Chapter 3

Chapter 3

When we woke up the next morning, neither of us acted out of the ordinary.

The only thing that felt off was that I, a habitual late sleeper, had woken up early. Meanwhile, he had returned from his morning run without bringing back any breakfast.

He seemed to be in a daze, only noticing me after a moment. He paused, then reached out to ruffle my hair.

“Why are you up so early?”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, looking up at him.

He still carried the damp chill of the morning dew. His clear eyes dropped to meet mine, looking at me with earnest intensity.

“What do you want to eat?”

“Noodles.”

“I’ll add an egg.”

Yes, nothing seemed wrong. He even pinched my cheek before heading into the kitchen. Yet, I couldn’t understand the sudden surge of dread filling my heart.

His phone began vibrating incessantly on the table.

I was about to call out to him, but I froze when I saw the screen.

My memory isn’t usually that good, but I just knew that this was the same number from yesterday.

Likely wanting to keep the cooking fumes contained, he had closed the sliding kitchen door. I glanced toward it a few times before pressing the button to answer.

“Wei Yan, are you seriously hanging up on me?”

The voice was delicate yet arrogant, possessing a sharp, infectious energy that made me stiffen instantly.

Haughty and condescending, yet graceful and refined-that was my first impression of Qin Chuchu. It was an impression that would never change.

“I’m his girlfriend.”

I spoke into the receiver, trying my best to make my voice sound authoritative.

“Ha?” It was a sound of exaggerated disbelief.

“What kind of girlfriend do you think you are?”

Then came a string of bell-like laughter.

I could tell she was being genuinely patronizing, that she truly looked down on me.

“This is hilarious. Haha, you say you’re his girlfriend? Then do you have any idea what he and I…”

I didn’t hear the rest.

A hand had reached out from behind me at some point and ended the call.

Wei Yan’s footsteps had been completely silent.

Another long silence stretched between us until he finally spoke, his voice low and raspy.

“What did you hear?”

I didn’t know how to answer him, nor did I know what kind of memories he shared with that woman.

Yet, as if possessed, I spoke anyway.

“The tattoo on your body… it’s the initials of her name, isn’t it?”

He seemed to freeze entirely.

I didn’t want to see that look of dazed distraction on his face. It meant he was remembering something; it meant that something was stirring up his emotions.

He turned and started walking toward the front door.

“Where are you going!” I took two steps after him.

I admit I was panicking. It was strange-even though he treated me so well, I always felt like I would lose him one day.

The light from outside the door hit him at an angle.

“I’m going to get it removed.”

His voice was deep and laced with a sense of loss.

“You don’t like it.”