For several seconds, neither of us spoke.

Ethan was still holding my hand.

Not tightly anymore.

Almost carefully.

As if he feared that the moment he released me, I would disappear again.

I looked at him.

—Ethan… what exactly did you think happened when we were seventeen?

His expression hardened.

—You broke up with me.

—I said we should focus on graduation first.

—Exactly.

I blinked.

—And then I said we could try again in college.

Silence.

His fingers slowly loosened.

—What?

My heart began pounding.

—You walked away before I finished.

Ethan stared at me.

For the first time in fifteen years, Ethan Carter genuinely seemed unable to speak.

—I waited for you after graduation, I continued.

His face went pale.

—Where?

—At the lake behind school. The place where you gave me that ridiculous pink diamond.

He stopped breathing normally.

I smiled bitterly.

—I waited until almost midnight.

Ethan took one step backward.

—Olivia…

—You never came.

—Because I thought you hated me.

—I thought you hated me!

We stared at each other.

Then, absurdly, Ethan laughed.

Not happily.

The sound was almost broken.

—Thirteen years.

He dragged a hand over his face.

—We wasted thirteen years because I walked away twenty seconds too early?

I crossed my arms.

—Technically, because you were too dramatic to let me finish one sentence.

He looked offended.

—You said “maybe we should stop.”

—I said “for now.”

—I didn’t hear that!

—Clearly.

For several seconds we simply stood there.

Then he suddenly pointed at me.

—You could have called.

I stared at him.

—You blocked me.

He froze.

—Right.

—On everything.

His confidence visibly disappeared.

—Right.

—You returned my letters.

His expression became even worse.

—I thought they were breakup explanations.

—I sent you six.

—I didn’t open them.

My mouth fell open.

—You didn’t even open them?

Ethan looked away.

—I was seventeen.

—You were an idiot.

—I was heartbroken.

—Those things can coexist.

He almost smiled.

Then his face became serious again.

—What about Daniel?

I groaned.

—We are discussing thirteen years of mutual stupidity and you’re still thinking about Daniel?

—Answer the question.

—He’s my friend.

Ethan narrowed his eyes.

—Does he know that?

I laughed.

And something shifted.

The tension that had existed between us for years cracked open.

Underneath it wasn’t hatred.

It was grief.

Misunderstanding.

And an affection neither of us had managed to kill.

That evening, both families expected us to attend dinner and “discuss the engagement.”

Instead, Ethan drove me to the lake behind our old school.

The bench was still there.

Older.

Weathered.

Almost hidden beneath trees.

He sat beside me.

For once, Ethan Carter had nothing clever to say.

After several minutes, he asked:

—Did you keep the necklace?

I looked at him.

—The pink diamond?

—Yes.

—I still have it.

He turned toward me immediately.

—Seriously?

—I tried returning it.

—You did?

—Twice.

His ears slowly turned red.

Apparently, even at thirty, that hadn’t changed.

I smiled.

—Your housekeeper sent it back both times because you had apparently ordered everyone not to accept anything from me.

Ethan covered his face.

—I was unbearable.

—Yes.

—I hate seventeen-year-old me.

—I occasionally hated thirty-year-old you too.

He looked at me.

—Fair.

Then he became quiet.

—Olivia, I need to tell you something.

I waited.

—The marriage arrangement wasn’t my idea.

—I know.

—But when Grandpa mentioned your name…

He looked toward the lake.

—I said yes before he finished explaining.

My breath caught.

—Then why did you come to my office furious?

He gave me an incredulous look.

—Because I thought you’d arranged it!

—Why would that make you angry if you wanted it?

—Because I thought you were treating me like the convenient option after rejecting me thirteen years ago.

I stared at him.

Then laughed so hard my eyes watered.

Ethan glared.

—This isn’t funny.

—It’s extremely funny.

—I’ve been emotionally tortured for half my life.

—By yourself.

That silenced him.

Eventually he laughed too.

But I still had one question.

—Why did you pretend I didn’t exist all those years?

His smile faded.

He looked embarrassed.

—I made that stupid promise in front of everyone.

“If I look at Olivia Hayes for more than three seconds, I’m a dog.”

I remembered.

Ethan continued:

—So every time you entered a room, I counted.

I blinked.

—Counted what?

—Seconds.

I stared at him.

—You are insane.

—Probably.

—You literally avoided looking at me because of something you said when you were seventeen?

His expression became defensive.

—At first.

—And later?

He looked away.

—Later I realized if I looked too long, people would know.

—Know what?

He finally looked directly at me.

This time, longer than three seconds.

—That nothing changed.

My chest tightened.

The arrogant smile disappeared from his face.

—I never stopped loving you, Olivia.

There was no dramatic music.

No audience.

Just the lake and two adults realizing how badly teenagers had ruined their futures.

I whispered:

—Neither did I.

Ethan’s entire expression changed.

For one second he looked almost seventeen again.

Hopeful.

Terrified.

Then he asked:

—So we’re getting married?

I burst out laughing.

—Absolutely not.

His face fell.

—What?

—I just discovered our entire relationship was based on a misunderstanding. I’m not marrying you next month because our grandparents scheduled it.

—Then when?

I raised an eyebrow.

—Excuse me?

—Six months?

—Ethan.

—One year?

—You’re missing the point.

He leaned closer.

—I’ve already waited thirteen years.

—You didn’t wait. You sulked.

—Same result.

I pushed his shoulder.

For once, he let himself smile.

We went home and told our families that the arranged marriage was canceled.

Both grandfathers looked devastated.

Then Ethan added:

—We’ll decide ourselves later.

Immediately, they became suspiciously cheerful.

I pointed at them.

—Did you plan this?

My grandfather suddenly became very interested in his tea.

I never got a confession.

Ethan and I started dating again.

Properly.

Slowly.

It was strange at first.

We had known each other half our lives, yet there were entire adult versions of ourselves we had never met.

He learned that I no longer drank the sweet coffee he remembered.

I learned that he secretly fostered abandoned dogs despite insisting he “didn’t like animals.”

He remained jealous of Daniel.

Daniel found this hilarious.

One evening, Daniel deliberately put his arm around my shoulder at a charity event.

Ethan appeared beside us approximately twelve seconds later.

—Daniel.

—Ethan.

—Remove your arm.

Daniel grinned.

—Are you jealous?

Ethan answered without hesitation:

—Yes.

I almost dropped my glass.

The teenage Ethan would rather have swallowed glass than admit that.

Growth, apparently.

Eight months later, Ethan took me back to the lake.

There was no family.

No reporters.

No business agreement.

He gave me a small box.

Inside wasn’t a giant diamond.

It was my old pink pendant.

I stared.

—How did you get this?

—Your mother.

Of course.

He took out another ring.

Then he looked at me very seriously.

—Olivia Hayes, I am asking one time.

—No grandparents.

—No family deals.

—No companies.

He swallowed.

—If you say no, I’ll survive.

I smiled.

—That’s very mature.

—Don’t interrupt me.

I laughed.

He continued:

—Will you marry me because you want me?

This time, there was no misunderstanding.

I said yes.

We married the following spring.

At the reception, Daniel gave a speech.

He raised his glass.

—To Ethan Carter, who spent thirteen years hating every man Olivia spoke to while insisting he didn’t care about her.

Everyone laughed.

Ethan looked murderous.

Then Daniel added:

—And to Olivia, who finally learned that when Ethan says “I don’t care,” somebody should probably check whether he’s emotionally collapsing.

I laughed harder than anyone.

Years later, people still asked how an arranged marriage between the Hayes and Carter families had turned into such a happy one.

I always corrected them.

—It wasn’t arranged.

The arrangement was canceled.

What happened afterward was something completely different.

It was two people finally choosing each other after spending half their lives believing they had already been rejected.

And sometimes, when Ethan became annoyingly possessive, I reminded him:

—You know, you once promised not to look at me for more than three seconds.

He would pull me closer and answer:

—I served thirteen years of that sentence.

Then he would look directly into my eyes.

—I’m not wasting another second.