Chapter 1

In the seven hundred-plus days I was with Carter, he never bought me flowers once. I told myself it didn’t matter.

He said he hated going out, so I stayed in, ordering takeout and playing video games with him. I thought that was enough.

Then, ahead of this long weekend, he actually suggested a trip to the Blue Ridge Mountains. I was so thrilled I bought a brand-new suitcase just for the occasion.

Right before we were supposed to leave, he claimed an urgent project came up at work. He told me to go ahead without him, promising he'd catch the late express train and meet me there.

I spent six hours on a slow regional train, transferred between two long-distance buses, and didn't text him once about my swollen knee because I didn't want him to worry.

When I finally checked into the hostel and sent him my location, his reply took forty minutes. Just three words: Talk to you tomorrow.

I didn't press. I just lay on the bunk bed, scrolling through my phone.

That was when I stumbled across his cousin Serena’s TikTok.

In a warm, private restaurant booth, Carter was leaning over her plate, carefully picking out fish bones for her. He had the softest, most tender smile on his face.

In two years, I had never seen him look at anyone like that.

Serena had posted clips from that same upscale restaurant for three days straight. There was no urgent work project. There was no late train.

Beneath her video, I left a four-word comment: What a lovely couple.

Seconds later, my phone rang. Carter’s voice was shaking on the other end: "Delete that right now. She’s going to feel embarrassed."

All of a sudden, the pain just stopped.

I blocked his number across every platform, then pulled the zipper shut on my mint-green suitcase.

Seven hundred-plus days. Turns out he wasn't incapable of romance—he just never wanted to give it to me.

"Delete that right now. She’s going to feel embarrassed."

His voice came through the speaker, trembling with barely concealed panic.

I stared at the white ceiling above the top bunk in the hostel.

His first words weren't Did you make it safely?

They weren't I'm so sorry I couldn't come.

They weren't even You've got the wrong idea.

They were: She’s going to feel embarrassed.

She.

I rolled the word over in my mouth. Inside, I felt unnervingly still, like a glass of water that had gone cold hours ago.

"Where are you right now?" I asked.

"Chloe, just delete the comment first. We’ll talk when I get back."

"Where are you?"

He went quiet for two seconds. "I'm... taking care of some things."

I hung up.

The blanket was thin. The hostel’s standard white pillowcase carried a faint scent of industrial detergent.

Across from me, a girl had already fallen asleep. Her boyfriend hadn't shown up tonight either; she had cried into her pillow for a while before drifting off.

For a brief second, I envied her. At least she knew why her person hadn't come.

My phone buzzed. An unknown number.

I answered.

"Chloe, listen to me, Serena was just—"

"You looked really handsome when you were picking out those fish bones for her," I said.

Silence on the other end.

"In two whole years, I never saw that look on your face," I continued, my voice steady as stone. "I honestly thought you were just the type of guy who didn't smile much. Guess I was wrong."

"She filmed that herself. I didn't even know she—"

"You went to dinner with her three nights in a row."

Silence again.

Outside the window, a night breeze from the foot of the Blue Ridge Mountains rustled through the trees. My knee was throbbing—a dull, rhythmic ache, like something grinding slowly into the joint.

I hadn't told him my knee had swollen up.

I never did.

"Carter, do you have any idea how long I spent traveling today?"

"...How's your knee holding up?"

I froze.

He knew about my old knee injury.

Yet he had waited until this exact second to ask.

"It's fine," I said.

I hung up, blocked the number, set my phone to silent, and turned toward the wall.

The ache in my knee became sharper in the quiet.

I counted the pulses of pain. Around the seventh throb, it hit me: tonight, he was supposed to be in that candlelit booth.

Soft amber lighting. Gourmet dishes. Serena whining, Carter, you know I hate fish bones, and him leaning in with his fork, meticulously removing every single one.

There had been a light in his eyes while he did it.

Not the restaurant's lighting. His own.

I closed my eyes.

No tears came. Not a single drop. Just a strange, stark clarity—as if someone had lifted a heavy weight out of my skull. It felt so much lighter, but utterly hollow.

Before dawn, I slipped out of bed and dragged my suitcase from under the frame.

That dark scuff mark was still on the side, impossible to wipe away.

In the dim light, the mint-green shell looked dull and gray.

I zipped it up and wheeled it out the front door of the hostel.

A night guard sitting by the entrance glanced at me, hesitated, and finally called out, "Miss, the first bus down the mountain doesn't run until sunrise."

"I know. I'll wait here."

I sat down on the concrete steps, resting the suitcase beside me.

A damp mountain breeze swept over, tangling half my hair across my face.

I didn't bother brushing it away.

I just sat there, waiting for the first morning bus, watching the horizon slowly bleed into a pale, dusty gray.

A random memory surfaced in my mind.

He had once told me mint green was his favorite color.

That was the only reason I bought this suitcase.

"Miss, the bus is here," the guard called from behind.

I stood up and grabbed the handle.

My knee hurt, but I could walk.

I climbed aboard, took the very back row, slid the suitcase into the aisle next to me, leaned against the glass, and closed my eyes.

My phone buzzed. Expecting another burner number from Carter, I unlocked the screen.

It was a text from Brooke, sent at 3:42 AM.

I just saw Serena’s TikTok. Where the hell are you?

I replied with two words: Heading back.

Four minutes later, her text arrived.

Text me the second you get in. Hot pot is on me.

The bus engine roared to life. As it wound down the pitch-black mountain road, I set the phone flat against my denim-covered knee, feeling the faint warmth of the screen seep through the fabric.

Just that tiny bit of warmth made my eyes sting.

Not because of Carter.

Because someone was looking out for me at three in the morning.

Text me the second you get in.

I took a deep breath and shut my eyes.

The bus took a sharp curve. My shoulder slammed against the cold windowpane, but I didn't pull away.

Time to go home.