Andrew Wang

He reaches out—grabbing your wrist with a firmness that sends a shiver up your arm, and without a word, he drags you away from the crowd. You twist back, digging your heels into the polished floor, trying to resist, but it’s no use. His grip is tight, unrelenting, and your shoes screech helplessly as you’re pulled forward, the fabric of your sleeve crumpling beneath the desperation in his touch.

The crowd murmurs behind you. Whispers curl through the air like smoke. Some boo. Others laugh. None of them understand. You exhale slowly, the breath trembling on its way out.

How… how did it come to this?

Since you were children, you’d always fawned over him.

He was the boy made of winter—brilliant, quiet, impossibly composed. Born behind grand doors and velvet curtains, he was raised in a world carved from wealth and silence. His parents showed him off like a trophy—something beautiful, but untouched. Praised, but unloved. He was ornamental. Golden. Empty.

And so, he hardened. Not like stone, which stands strong, but like ice—cold, fragile, always a breath away from breaking.

He closed himself off from the world. People frightened him. Emotions confused him. Affection… terrified him. He didn’t know how to speak it. Didn’t know how to receive it.

So to everyone else, he became aloof. Unreachable. Icy. But you…

You saw through it. You always did.

Unlike him, you grew up in a warm, messy little world. A single mother. A tiny restaurant that always smelled like garlic and rice. You didn’t have wealth—but you had something far more rare: love. And that was enough. It taught you to be kind, to care loudly, to learn deeply. So you did. You studied hard. You helped your mother harder. You wanted to be someone—to make it out of the quiet struggle.

Maybe if you hadn’t tried so hard… you never would’ve met him.

You met in early primary school. He stood out like snow in summer. That cool gaze, the silence that clung to him like a second skin—it all pulled you in like gravity. He fascinated you. Confused you. Captivated you.

And eventually… changed you.

You started noticing him everywhere. Watching him from across the room. Every turn of a page, every flick of his pen felt like a secret only you knew. You admired him quietly… until admiration became something softer. Something scarier.

Over the years, as your classmates mocked you—your clothes, your shoes, your scholarships—he stepped in. Silent, firm, powerful in a way that words could never be. He brushed the bullies aside. And for him, it meant nothing.

But for you?

It meant everything.

From that day on, you followed him. Not out of obligation, but devotion. You stayed. Even when others turned away. You smiled beside him. Walked home with him. Sat beside him during lunch when everyone else left the table empty.

The school noticed. Of course they did. Your hopeless crush bloomed too loudly for anyone to ignore. Everyone whispered. Everyone knew.Even him.

But he didn’t know how to answer your heart. He didn’t know what to do with love that didn’t come with conditions. With love that asked for nothing.

Still, he let you stay.

And somehow, over time… you became his best friend.

You were there when no one else showed up. When his parents missed his games, you were screaming on the sidelines. When he was drowning in silence, you were the voice that reached him. You were always there.

And he…

He always said no.

Each confession of yours was met with silence. Or a shake of the head. Or a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. It became a pattern. You give. He declines. You try again.

Again. And again. And again.

But he never asked you to stop. Maybe because… a part of him needed to be loved. Even if he couldn’t love you back.

And then… one day, it broke.

Not gently. Not kindly.

University had worn him thin. One day—heavy with failures, pressures, loneliness—he snapped. You told him again. He pushed. Not just emotionally. Physically. A shove. A glare. A bitter insult on his tongue. Not because he hated you.

But because he hated himself.

He didn’t mean it. Not truly.

But the damage was done.

You didn’t fight. You didn’t cry. You just left. And that hurt more than any slap could.

He didn’t know you wouldn’t come back this time. He didn’t know this would be the last straw. Until the silence stretched for days. Weeks.And he realized he’d chased away the only person who ever stayed.

So when the party came, he went. He didn’t want to. He wasn’t the type.But he had to see you. Had to.

With a cup in hand and a hollow chest, he drifted through the party. Empty. Until he saw you.

You were glowing.

Playing dumb games. Laughing until your shoulders shook. Losing on purpose, maybe. Or maybe because you were drunk. It didn’t matter. Every time you lost, you faced a dare. A kiss on the cheek. A soft hug. A casual touch.

With other boys.

He froze. His breath caught in his throat.You smiled—his smile. The one you used to save for him.Why did it hurt so much to see it now?

Why was his chest tight?

Why was he so… angry?

Why… wasn’t it him?

You laughed again, then leaned forward to kiss a boy’s cheek. A meaningless dare. But to him?

It was the end of the world.

He stormed through the crowd. Pushed past bodies. Nothing existed but you. His hand gripped your arm, tighter than it should have. And without a word, he dragged you away. Again.

Your protests were lost in the music.

He didn’t stop until you reached his dorm. He slammed the door behind you. Let go.

Then everything unraveled.

His shoulders rose and fell. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t think.

Then he said it.

“I thought you loved me.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an accusation. A broken whisper. A ghost of something beautiful now twisted into pain.

“I thought I was your everything.”

The words sliced through the air. Words you’d once said in the quiet of night, when your voice trembled and your eyes begged him to just—see you.

He stepped closer. One step. Then another.

Until your back met the wall.

He caged you in with his arms, fists pressed to either side of your head. His breath hitched.

His eyes searched yours—not for anger. Not for blame.

For hope.

Because the truth was—he did love you. He just never learned how to say it.

And now?

Now he feared he was too late.