Fleeting Blossoms, Bittersweet Endings

Waiting at the bus stop, I scrolled through a trending local post.

Whats the cruelest thing you did at seventeen?

I was about to swipe past, but then a highly-rated reply caught my eye.

To get my crush, I photoshopped nudes of his girlfriend, spread awful rumors about her, and even hired thugs to harass her. Ended up driving her into severe depression.

Her answer exploded with tens of thousands of comments almost instantly.

The replies were a torrent of abuse.

But the poster didn't care. A bunch of jealous losers.

If you knew Im now the wife of a CEO worth billions, with a lovely son, youd all think I hit the jackpot.

01

As if to prove her point, she attached over a dozen pictures to her comment. Luxury cars, sprawling mansions. Designer watches and bags worth hundreds of thousands. And a tall, well-built man in a suit, his back to the camera, standing by a floor-to-ceiling window.

I tapped on that photo.

My finger hovered, frozen for a good few seconds.

Even after all these years, I could recognize the man in the picture by just his back.

Owen Bridgerton.

In the few seconds I was lost in thought, the comment section had already escalated several floors.

Is that your justification for hurting others?

So youre a homewrecker and proud of it, huh? Do your parents know how shameless you are?

Homewreckers die, affair-starters die!

Facing the barrage of insults, the poster replied with a single sentence.

Every man for himself.

At the same time, she re-edited her post.

Though many people are cursing and attacking me, I still say I dont regret it.

Everything I have now, I deserve it!

In her self-narration, eight years ago, she was just a poor student living in the mountains, walking miles to school and back every day. As the daughter of the family, unloved by her parents, she was destined to be married off to an old bachelor in the village upon reaching adulthood, fetching a good price to build a new house for her younger brother.

I thought that was my fate.

But then, on the first day of my senior year, I saw him.

He was the schools heartthrob C handsome, brilliant academically, and most importantly, incredibly rich. A single pair of his sneakers cost more than my entire years living expenses.

I decided right then and there that I had to have him.

But he had a girlfriend.

The post ended abruptly here.

The discussion below was intense.

Your husband is so amazing, his girlfriend couldnt have been bad either, right?

The poster replied, Of course. Good grades, very pretty, and from a well-off family. They were childhood sweethearts.

But so what?

The more perfect she was, the more I wanted to utterly destroy her.

As soon as she posted this, countless comments attacked her morals. But amidst them, a few envious and fawning praises were interspersed.

I dont think the poster did anything wrong. If she didnt fight for herself, she would have ended up marrying an old bachelor.

Isnt this the ultimate underdog story? Youre amazing, girl! Teach me your ways!

To cross social classes by herself, I have to say, the poster is incredible.

Soon, the two sides started arguing.

Amidst the debates, one comment quietly floated by.

Am I the only one who wants to know what happened to the ex-girlfriend?

What happened later?

I smiled wryly, then exited the app.

02

Willow Reed was right; Owen Bridgerton and I were indeed childhood sweethearts.

I first met Owen when I was four. A new neighbor had moved in next door, but I never saw anyone. Only occasionally, late at night, would I hear faint sobs coming from the small balcony opposite.

Not long after, while playing in our yard, I overheard passersby talking about the new neighbors. They own a company; both parents are constantly traveling abroad for business. They didnt even come back for the move.

Its just a nanny watching the child, supposedly since he was little.

That nanny isnt any good. Ive seen her hit the child several times.

Hearing that, I waited outside their gate that very evening. When the nanny went out to throw trash, I, being small, squeezed through the gap in the door. My little legs pattered up to the second floor, where I found Owen sitting on the stairs, lost in thought. He was curled up, small and thin, hiding in a patch of shadow. A faint blue bruise marked his pale face.

Hearing footsteps, his slender shoulders flinched. He buried his head even deeper.

I walked over and gently patted his shoulder. My childish voice said, Dont be scared, Im here to protect you.

That night, I secretly brought four-year-old Owen home. I hid him in my bed, snugly wrapped in a small blanket. We slept together at night, and during the day, I secretly brought him food.

It went on like this for a week until Owens parents finally learned he was missing. The couple booked the next available flight and rushed back. The nannys years of misconduct were exposed.

Its hard to say what my small self was thinking back then. Perhaps those nights of crying sounded too pitiful. A strong sense of responsibility welled up inside me. For a long time afterward, I considered caring for Owen my personal mission.

I took him up the mountain to catch butterflies, down to the water to catch loaches. In spring, we flew kites; in winter, we built snowmen in the yard. Little by little, I drew that somewhat gloomy, introverted boy out of the shadows.

Our relationship grew closer. Our feelings deepened.

In the height of summer during our junior year, Owen confessed his feelings to me. The young man was still wearing his school-issued short-sleeved uniform, his pant legs rolled up above his knees. In his hands, he held a few lotus flowers freshly picked from the pond.

Summer Blossom, I like you.

Be my girlfriend.

Dappled light fell on him. My heart fluttered in an instant.

Seeing me nod, Owen grinned. Even under the sun, his smile was brighter than the sunshine itself. He pulled me into a hug, repeating softly, Summer Blossom, I like you!

Ill always, always like you!

After we started dating, not much actually changed. We went to school and came home together. On weekends, wed bury ourselves in the library or attend tutoring sessions together. The difference was, we held hands and kissed. Owen seemed to have a constant need for physical contact, wanting to be glued to me every day.

I thought wed go on like this forever.

Until Willow Reed appeared.

03

Because Owen had spent the entire summer abroad with his grandparents, I went to school alone on the first day of our senior year. He called me when he found out, insisting I wait for him. I stood by the school gate for a long time, from morning until afternoon, even skipping lunch. His calls went unanswered, messages unread.

It wasn't until the academic office was about to close that he rushed over, breathless. He grabbed my hand and explained, I actually could have been here this morning, but I accidentally hit someone on my bike.

I frowned, Are you okay?

He shook his head, Im fine. It was a girl from our school. I took her to the hospital to get checked out; she just twisted her ankle.

I was running around, and came straight here as soon as I was done.

Seeing his face flushed from overexertion, my heart softened, and I couldn't really stay mad. I just casually asked, Whats her name?

Owen thought for a moment, then replied, Willow Reed. Willow, as in the tree, and Reed as in a marsh plant.

I thought it was a trivial incident that would quickly pass.

I was wrong. The very next day, during physical education, a slender girl limped over. She wore a faded school uniform and carried a worn paper bag. She approached Owen, offering the paper bag with both hands, her lips pressed tightly together.

Owen, thank you for taking me to the hospital yesterday and paying for my medical expenses.

These are rice balls I made myself. Please have some.

Owen waved his hands repeatedly, It was my fault I accidentally hit you yesterday, so I should have taken you to the hospital. No need to thank me.

The girl shook her head, her expression stubborn, No, I must thank you.

With that, she tried to press the paper bag into Owens arms. Owen refused. They went back and forth, and the girl lost her footing, about to fall backward. In a moment of panic, Owen reached out and grabbed her hand.

The instant their palms touched, the girls face flushed crimson. She quickly placed the bag on the ground, then stumbled away.

Watching her retreating figure, I narrowed my eyes.

Is she Willow Reed?

Owen nodded.

For some reason, the first time I saw her, I felt an uneasy sensation. So I said, I dont like her. Stay away from her.

Owen looked surprised but still nodded.

But the other person's persistence was simply too much.