I opened the door.

Trinh Viet stood outside.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

He looked terrible.

The gray coat I had chosen for him two winters ago was wrinkled, his hair was messy, and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes. In one hand he held his phone. In the other was a plastic bag from the breakfast shop downstairs.

The first thing he said was:

“Have you eaten?”

My fingers tightened around the doorknob.

Three and a half years ago, that question would have softened me immediately.

Now it only made me tired.

“What do you want?”

His expression stiffened.

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

“Lam Te.”

“Say it here.”

He stared at me for several seconds, as though he had never imagined there would come a day when I wouldn’t automatically make room for him.

Finally, he whispered:

“I canceled the trip.”

I looked at him.

“What trip?”

“The snow mountain trip.”

He spoke quickly.

“I canceled my ticket. I told the lab I’m not going anymore.”

I almost smiled.

“Why?”

“Because you’re upset.”

There it was.

Not because he finally understood.

Not because he realized what he had done.

Because I was upset.

I leaned against the doorframe.

“Trinh Viet, do you think the problem is one trip?”

He opened his mouth.

I continued.

“I wanted to go to the beach for three and a half years.”

“I know.”

“No. You remember now because I mentioned it.”

His face went pale.

“If I had never heard your conversation with your mother, would you have remembered?”

He said nothing.

I nodded.

“That’s the answer.”

“Lam Te, Gia Di really is only my junior.”

“I believe you.”

He froze.

Maybe he had prepared dozens of explanations.

Maybe he expected me to accuse him of cheating so he could defend himself.

But I didn’t.

“I believe you never slept with her. I believe you never confessed to her.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly.

Then I finished:

“But that makes it worse.”

His eyes changed.

“Because you didn’t need to love her to treat her better than you treated me.”

The hallway became completely silent.

I looked directly at him.

“You remember what she likes to eat.”

“You remember where she wants to travel.”

“You know when she has an experiment.”

“You answer when she sends messages.”

“You introduce her to your friends.”

“And when your mother sends something from home, she automatically thinks you’ll share it with Gia Di.”

I swallowed.

“Do you know what your mother sent me for my birthday last year?”

Trinh Viet stared at me.

I laughed softly.

“Nothing.”

His lips parted.

“She forgot because you never mentioned my birthday.”

“Lam Te…”

“Do you know what I wanted last birthday?”

Silence.

“What about the year before?”

Still silence.

I suddenly didn’t feel angry anymore.

Only empty.

I stepped backward.

“We have nothing left to discuss.”

He immediately placed his hand against the door.

“Wait.”

I looked at his hand.

Slowly, he removed it.

“I made mistakes,” he said.

It was the first time I had ever heard those words from him.

“I thought… because you were always there, we had time.”

My chest tightened.

He continued, voice hoarse.

“When you asked me to go somewhere, I thought there would always be another weekend. Another holiday. Another year.”

He lowered his head.

“With Gia Di, if the lab organized something, I just agreed because it was convenient.”

I looked at him.

“So I was postponed because I wouldn’t leave.”

His face turned white.

He understood.

My loyalty had become the reason he believed he could neglect me.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“But that’s what happened.”

He took a step closer.

“Give me another chance.”

I almost laughed.

“What would you do?”

“Anything.”

“Take me to the beach?”

“Yes.”

“Remember my birthday?”

“Yes.”

“Reply to my messages?”

“Yes.”

“Put me first?”

“Yes.”

Each answer came faster than the last.

I stared at the man I had once loved enough to wait three and a half years for one simple promise.

Then I asked:

“Why did I have to leave before you became willing to do those things?”

He stopped breathing for a moment.

I closed the door.

This time, he didn’t stop me.

That afternoon, I returned to work.

For the first time in days, I answered emails, attended meetings and ate a proper meal.

Life didn’t suddenly become beautiful.

But it moved.

And I moved with it.

Two days later, my manager called me into her office.

She placed a document on the table.

“We’re opening a new branch.”

I looked at the address.

Qingdao.

My heart skipped.

A coastal city.

The sea.

“We need someone there for six months,” she said. “Your performance has been excellent. I recommended you.”

I stared at the paper.

Six months.

Away from Beijing.

Away from Trinh Viet.

Away from every street where I had waited for him.

“When do I leave?”

“Next Friday.”

I signed immediately.

I told no one except my landlord and two colleagues.

Especially not Trinh Viet.

During the following week, he continued messaging me.

Good morning.

Remember to eat.

It’s cold today. Wear more clothes.

I passed the restaurant you like.

I found the movie you mentioned before.

Every message contained something I had once begged to receive.

I answered none of them.

Then his birthday arrived.

At 8:17 that evening, someone added me to an old group chat.

It was one of Trinh Viet’s laboratory colleagues.

Photos began appearing.

A birthday cake.

Wine.

Laughing faces.

And Chu Gia Di sitting beside Trinh Viet.

I stared at the screen calmly.

Then another photograph appeared.

Gia Di was holding a rectangular box.

The message beneath it read:

“Senior Brother’s birthday gift finally delivered! I hope you like it!”

Trinh Viet opened the box.

Inside was a blue scarf.

My breathing stopped.

Not because of the scarf.

Because I recognized it.

Three months earlier, while walking through a shopping mall, I had stopped in front of that exact scarf.

I had touched it and jokingly told Trinh Viet:

“This color would look good on you. Maybe I’ll buy it for your birthday.”

He had been looking at his phone.

He had replied:

“Whatever.”

I never bought it.

But someone had.

Then Gia Di sent a message to the group.

“Senior Brother mentioned that Sister Lam Te liked this one, so I thought he must like it too.”

I stared at those words.

So they had talked about me.

Before I could process it, my phone rang.

Trinh Viet.

I rejected the call.

He called again.

Rejected.

Then a message appeared.

“Lam Te, please answer. There’s something about Gia Di you need to know.”

I turned the phone face down.

Tomorrow morning, I was leaving Beijing.

There was nothing left that I needed to know.

But ten minutes later, another message arrived.

This time it wasn’t from Trinh Viet.

It was from Chu Gia Di.

Only one photograph.

A screenshot of a conversation between her and Trinh Viet from eight months earlier.

My eyes immediately fell on one line.

Gia Di had written:

“If you’re so tired of being with her, why don’t you just break up?”

And Trinh Viet’s reply was underneath.

“Not yet. I still need Lam Te for something.”

I stared at the screen until my fingers went cold.

Then Gia Di sent another message.

“Sister Lam Te, before you leave Beijing, I think you deserve to know what he meant.”