The Prom Night She Lost Me

At the Prom, my girlfriend Leah asked me in front of everyone, Can I have the first dance with Leo Miller?

I agreed without hesitation.

Leah immediately took Leo's hand.

The music started, and the two danced gracefully.

I turned and walked away.

Not long after leaving the school grounds, Leah called:

"Leo is shy and too nervous to dance with other girls, that's why I danced with him."

"If you get jealous again, we're breaking up!"

I just smiled.

She didn't know that just one day earlier, I had applied to a different university than her.

I was already planning to break up with her anyway.

Leah wore a long white dress, its skirt embroidered with delicate silver threads.

Under the lights, she looked like a fairy stepping out of a fairytale.

When she walked in, arm in arm with me, all eyes were on us, filled with envy.

A few guys even gave me a thumbs-up, muttering things like, "Ethan, you lucky bastard."

But I couldn't feel happy at all.

From the moment we stepped into the hall, Leah's attention wasn't on me.

She kept her head down, staring at her phone, tapping it open and closing it repeatedly.

I offered her a glass of juice, which she took but didn't drink.

She casually placed it on a nearby table, her eyes still glued to the screen.

I knew she was waiting for someone.

Leo Miller, the guy who transferred to our class a year ago.

He came from a tough background; his mother was constantly ill, and his father worked odd jobs to make ends meet.

Leah, for some reason, had voluntarily signed up for the school's mentorship program and became Leo's contact person.

At first, it was just helping him apply for scholarships and sending him study materials.

Later, it turned into eating meals together, studying together, and walking around the track together.

Some friends had warned me, saying Leah was being too nice to Leo.

I remember saying it was fine, that she was just kind-hearted.

But the line between kindness and genuine feelings can be incredibly thin sometimes.

Ten minutes before the dance began, Leo finally arrived.

He wore a dark blue suit, nothing fancy, but it was clean and neat. His hair was carefully styled, making him look quite different from his usual self.

The moment Leah saw him, a smile instantly bloomed on her face.

I knew that smile all too well. It wasn't polite, it wasn't courteousit was the kind where her eyes truly lit up.

"I thought you weren't coming," she said, walking toward him, a hint of a playful whine in her voice.

"Sorry, I got held up on the way," Leo chuckled, pulling a small box from his pocket and handing it to her. "For you."

Leah opened it; inside was a bracelet.

A simple knot woven from a light pink string, with a few white beads threaded through the middle.

The material and craftsmanship looked like something you'd find at a flea market for ten bucks.

But she loved it. "It's so pretty!"

She lowered her head and began to unfasten the Givenchy bracelet from her own wrist.

That bracelet was a gift from me: a platinum chain with a small, dark green enamel pendant.

I had arranged for someone to bring it back from Paris for her sixteenth birthday and personally clasped it around her wrist.

That day, she said something I remember to this day.

"Ethan, I'll wear this forever, and never take it off."

Now she was taking it off, so naturally, so casually.

She raised her hand, admiring the cheap, handmade beaded bracelet in the light, a gentle curve on her lips.

Leah beamed like a girl who'd just received her favorite candy.

I looked at the bracelet she'd removed, and a dull thud echoed in my chest.

No pain, just a heavy ache.

I turned my face away, not wanting to see it anymore.

"Ethan," Leah said, her voice light, as if discussing something inconsequential, "I want to dance the first dance with Leo. Is that okay?"

Before I could reply, Leo spoke up.

"Leah, are you sure about this?" he said, his brow slightly furrowed, his tone perfectly pitched with hesitation.

"Ethan's your boyfriend. The first dance should be yours."

As he spoke, his eyes briefly flickered to me, then back to Leah.

There was a thin layer of smugness hidden in that gaze, like an undercurrent beneath the surface of still water.

He thought he was hiding it well, but everyone could see it.

Leah didn't look at Leo; she just watched me, waiting for my reaction.

She probably expected me to frown, to ask "Are you serious?"

She probably expected me to throw a tantrum, like the last time she went to the movies alone with Leo.

"He just learned ballroom dancing, and he's nervous about dancing with other girls," Leah added, as if offering me an out. "You know his situation; we can't just leave him standing there watching, can we?"

I didn't argue, I didn't make a scene. I just looked at her for three seconds.

In those three seconds, a lot of things flashed through my mind.

I remembered the first time I saw her, when we were three years old.

I remembered her shining eyes on her birthday, when I helped her put on the bracelet.

I remembered the countless times she'd talked about her plans for Harvard University.

We applied to the same school, the same major.

She'd talked about riding bikes around campus together, grabbing snacks.

She always smiled beautifully when she said those things, and I always believed they were real.

Three seconds passed. I took a step back, silently giving up my place.

Leah paused, surprised by my easy agreement.

Her eyes held a hint of shock, even a touch of confusion, as if I'd thrown her off her script.

But that surprise lasted less than two seconds before her attention returned to Leo.

She took his hand and walked onto the dance floor.

The music begana slow waltz. The two danced gracefully.

Leah's white dress flowed like water in the lights, her steps light and airy.

Leo's movements were a bit stiff, occasionally missing a beat, clearly a beginner.

But Leah didn't care. She looked up at him, her eyes full of smiles.

Everyone around them was watching. Some whispered, some took out their phones to snap pictures, and some searched for me.

I could feel their gazes sweeping over me, filled with confusion and sympathy.

I didn't look back. I turned and walked towards the hall exit.

The night air was chilly as it swept in.

As I walked out of the school gates, I instinctively touched the watch Leah had given me on my wrist.

The strap was old, the leather starting to crack.

I looked down at it, smiled, but didn't take it off.

Not because I cherished it, but because it didn't matter anymore.

My phone screen lit up with a message from Leah.

I tapped it open, but didn't rush to read the content. First, I checked the time.

A dance song usually lasts about three minutes. Adding in a minute for her and Leo to chat after their dance, it was exactly the right time for her to be free to contact me.

"I told you Leo's shy, and he just learned ballroom dancing, he's nervous to dance with other girls."

"Can you please get over your irrational jealousy?"

"Otherwise, when we get to Harvard, I won't dare tell anyone you're my boyfriend!"

Each message ended with an exclamation mark, each one delivered in that familiar, condescending, scolding tone.

As if I had done something wrong again, overreacted again, and should apologize.

I read them twice, then smiled.

She didn't know that just one day earlier, I had changed my Harvard application, switching to Stanford University instead.

It was the most decisive choice I'd ever made in my life.

Back home, I started clearing out everything related to her.

A stack of ticket stubs, a jar filled with folded paper stars, and over a dozen birthday cards.

Her messy handwriting, from elementary school to high school, always addressed to 'Ethan.'

I piled all these things into a large cardboard box.

Then, the wall.

The photo of us at fifteen, standing outside the school in our school gear, her smile so sweet, me half a head taller than her.

By my bed, a clumsy little ceramic cat she'd made herself. She'd said it looked like my face.

I held that little cat in my hand for two seconds, then tossed it in too.

The box was nearly full, but I didn't seal it immediately.

For every item inside, I could tell a story.

One movie ticket stub was from the 3D re-release of *Titanic*; she cried so much during it.

She leaned on my shoulder, wiping away tears, saying we couldn't end up like Jack and Rose.

One amusement park ticket was from a summer trip. She insisted on riding the roller coaster, then halfway through, she squeezed my arm so hard it left five bruises, making me wince.

And a scarf she knitted in middle school.

The stitches were uneven, with loose threads everywhere, but she insisted it was the prettiest scarf in the whole class.

The box was overflowing, full of her traces.

Fifteen years of traces, from three to seventeen, my entire youth.

My phone suddenly vibrated; not a call, but a social media notification.

I tapped it open and saw that Leo Miller had just posted on Instagram, with two pictures.

The first was a hotel room: dim, yellowish lighting, white sheets.

The second was a close-up of a pair of crystal high heels. The shoes lay tilted on the carpet, one upside down, sole facing up.

I recognized those shoes instantly.

Last year, for Leah's birthday, I'd saved three months of allowance and borrowed money from my dad to buy them.

The Swarovski crystal logo was visible on the sole. They were size 6, a perfect fit.

She'd walked around the room in them several times when she first tried them on, saying they were the most beautiful high heels she'd ever worn.

Leo's caption read: "She said she drank too much and insisted I take her back to the hotel. Exhausting."

Below, a flurry of comments.

"Dude, you're so lucky!"

"A goddess just throwing herself at you! Those shoes aren't simple, and neither is the girl wearing them!"

I stared at the shoes for a few seconds.

I walked back to the cardboard box and wrapped sealing tape around it three times.

I picked up the box, went downstairs, and threw it into the garbage bin outside our mansion.

It landed with a muffled thud, then silence.

In the following days, Leah didn't send a single text or call.

I was glad for the peace.

A week later, our class rep, Chloe, sent a message in the group chat, suggesting a class dinner.

She specifically DM'd me, insisting I had to come.

She was Leah's best friend, inseparable since freshman year.

I could pretty much guess what she was trying to do.

I told her I was busy, didn't have time.

"Oh, come on, you've already applied to universities. What could you possibly be busy with? You have to come, or don't call me your friend anymore."

At five in the afternoon, I arrived at the restaurant's private room.

I was about to knock, but my hand paused.

Not because I was nervous, but because I heard my own name.

"...That night, when you danced the first dance with Leo, weren't you worried Ethan would get jealous?"

Leah's voice carried a laugh, and a careless indifference: "Worried about what? I fully expected it."

"He needs to be taught a lesson for that awful temper of his."

"He's so bossy and controlling, he doesn't give me any freedom."

"What's the big deal if I dance with someone else? It's not like I'll lose a limb."

Someone else asked, "But what if Ethan actually got angry? He's got so much going for him, and plenty of girls are after him, right?"

Leah chuckled again.

"Ethan and I have been childhood sweethearts for over fifteen years. I know exactly what kind of person he is better than anyone."

"Don't worry, he's just throwing a little tantrum. He'll be fine in a few days."

"Just like last time, when I insisted on going to the movies with Leo."

She paused, then added, her tone even lighter:

"Even if the sky fell, he would never break up with me."

"Of that, I am one hundred percent certain."

I stood outside the door, feeling no heartache, no anger, just exhaustion.

It was the kind of exhaustion you feel after walking a very, very long road, finally reaching the finish line.

She was right. I had argued, I had made scenes, but I had never brought up breaking up.

Every time she crossed a line, every time she pushed my boundaries like they were elastic, every time she'd ask with a sly smile, "You won't get mad, right?"

I always gave in, not because I had no temper, but because I loved her.

But now I knew that in her eyes, my patience wasn't toleranceit was proof that my boundaries could be endlessly retreated.

She took my goodness towards her as proof that I couldn't live without her.

Just as I was about to turn and leave, someone patted my shoulder from behind.

"Ethan, why aren't you going in?"

Leo Miller smiled at me.

Before I could answer, he already pushed the door open.

Everyone in the private room looked towards the entrance.

Leah was sitting directly opposite the door, with an empty seat next to her.

She saw me, paused for a moment, then quickly composed herself, even offering a small smile.

Chloe was the first to react, standing up and waving me over: "Ethan's here? Come in, come in, we were just waiting for you guys."

Leo half-pushed, half-coaxed me into the room.

Chloe grabbed my arm and pulled me towards the empty seat next to Leah.

I didn't sit, saying I'd just stand for a bit.

Chloe wouldn't have it, telling me to listen to her and firmly pressing me down into the chair.

Leah looked up at me and softly said, "You're here?"

Her tone was natural, as if nothing had happened.

On her wrist, the Givenchy bracelet was back.

The platinum chain shimmered slightly under the lights, the dark green enamel pendant resting against her slender wrist bone.

But right next to the bracelet, there was a faint indentation, left by that cheap beaded string.

Two marks pressed together, one new, one old.

I said nothing, lowering my head to eat.

I mechanically chewed my food, swallowed.

The table was lively.

Chloe bustled around pouring drinks, someone cut the cake, and others cheered, urging the birthday girl to make a wish.

Leah was chatting with Leo, her laughter echoing intermittently.

I didn't look at them, didn't speak.