At exactly nine, I reached the civil registry.
Nathan Zhou was standing beneath the front steps.
Black coat.
Coffee in one hand.
Number-one ticket in the other.
When he saw me, the usual teasing smile disappeared.
For several seconds, he simply stared.
I stopped in front of him.
“What?”
“You actually came.”
“You threatened to expose my childhood crimes.”
“That was motivation.”
He handed me the coffee.
My usual order.
I looked at it.
“You remembered?”
Nathan raised an eyebrow.
“I’ve lived next door to you for twenty years.”
Then he turned toward the entrance.
“Come on.”
I caught his sleeve.
“Nathan.”
He stopped.
“You understand why I’m doing this, right?”
His expression became serious.
“Because Gabriel married Olivia.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“And you don’t want your parents dragged into the humiliation.”
I nodded.
Nathan looked directly at me.
“Then understand something too.”
“What?”
“I won’t marry you just to help you punish Gabriel.”
My heart sank.
But Nathan continued.
“If we register today, I’m going to treat it as real.”
I stared at him.
“You’re crazy.”
“Probably.”
“You don’t even like me.”
Nathan laughed.
“Clara, I’ve been losing arguments to you on purpose since I was sixteen.”
“You have never lost on purpose.”
“Exactly. That’s how much I liked you.”
I stopped breathing for a second.
He took the registration form from my hand.
“You can still leave.”
I looked toward the door.
Then at him.
For four years, I’d waited for Gabriel to choose me.
Nathan had spent one night waiting outside a government building because I sent him one ridiculous message.
I stepped forward.
“Number one, right?”
His smile returned.
“Always.”
We registered.
No flowers.
No ceremony.
No expensive rings.
Just two signatures.
When we walked outside, Nathan looked at our certificates for almost a full minute.
Then he photographed his.
“What are you doing?”
“Evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“That you voluntarily married me. You’ll deny it during our next argument.”
I laughed.
It was the first genuine laugh I’d had since returning home.
Then my phone rang.
Gabriel.
I rejected it.
He called again.
And again.
Finally, a message appeared.
Why did Nathan Zhou just send me a photograph of a marriage certificate?
I slowly turned toward Nathan.
“You sent it to him?”
Nathan put his phone away.
“He congratulated me on New Year’s yesterday.”
“You’re shameless.”
“He deserved an update.”
Thirty seconds later, Gabriel called Nathan.
Nathan answered on speaker.
“What?”
“Where’s Clara?”
“Beside me.”
“What did you do?”
Nathan looked offended.
“I got married.”
“This isn’t funny.”
“I agree. Marriage is a serious legal commitment.”
“Nathan!”
I had never heard Gabriel lose control like that.
Then he demanded:
“Give Clara the phone.”
Nathan looked at me.
I held out my hand.
“Gabriel.”
There was silence.
Then:
“Tell me this is fake.”
“It isn’t.”
“You married him because you’re angry with me?”
“I married him because you married someone else.”
“That’s different!”
I almost laughed.
“How?”
“My marriage to Olivia is temporary.”
“That’s your marriage.”
I looked at Nathan.
“Mine isn’t your concern.”
Gabriel’s breathing became heavy.
“Clara, we had an agreement.”
“You broke it.”
“I explained why!”
“No. You explained why you expected me to accept it.”
He became quiet.
I continued.
“You married Olivia, asked me to hide it, expected me to return the dowry money, and even planned to keep that money for a future house you assumed I’d buy with you.”
When I said it aloud, it sounded even more absurd.
“You didn’t ask me to wait, Gabriel.”
“You simply assumed I would.”
“Clara…”
“Happy New Year.”
I ended the call.
Nathan said nothing.
He merely opened the passenger door for me.
That afternoon, Gabriel appeared at my parents’ house.
Unfortunately for him, Nathan’s parents were already there.
So was Nathan.
And five minutes earlier, both families had learned we’d registered our marriage.
My mother was still staring at the certificate.
My father kept adjusting his glasses as if another examination might change the names.
Gabriel entered carrying gifts.
Then saw Nathan sitting beside me.
His expression hardened.
“Clara, come outside.”
Nathan started to stand.
I touched his sleeve.
“I’ll handle it.”
Outside, Gabriel immediately said:
“Divorce him.”
“No.”
“Don’t be childish.”
Something inside me finally snapped—not into anger, but clarity.
“You married another woman yesterday.”
“Because Olivia needed help!”
“And today you’re telling your supposedly future wife to divorce her husband?”
Gabriel opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
“You can’t reserve me, Gabriel.”
His face changed.
“I never treated you like that.”
“You absolutely did.”
I listed everything.
The years of waiting.
The promises.
The excuses.
Olivia always needing him.
Me always being expected to understand.
Then I asked the question I’d avoided for years.
“Did you ever actually intend to marry me?”
“Yes.”
His answer came quickly.
But then I asked:
“When?”
Silence.
“After Olivia didn’t need you anymore?”
He looked away.
That was my answer.
Three days later, Gabriel’s mother called mine.
The promised hundred-thousand-dollar dowry had never been transferred.
My mother was furious.
Not because of the money.
Because she’d discovered Gabriel’s family had allowed ours to believe a wedding was coming while Gabriel was already legally married to Olivia.
Nathan’s mother reacted differently.
She arrived carrying a bank folder.
I immediately became nervous.
“What is that?”
“Wedding arrangements.”
I pushed it back.
“No.”
Nathan nearly choked on his tea.
His mother stared at me.
“No?”
“No giant wedding. No ridiculous dowry. No apartment bought to impress relatives.”
She considered this.
Then smiled.
“Good.”
Nathan blinked.
“Mom?”
She ignored him.
“What do you want?”
I looked at Nathan.
“A year.”
Everyone became silent.
I continued.
“Nathan and I registered impulsively. I don’t want either of us trapped because I was hurt.”
Nathan’s expression didn’t change.
“If after one year either of us wants to leave, we separate peacefully.”
His father looked uncomfortable.
My mother started to object.
But Nathan said:
“Fine.”
I turned toward him.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
He reached for a dumpling.
“But I’m not planning to lose.”
That became our strange beginning.
Not a fairy tale.
Not instant love.
We argued constantly.
Nathan squeezed toothpaste incorrectly.
I left books everywhere.
He cooked terribly.
I criticized his chess strategy despite losing repeatedly.
But there were other things.
He remembered my coffee.
He knew I hated coriander.
When I worked late, he didn’t demand I come home.
He simply left food covered on the table.
When I caught a winter cold, he didn’t tell everyone how devoted he was.
He quietly canceled meetings and brought medicine and soup.
And most importantly, he never made kindness feel like debt.
Six months passed.
Then Olivia contacted me.
I almost ignored her.
But her message surprised me.
I’m sorry.
We met once.
She looked exhausted.
Her marriage to Gabriel was collapsing.
Not because I had taken him away.
Because a marriage built to “save face” had created problems neither of them expected.
Her family treated Gabriel’s temporary promise as permanent.
Gabriel wanted a quick divorce.
Olivia’s parents refused to cooperate quietly because they feared public embarrassment.
“What did you expect?” I asked.
She lowered her head.
“That he would eventually choose me.”
There it was.
The truth.
“Did Gabriel ever promise that?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
She looked at me.
“Because he always came when I called.”
That sentence stayed with me.
Gabriel had thought he was merely helping her.
Olivia interpreted his constant presence as love.
I had interpreted his promises to me as commitment.
In reality, Gabriel had spent years keeping everyone close enough to need him without making clear choices.
Eventually, everyone got hurt.
Including him.
Nine months after my marriage to Nathan, Gabriel finally divorced Olivia.
The next evening, he waited outside my office.
“I kept my promise.”
I stared at him.
“What promise?”
“I divorced her.”
I almost felt sorry for him.
“Gabriel, that promise expired the morning I married Nathan.”
His face tightened.
“You can’t seriously love him.”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Because for the first time, I realized something.
I did.
Not dramatically.
Not desperately.
Not with the exhausting uncertainty I’d mistaken for love before.
Nathan’s love felt ordinary.
Steady.
Safe.
It didn’t require guessing.
“Yes,” I said.
Gabriel’s face changed.
“I love him.”
That was the last private conversation Gabriel and I ever had.
One year after our registration, I came home expecting Nathan to remember our agreement.
He did.
There was an envelope on the table.
I opened it.
Divorce papers.
Already signed by him.
My chest tightened.
Nathan stood by the window.
“A year.”
His voice was unusually quiet.
“I promised you a choice.”
I looked at the papers.
“You want a divorce?”
“No.”
“Then why did you sign?”
“Because I don’t want you staying because you feel obligated.”
He smiled faintly.
“You spent too many years waiting for someone who treated your loyalty as guaranteed.”
“I won’t do the same thing.”
I stared at him.
Then tore the papers in half.
Nathan froze.
I tore them again.
And again.
Pieces fell across the table.
“You’re creating a mess,” he said.
“Clean it yourself.”
His mouth slowly curved upward.
“So you’re staying?”
I folded my arms.
“Unfortunately.”
Nathan laughed.
Then he pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.
I stared.
“You already bought a ring?”
“Eleven months ago.”
“You arrogant—”
“I said I wasn’t planning to lose.”
I laughed so hard I nearly cried.
We held a small wedding months later.
Our parents.
Close friends.
No business alliances.
No performances.
No hundred-thousand-dollar dowry.
When someone asked Nathan how he’d managed to marry the girl he’d argued with since childhood, he answered:
“Persistence.”
I corrected him.
“Blackmail involving childhood stories.”
Years later, Gabriel sent a short message on New Year’s.
Happy New Year, Clara. I hope you’re happy.
I looked across the room.
Nathan was arguing with my father over chess.
My mother was complaining that both men were too loud.
Our home smelled like dinner.
Nobody was waiting for me to prove I was generous enough, patient enough or understanding enough to deserve love.
I typed:
I am. I hope you are too.
Then I put the phone away.
For years, I thought love meant waiting for someone to finally choose me.
Gabriel taught me how painful that could become.
Nathan taught me something simpler.
The right person doesn’t keep you standing beside the door while deciding whether someone else needs him more.
He opens the door.
He waits.
And when you finally arrive, he makes sure you know that you were never the backup plan.
