Chapter 2
“Mia…”
I paused. “What are you doing here?“ing here?”
His voice was hoarse. “I had a fever last night… The doctor saidd needed to be observed.bbserved.”
I nodded and walked into the duty room.luty room.
He stood frozen in place, as if he wanted to say something, but though his lips moved, no words, cameods.came out.
The comments flooded my screen:y screen:
[He can’t speak. He’s choking up just seeing you.] eing you.]
[He had a 104–degree fever last night. The doctor said he was almost delirious.] delirious.]
[He thought you weren’t coming to the clinic today. He sat in the hallway all night, too scared to sleepd]to sleep…]
I didn’t see him again for the rest of the day.of the day.
Until that afternoon, when my roommate sent me a voice message.message.
[He’s gone.]
The day you left campus, he was ten minutes too late. The day you flew out of the country, he got to the airport twenty minutesy too late. The day you changed your profile picture, he posted and deleted eight different things. The day you deleted him complete–c ly, he went on a twenty–mile run…]
[Do you really… not feel even a little bit sorry for him?] him?]
I opened my messaging app.site
The same gray profile picture was there.
The contact name, “Leo,” had long been changed to “Irrelevant.“elevant”
I didn’t reply to her.
But late that night, on my private social media, I wrote a single post:
“He hurt me again and again with his silence. Now he expects to win me back with his collapse.” colapse
“Too bad. I’ve already finished walking that road.”
9
Leo disappeared.
Truly, completely. Not a single ripple from his world reached mine anymore.
One night, I dreamed I was back at the old university.
The hallways were quiet. A door was unlocked.
I walked into the study room where we used to spend time. It was empty.
I knelt down and picked up a blue ballpoint pen from under a desk.
It was the brand he always used.
All the words he had wanted to say but never did were written with pens just like this one.
In the dream, 1 cried.
12:19
Chapter 2
But when I woke up, my cheeks were dry.
I wasn’t even crying in my dreams anymore.
I had truly moved on.
Spring in the coastal city was warm. I moved into a small guesthouse with a courtyard and planted a sweet olive tree under the
eaves.
My advisor recommended me for an international humanities project, and I was accepted.
My new roommate said, “You have such a gentle smile. Someone must love you very much.”
I thought for a moment and smiled back. “Yes. Her name is Mia. And she’s me.”
The comments were quiet for a long time after that.
I even started to think they had sobered up, too.
Until the day I received a private message.
It was from one of Leo’s childhood friends.
Just one sentence.
[Mia, he’s been really sick lately. He just sits up in bed all day without moving. The doctors say he’s showing signs of depression.]
I paused.
My finger hovered over the screen for a long time before I finally closed the message.
In that moment, the comments returned:
[He’s really sick…]
[He’s on medication now. He can’t eat.]
[Can’t you go see him? Just once?]
[Doesn’t he deserve that? Didn’t you love him once?]
[Are you that heartless? He’s already on his knees…]
But this time, something in the comments had changed.
I saw a new one:
[You have no obligation to save someone who pushed you off a cliff over and over.]
[You’re not a doctor. His illness is not your responsibility to cure.]
I changed into a suit, ready for my interview for the new project.
Looking in the mirror, I gently applied some lipstick.
The boy who had once stood crying under the library, begging me not to go, was now just a part of my past.
I didn’t hate him.
But I really, truly didn’t love him anymore.
Late that night, I posted just one sentence to my feed:
Chapter 2
“I healed myself.”
“He is not my responsibility.”
