Julian suffered from emotional detachment. We were together for seven long years, yet he never once believed I truly loved him. Every heartfelt word I poured into those letters was dismissed as nothing but a lie, a cheap charade. Everyone else branded me a gold-digger. And he? He just met their scornful gazes with a cold stare, utterly indifferent. It wasn’t until the sunflowers I’d planted for him in the backyard finally bloomed, and my sacrifices were laid bare for the world to see, that Julian finally believed I loved him. But what he didn’t know was this: I was already dead. I died exactly one year ago today. The mountain crumbled, burying me, but not before I used every last ounce of strength to push him to safety. Yet, Julian walked away without a single glance back, never even mentioning me to anyone. Trapped in that mountain, waiting for a rescue that never came, I slowly, painfully starved to death. He always longed to hear me say ‘I love you.’ He knew I couldn’t speak, but never bothered to learn my sign language. He never knew that every single morning, my first thought, my first silent word, was ‘I love you.’
It was a full year later when my remains were finally discovered. After the accident, the area had been sealed off, no one allowed in or out. Massive boulders blocked the path completely, and I couldn’t find my way out, trapped in a tiny cave. By the time the rescue team arrived, all that was left of me was a skeletal remains. Rats and insects had long since picked my flesh clean, leaving nothing but bone. Even the remnants of my clothes were scattered, dragged yards away. I don’t know why my soul hadn’t dissipated. After a year in that lightless place, I had long since moved from initial despair and terror to a strange calm. I stood in the corner, watching them carefully gather my bones, taking them away for DNA comparison. When I floated out of the cave with the rescue team and the sunlight found me, it felt incredibly unreal, like a daze. On the way down the mountain, one of the female team members, Sarah, was excitedly waving her phone. “Julian is talking about his fiancée again in an interview! He’s so devoted, why would she just disappear like that, so ungrateful for his devotion?” Hearing that name after so long, I instinctively looked up. “Oh, remember when his fiancée planted that field of sunflowers for him? When they bloomed, Julian posted so many updates that day, just showing them off.” “But if they really loved each other, they’ll surely clear up any misunderstandings and get back together, right? Julian’s rich and handsome, after all!” A few of them huddled together, chattering away, their eyes shining as they gushed about Julian’s meteoric rise and impressive success story. Listening to their words, I froze, my mind a chaotic mess. Julian rarely had other people around him. For all those years, the only woman he’d been close to was me. It wasn’t that he was a saint. It was that I was relentlessly, stubbornly, *desperately* clinging to him. The day before we went to the mountains, I’d planted the entire backyard with sunflowers. I’d squatted for so long that when I stood up, my vision blurred, and I fell to the ground. Julian just walked past, utterly indifferent, not even sparing me a glance. He’d always been distant, even after seven years together; most of the time, he still treated me like I was invisible. When I scrambled awkwardly to my feet and chased after Julian, he looked at me with a calm gaze. I frantically tried to explain, signing wildly, but as our eyes met, it was like a sudden, icy splash of reality. Julian didn’t understand sign language, and I couldn’t speak. Our everyday communication was always through written words. “Julian, when the flowers bloom, can we get married?” I carefully typed out the sentence, showing him the screen. Even though everyone else dismissed our relationship, I stubbornly held onto Julian. He didn’t answer for a long time, and my previously tense emotions slowly calmed down. The scrapes on the back of my hand, the cuts on my calf from the sharp spade. His gaze, light and dismissive, swept over my scrapes and the desperate mess I was, before he simply turned and walked away. He never believed I loved him. Over the years, I’d wanted to marry him countless times, but he always refused. I never even got the chance to explain myself, only able to helplessly write ‘I love you’ over and over again. When others mocked and questioned me, Julian never seemed to care, even letting their rumors fester. The phone screen automatically dimmed, but I remained standing there, my expression dazed. If he didn’t believe me, why did he choose me in the first place?
I didn’t know where I should go. When my thoughts returned, my spirit was already floating at the entrance of the villa. Before I even got close, I saw the vast golden flower sea—the entire area filled with sunflowers. On the way here, I’d already heard so much about Julian. Everyone said he’d been searching for me all this time, desperate to salvage our relationship. People dismissed me as ungrateful, calling me cold and heartless. If I truly loved him, why would I disappear for a whole year, not even giving Julian a chance to change? But they didn’t know I’d waited for Julian for seven years, and loved him for seven years. Julian claimed I loved sunflowers, so the media eagerly reported how he’d planted an entire field of them for me. This grand gesture, supposedly proof of his deep affection, actually reeked of insincerity. I didn’t even like sunflowers. That field was just the last gift I’d left behind. They even kept repeating the flower’s meaning: “silent love,” pinning it onto Julian. His public display was so overwhelming that no one bothered to care about the small patch of flowers in the backyard that truly belonged to me. Returning here after a year, I felt utterly lost. My hands passed right through the glass door, the lightness of my body once again reminding me of the grim reality of my death. I saw many framed pictures on the living room wall, displaying the love letters I had written. That was the first time Julian ever questioned my sincerity. He didn’t believe in love, and his friends looked down on me, a mute girl. They would jokingly ask if I was only with Julian for his money, their voices dripping with casual disdain. My face flushed crimson, and I frantically signed my explanations, forgetting that these rich kids couldn’t understand sign language. Julian never said a word, just stood there, watching the whole circus with a cold expression. To prove myself, I wrote countless love letters, articulating my affection word by word. But these letters were eventually thrown to the floor during one of our arguments, dismissed as trash by Julian. He claimed he didn’t believe those hollow words, sneering at my supposed insincerity. I cried, trying to pick up the scattered papers, unable to make a sound. But now, red markings covered those letters. Every one of my sentences had a response—Julian’s belated confession. So, he had always known I was telling the truth. He had always paid attention to everything I did. But Julian always pushed me away, again and again, all for his ridiculous pride. He’d deny me countless times, saying hurtful things, only to beg me to come back later. Because of Julian’s attitude, everyone around him looked down on me too. They all thought I was the one relentlessly clinging to him, but they didn’t know Julian and I were each other’s salvation. I loved the handsome boy from school, and he liked having me by his side. He’d pour out his heart to me, always standing up for me, always swearing he’d never let me suffer. He’d even tried to learn sign language for me once. But as time wore on, he simply… forgot. Those precious memories, along with his willingness to learn, were abandoned somewhere along the way.
The house felt familiar to my body, yet my memories were strangely distant. For the past year, trapped, I’d barely seen the sun, always engulfed in pitch darkness. As I fumbled my way to the study, the first thing I saw was a Julian I didn’t recognize. His desk was piled with books, all of them on sign language instruction. After I died, Julian finally began, belatedly, to learn my language. He started to study the things he had ignored, the things he’d thrown into corners as if they weren’t worth mentioning. Like the paper stars with every word I’d wanted to say to him written inside. Like the clothes I’d sewn for him myself, the clumsy stitches proof of how many times I’d pricked my fingers. It had hurt so much, but I’d been so full of hope that Julian would finally see me differently. Instead, he’d just given it a dismissive glance, tossed it into the closet, and I never saw it again. He never even tried it on. And now, Julian’s long, artistic fingers held a piece of fabric, completely at a loss. The pampered rich boy was finally humbling himself, trying to appease his late lover, a faint hint of guilt flickering in his heart. But Julian only knew the old me. He didn’t know I no longer liked plain white, or that my size had changed. Once, Julian had held me, heartbroken by how thin I was, swearing he’d make me plump and healthy. Later, he was indifferent even when I wasted away to skin and bones. When doctors subtly hinted that my condition was worsening, he just frowned at me. “Did I starve you? Why would you do this to yourself? What’s wrong?” He didn’t care, and he didn’t know. He didn’t know I was being gaslighted by his friends, spending sleepless nights tossing and turning, consumed by self-doubt. He didn’t notice the mistreatment from the household staff, or that the groceries they bought were often insufficient. He only saw the surface: he had given me so much, materially I had nothing to complain about. Julian didn’t care about my feelings. He just thought I was making a big deal out of nothing, complaining about problems that weren’t real. The day we went to the mountains, we were actually trying to salvage our relationship. Julian was coming home less and less, and our silences grew longer and longer. When the accident happened, Julian hadn’t even reacted yet. Because of my natural physical limitations, I’d always been acutely sensitive to my surroundings. But in that final moment, I resolutely pushed Julian out. And he just left, never looking back at me. I hoped he would bring a rescue team to find me. I fantasized about him appearing like a knight in shining armor, saving me from disaster. I don’t know how long I waited, but I remained trapped, despairingly huddled in the cave. The wind howled in my ears, the cave was cold and dark, and I was driven to the brink of madness. I was found a year after I died. Yet Julian sat there, composed, as if nothing had happened, simply *waiting* for me to magically reappear. He never even bothered to search for me. If he had thought of me, even once, during those agonizing days, I wouldn’t have died. I was only twenty-seven. I didn’t even die in the landslide; I starved to death. When I was alive, no one loved me, not even Julian, who constantly doubted me. It took my death for Julian to finally acknowledge me, to mercifully prepare to repay me. I was suddenly curious to see Julian’s reaction when he learned I was truly dead. In media interviews, he repeatedly spoke of his plans to propose to me. That was all I’d ever wanted, something I couldn’t have when I was alive. But now, I’d never get the chance to wear a wedding dress. Julian told everyone he missed me, but now I was right in front of him, and he couldn’t see me. The room was silent. Just then, Julian’s phone, resting beside him, abruptly rang. “Hello, is this Mr. Julian? We’ve found Ms. Harper’s remains. Do you have time to identify them?” I didn’t see Julian’s expression. Because I was too busy admiring the sunflowers in the backyard.
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