Time moves fast when you're living… or loving.
It had already been seven months since I set foot in B-town.
Six months since Alvin and I started dating.
And somehow, I hadn't combusted. Or panicked and fled. Or pushed him away to build another invisible wall.
Loving him wasn't as terrifying as I thought. It felt… good. Really good.
The little butterflies in my belly every time he touched my shoulder.
The sudden skip of my heartbeat when his lips brushed my forehead.
The way our kisses always felt like falling, like warmth, like maybe… just maybe… I'd found something real.
Sometimes, we wanted to take it further.
But I wasn't ready yet.
He respected that. Held me close anyway. That alone made me love him more.
Everything felt good.
Well… almost everything.
Because love isn't just kisses and sunsets and spooning on rainy evenings. It's also the little things. The annoying things. The real things.
Like me getting home too late after work.
Or how he'd wipe water off the floor with his socks and track it everywhere like a toddler.
Or how he'd shrug whenever I asked what to cook for dinner, only to complain about eating noodles again.
Or those moments when I'd suggest where we could eat out, and he'd say "I don't know," until I chose, and then he suddenly "wasn't in the mood for that."
We fought about those things. Not deeply. Just bickering.
But the double standards? That stung.
Let a girl smile at him in public and I'd mention it—lightly. Teasing.
He'd roll his eyes. "You overthink too much."
But let a guy even dare say hello to me and Alvin's tone changed instantly:
"I know my gender."
Like I didn't know mine.
Still, I brushed it off.
Until the real fight came. And it wasn't about a girl. Or food. Or wet socks.
It was about 10,000,000F
Alvin had decided to start a business. Said he wanted to be independent from his parents. I admired that. Honestly, I did.
But the way he went about it?
A disaster waiting to happen.
He wanted to import and sell mobile phones. And yes, on paper—it made sense. Phones are in demand. It's a good market.
But instead of doing proper research or leveraging his father's massive network of trusted dealers, he trusted a friend. Who claimed to know a guy in China. Who claimed to be reliable.
I tried. I really tried to be supportive.
I sat down and proposed alternative business models. Walked him through risks and returns. Suggested verified import channels.
But no.
"Kim, it's business. You won't understand. It's a risk thing. Only men can relate."
That line. That one stupid line hit me like acid in a paper cut.
Only men?
I'm a woman breaking her back trying to leave footprints in this world. Trying to be taken seriously. Trying to make my presence matter.
And the person I trusted most just casually dismissed my brain like it was decorative.
I didn't yell. Didn't cry. Didn't plead.
I just stood up.
Walked out.
And didn't look back.
Guess what?
The friend vanished. The supposed China contact vanished. And so did 10,000,000F
I waited.
Two days.
Three.
No call. No apology.
At first, I was restless. Checking my phone obsessively. Opening his chat. Closing it. Re-reading old texts like they held hidden clues.
But then work took over.
Our lab got assigned a new drug development project. The kind of big deal that could put my name in industry circles. I had to give it everything.
When I wasn't working, I was sleeping.
When I wasn't sleeping, I was reading research papers while half-chewing stale bread.
Two days turned into a week.
A week turned into two.
Still nothing.
I started to worry. Really worry.
Was he sick? Depressed? Hurt?
So one Saturday afternoon, I walked up to his apartment. Knocked. Waited.
Silence.
I called.
No answer.
Panic.
Did something happen?
I called Clinton, his closest friend.
"Oh… he traveled to Y-City. Said he needed a break. Went to see his family."
Wait—what?
He left the city?
Without even telling me?
My heart cracked, slowly, like a phone screen falling face-down on cement.
I called him again.
Nothing.
And for the first time in weeks, I felt something worse than anger.
I felt empty.
Was I just someone he could leave behind?
I told myself, he's at his parent's place. Let it be.
But deep down… I wasn't okay.
Love is such a hassle.
I hate this uncertainty. The silence. The shift from comfort to confusion.
And sometimes…
I feel like I should just run. Again.