” Maybe it was the quiet of the shop, or maybe I just felt a connection with her. The moment I saw her, I felt like we were kindred spirits. I told her about the past. When Asher was chasing me, I gave him a deadline. Three hundred days. If he could stick it out, I’d be his. So, every morning when he showed up, he’d count down the days. “One hundred and seventy-nine days left.” “Elara, ninety-six more days until you’re my girlfriend.” “One day left, future girlfriend.” … The boy who chased me for three hundred days, rain or shine… Had slowly grown tired of me over the last ten years. I felt comfortable talking to her. As the laser worked its painful magic, I told her what the tattoos meant. The ‘A.V.’ on my wrist—for Asher Vaughn—I got a year after we got together. I’d been kidnapped by his rivals, used as bait to lure him into a trap. Asher came alone to save me. He knew it was a death trap, but he didn't hesitate. He was almost hacked to death that day. When he got out of the hospital, I went straight to a tattoo parlor and had his initials permanently etched into my skin. I was so naive back then. I thought, Asher is the one. For the rest of my life. But that night, when I proudly showed him my still-red and swollen wrist, he just stared. There was no trace of the emotion I’d expected. He frowned, asking me why I did it, if it hurt. Finally, he pulled me into his arms. “Don’t do this again. I don’t like it.” “I don’t like seeing you hurt yourself.” “You’re perfect the way you are. I like the clean, flawless Elara.” I was young then, and I thought he was just worried about me. I never imagined he was already telling me exactly what he wanted. The gardenia on my chest, I got that when Asher swore he would marry me by the time I was twenty-eight. Gardenias were his favorite. He loved their pure, untainted white. So I had one tattooed over my heart. Waiting for him to marry me. Now, he had finally set a wedding date in my twenty-eighth year. He was planning a wedding seven days from now. And I was planning my escape. Even though this body was already broken, I didn’t want to leave with any marks of his on me. I pointed to the other side of my collarbone. “Here,” I told the artist. “I want a trumpet vine.” Asher loved the gardenia. But I had always loved the trumpet vine. He wanted me to be pure and flawless. But in the last days of my life, I was going to be the trumpet vine, beautiful and defiant, climbing any wall I chose. 8 It was evening when I left the tattoo shop. The owner and I had really hit it off. We exchanged numbers and added each other on social media. Her name was Rhea. On the way home, I passed a small stand selling cotton candy. I couldn’t help but stop. The last time I’d had it was when I was a child, before my grandmother passed away. Whenever I’d be so captivated by the fluffy clouds of sugar that I couldn't walk away, she’d empty her pockets of loose change to buy one for me. She’d watch me eat the whole thing, then lovingly scold me, “You little sweet tooth.” My grandmother always loved to see me smile. It made the wrinkles on her old, kind face deepen. A cold wind blew, scattering the memory. I walked up to the stand and bought a cotton candy rabbit. It was so sweet. Just as cloyingly sweet as I remembered. As I rounded a corner, I heard a little girl’s high-pitched voice. “Mommy, look! That lady is so cool! But why is she eating cotton candy?” “Isn’t that for kids?” Her mother laughed softly. “Who says only kids can eat cotton candy? Anyone can. A little bit of sugar can make you feel happier.” I walked past them, my heels clicking on the pavement. I heard the girl’s innocent voice again. “But Mommy… she ate all that sweet cotton candy, but she doesn’t look happy at all.” “Mommy, that lady looks so lonely…” Her voice faded into the distance. By the time I got home, the cotton candy was gone, leaving only a sticky residue on my hands. I went inside and washed them. Just then, my phone rang. It was Asher. He sounded drunk. “Elara.” “I’m here.” He chuckled on the other end. “Seven days left. You’re going to be my wife.” “Tomorrow. I’ll take you to pick out a dress?” “You can just pick one. You know my size.” There was a long silence on his end. Faintly, I could hear a girl’s coquettish voice in the background. “Ash, let me go with you to try on dresses. Don’t you want to see what I look like in a wedding gown?” 9 A long moment passed. Asher’s voice was hoarse when he finally spoke. “Okay.” I couldn’t tell if he was answering me, or the girl beside him. I woke up. I crossed yesterday off the calendar with a thick, dark line. Six days left. Today, I was going to a concert. I got dressed, did my makeup. My body ached all over, a dull, persistent throb, but I could manage. In the full-length mirror, a woman in a short skirt—the kind Asher hated—stared back at me. Her limbs were slender, her smile serene. She had finally made peace with the ugly scars that littered her body. And there, just below her right collarbone… A trumpet vine bloomed. The stadium was packed, a sea of thousands of roaring fans. I sang along with the crowd, my voice raw and loud: “I’m the proud destruction, of the ordinary I despise, only to remember it’s what I loved the most.” I must have been lost in the music, because it wasn’t until the song ended that I felt the sharp, gnawing pain inside me again. I gripped the armrest, trying to steady myself. Suddenly, a carton of milk appeared in front of me. My stomach felt like it was being twisted by knives. I looked up to see a young, unfamiliar face. The boy was wearing a cream-colored puffer jacket and smiling kindly at me. “Stomach ache? The milk is warm. You can have it.” I took it, the warmth seeping into my cold hands. “Thank you.” We were in between songs. The boy shook his head. “It’s nothing. My girlfriend loves helping people. She’d be happy to know I gave it to you.” I glanced at the empty seat beside him. “She couldn’t make it to the concert?” He smiled, but his eyes were instantly filled with a winter frost. “She passed away.” “I’m here for her.” The milk I’d just swallowed felt like a stone in my throat. “I’m so sorry.” “It’s okay.” The music started again, and everyone turned their attention back to the stage. It was time for the lucky fan drawing. The massive screens flashed through rows and rows of faces. The moment the screen froze… I saw myself. The camera operator must have thought the boy and I were a couple. People around us started shouting for us to kiss. The boy quickly pulled a photo from his jacket and held it up to the camera. It was his girl. A microphone was thrust into my hand, and for a moment, I was speechless. Finally, I looked at the singer on stage, an artist I’d admired for years, and said softly, “I hope more and more people get to see you, to love your music.” “I hope you all find even greater success.” “I don’t really know what else to say, so… to everyone here tonight—” “I wish you all a long and happy life.” Some people in the crowd chuckled, probably wondering why my wish was so plain and ordinary. The camera quickly cut away. As the melody of the next song began, I saw the boy next to me gently tracing the outline of the girl in the photo. His eyes were red as he whispered, so quietly I almost didn’t hear it. “And I wish my Suzie a long and happy life, too.” In that moment… For some reason… I felt an overwhelming urge to cry. 10 The concert ended. I forced myself to make it home. I’d forgotten to close the window this morning, and the apartment was bone-chillingly cold. I shut the window, took off my makeup, and collapsed onto the bed. I opened up a social media app, scrolling aimlessly, when a video from a “person you might know” popped up. The user ID was “Janice S.” In the video, the young girl was dressed in a pristine white wedding gown. The face of the man whose arm she held was blurred out. Her eyes were a mix of youthful innocence and raw ambition. “Countdown: 6 days until my boyfriend marries someone else!” “Holding onto you for these last few days. I wish this moment could last forever.” In the frame, Asher gently held the girl’s waist. His touch was tender. 11 Five days left. I was feeling relatively energetic today. I got up early and took care of something important. I donated every last cent of Asher’s money that he’d put in my name. An eight-figure sum. Gone. Asher might have betrayed me emotionally, but he’d been completely open with his finances. For years, he’d transferred almost everything he earned to me, keeping only enough for daily expenses. As a final touch, I made the donation in his name. After all, it was his money. Might as well earn him some good karma. As for my own savings, I donated half and kept the other half for myself. Knowing your life is about to end is an incredibly painful thing. So I needed to make sure I didn't add to the pain by running out of money before I ran out of time. But… The moment I walked out of the charity foundation’s doors, my vision went black, and I collapsed. I woke up in a hospital bed. A nurse told me they’d tried calling my emergency contact multiple times from my phone, but no one had answered. My only emergency contact was Asher. “I’m sorry. I’ll go downstairs to pay the bill in a minute.” The doctor, his face grim, urged me to be admitted. “If you don’t start treatment now, you might not even make it six months.” I managed a weak smile. “And if I do get treatment?” “I can’t guarantee how the disease will progress, but I can guarantee that as long as there’s a sliver of hope, we will do everything we can.” Basically, even with treatment, the chances were slim. “Thank you, doctor.” “But could you please help me with the discharge papers?” As soon as I left his office, Asher called. “Sorry, I was busy. Didn’t hear the phone.” “What’s up?” My eyes fell on a familiar figure at the other end of the hallway. “Nothing. I lost my phone, and a kind stranger called my emergency contact.” “Good, as long as you’re okay. The wedding’s almost here. Is there anything you need?” “No.” Another stretch of silence. I could hear Janice’s impatient whine on his end. “Hurry up, the ice cream is melting.” Asher spoke again. “Call me if you need anything.” The line went dead. I frowned, my gaze fixed on the person down the hall. It was Rhea, the owner of the tattoo shop. She was bending over to pick up a wig that a passing child had knocked off her head. As she looked up, our eyes met. “You?” She clearly recognized me. She adjusted the crooked wig on her head. “Didn’t get a chance to tell you last time, but we’re in the same boat. Two short-timers.” “I was actually planning on closing the shop for good that day,” she said with a wry smile. “You were the last customer of my career.” “What is it?” I asked. “Leukemia.” She shrugged, a picture of nonchalance. “No cure.” We walked out of the hospital together. I pulled out a pack of cigarettes, offered her one, and we stood in the biting wind, struggling to light them for each other. Our eyes met. And suddenly, we both burst out laughing. Two goddamn unlucky souls. We laughed, watching the smoke dissolve into the wind, just like our own impending ends. 12 I changed my flight. No more trip abroad. Rhea and I booked tickets to Oregon together. My body couldn’t handle the long flight across the Atlantic anymore. Maybe it was fate. Maybe I was never meant to see that ocean view. The two of us, both on borrowed time, had the same idea. We wanted to see the ocean. Last night, Janice posted a new video. “Countdown: 5 days. Thank you for facing your fears to go skydiving with me.” “I love you too.” In the video, Asher and Janice were strapped together, standing on a platform hundreds of feet in the air. They leaped, wrapped in an embrace. His body was stiff, a clear sign of his fear of heights. But as they fell, he still managed to scream. “I love you!” “Janice!” But if you listened closely, the last word he shouted wasn’t Janice. It was Elara. 13 Four days until the wedding. Rhea asked me if there was anything else I wanted to do. I thought for a moment, then asked her to come with me to see someone. On the way, Rhea asked, “Is she a friend of yours?” I shook my head. “Quite the opposite. She’s my… mortal enemy, I guess.” Rhea raised an eyebrow but didn’t press. She even stopped with me at a flower shop to order a bouquet. Mara ran the East Docks. She was the toughest woman in that part of the city. She controlled a half-dozen bars and was as ruthless with herself as she was with others. We’d been fighting for control for years. Neither of us ever came out on top. The moment Rhea and I walked into her main bar, we were stopped. “Elara?” Mara was called out from the back. She frowned at me. “What are you doing here again?” “Came to call you an old hag.” Her face instantly darkened. Then she let loose a string of curses. We stood there and traded insults for a solid half hour. By the end, I felt fantastic. I grabbed a nearby bottle, took a swig of whiskey, and was about to take another when Rhea stopped me. “Just a taste is enough.” I sighed and put it down. I gave Mara a wave. “Alright, I’m leaving.” “You should tone down the fighting and killing. Settle down a bit.” “Otherwise, where are you going to find the energy to chase after pretty boys?” I was already out the door when I heard Mara’s bewildered voice. “What the hell? Did she come here just to yell at me for thirty minutes?” “Seriously, is she insane?” I turned back just in time to see her kick one of her guys. “I didn’t lose that argument, did I? I wasn’t really on my game today.” I laughed and kept walking. Maybe it was because I was dying, but even my years-long rival seemed kind of adorable. On the way home, my phone vibrated. Mara had sent me a picture of a bouquet of roses. “You sent these??” “Yeah.” She was silent for nearly two minutes, then a flood of messages came through. Mara: “What’s the meaning of this?” Mara: “Only little girls like flowers. You think I give a damn about this crap?” Mara: “You didn’t hide a bomb in there, did you?” Mara: “Elara, don’t think sending me flowers smooths things over between us.” Mara: “This isn’t the first time I’ve gotten flowers in my life.” Mara: “They’re actually pretty nice… Thanks.” Mara: “Let’s get dinner sometime.” I looked at my phone and smiled, slowly typing out a reply: “Yeah, if there’s a chance.” 14 That evening, Janice posted again. “Only 4 days left. I don’t want this to end…” “Skiing together. I love how you protect me. You’re like the father I never had.” In the video, Janice falls in the snow. Someone skis down from above, and Asher throws himself over her, shielding her with his body. The videos had been gaining traction over the past few days, and a lot of people were following along. 【omg whyyyy, why do people who love each other have to be apart?】 【His body language is screaming that he loves her, so why is he marrying someone else? Is it an arranged marriage?】 【God, my heart breaks for her. She looks like she’s always holding back tears.】 【Seriously, are you shippers brainless? The guy is about to get married and he’s doing a ‘breakup countdown’ with his ex. He’s trash and she’s a homewrecker. They deserve each other. Feel bad for the bride.】 The comment section was a warzone. But mostly, it was full of people waiting to see how the drama would unfold in four days. I had no patience for their melodrama. I swiped past the video. And gave a ‘like’ to the next video of a hot guy dancing. 15 Three days left. I treated the crew to dinner. They had no idea what was going on; they just assumed it was my bachelorette party. Bottle after bottle was emptied, and the mood grew rowdier. Everyone reminisced about the old days. Someone brought up Asher and me. “Seriously, Ash loves you so much. For real.” The speaker was rail-thin but was nicknamed “Tiny.” “One time, he got wasted and just cried for hours. He said he hated himself for not protecting you. He said sometimes he’s scared to even come home because seeing you reminds him… that he’s the one who turned you into this.” He sighed. “But… but I thought about it for a long time, and I think you should know.” “Elara, Ash is keeping a girl on the side. He…” Someone kicked him under the table. “Dude, how much have you had to drink?” “Ma’am, Tiny’s drunk. I’m gonna take him home. You guys keep going…” Tiny was dragged away. No one else believed him; they all just thought he was drunk and talking nonsense. The table erupted in a chorus of stories about how much Asher loved me. Someone, emboldened by alcohol, even called him. “What’s up? Spit it out.” Asher’s voice came through on speakerphone, sharp and clipped, but with a slight upward tilt at the end of his words. My heart clenched. I knew that tone all too well. It was the sound he made right after sex. “Elara’s treating us to dinner! We haven’t seen you in forever!” everyone chimed in. “Ash, you busy right now? Come have a drink with us!” Asher was silent for a couple of seconds. “I’ve got something here. You guys go ahead.” “Take care of Elara.” “And don’t let her drink too much. When you’re done, make sure a couple of you see her home safely, you hear me?” After he hung up, the guys all sighed dreamily. “See, Elara? Ash is always thinking about you.” “We’re so sick of being the third wheel to you guys!” I didn’t say anything. I took a sip of juice. It was room temperature, but it still sent a pang of pain through my stomach. I hadn’t brought my painkillers. The pain became unbearable, so I stepped outside for some air. I didn’t realize until I was out that it had started to snow. Leaning against a lamppost, I found myself, against my better judgment, opening Janice’s social media page. Maybe it was hearing so much about Asher just now, but in that moment, I had a desperate need to know what they were doing. Five minutes ago, Janice had posted a new video. He and she were standing side by side, the brilliant aurora dancing in the sky above them. “Breakup countdown: three days left! He flew us to Iceland overnight just to make my wish of seeing the Northern Lights come true.” “The lights are beautiful, but not as beautiful as him.” “But what can I do? Soon he won’t be mine anymore… Whatever. Universe, don’t worry about me, just make him happy.” “I’ll be okay.” In just five minutes, the video already had thousands of likes and was climbing fast. 【I’m crying. ‘Universe, don’t worry about me, just make them happy.’】 【For the first time ever, I actually hate the fiancée. Did she save his entire family or something?】 【Ugh, a pair of scumbags, and a comment section full of idiots. (To anyone who wants to reply: I already bought a resurrection pass for my family, my front and back cameras are broken, my pee is matte, I don’t own any mirrors, and please present your parents’ death certificates before insulting me.)】 I stared at the aurora in the video, so dazzlingly beautiful. I suddenly remembered when I was nineteen, curled up in Asher’s arms, watching a travel show with envy. “Asher, when you make a lot of money, will you take me to see the Northern Lights too?” “Of course.” “I promise I’ll take you one day.” A snowflake landed on my eyelash, blurring my vision. I blinked, and it melted. But the girl holding his hand, watching the aurora… that wasn't the nineteen-year-old Elara.
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