On our fifth anniversary, Asher suddenly told me he was moving to Denver to set up a new branch. I had waited up for him all night. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I dragged myself off the sofa and wrapped my arms around his waist. “So, we’re really doing the long-distance thing, huh?” I murmured, clinging to him, unable to let go. Asher didn’t hug me back. He only muttered a low, cold “Yeah.” Back then, I had no idea he was putting distance between us on purpose. I was foolish enough to keep calling him, bombarding his phone with messages. It was only when I threatened to buy a ticket and show up at his doorstep that Asher finally said, “Jesse, let’s break up.” I stayed quiet for only a brief second. Then, I slipped my lung cancer diagnosis back into the drawer. “Okay,” I said, as sweet and compliant as I had always been. “Sure.” 01 I hung up quickly after that. After all, crying in front of an ex is just embarrassing. To be honest, I had a feeling this was coming. Asher had completely forgotten our anniversary. He had worked at the office until past midnight that night. When he finally walked through the door and saw the cake I had spent hours baking, he froze for a second. “I’m sorry,” he muttered, his voice flat. “Work has been crazy lately.” I should have known then. Who apologizes on an anniversary? Shouldn’t he have pulled me into a suffocating embrace and whispered “I love you” over and over, the way he used to? I sat on the edge of the bed for a long time, staring into space. That was when it hit me: Asher hadn’t said he loved me in months. My phone dug painfully into my palm, but it didn’t ring. I unlocked the screen and opened his pinned chat. The last two messages were the ones I sent last night. “I miss you so much… [crying cat meme]” “I bought my ticket! I’m going to hug you so tight tomorrow!” Asher was always busy. I never got angry when he didn’t reply right away. I was just terrified. Because earlier that afternoon, the doctor told me I had lung cancer. It was just a mild cough. How could it be cancer? “We need a needle biopsy to determine if it’s benign or malignant,” the doctor had said. “You should talk to your family and get admitted for treatment as soon as possible.” But I hadn’t had any “family” since I was a kid. I only had Asher. And how was I supposed to tell him? His company had just gone public, and the new branch was in its critical launch phase. If I fell sick now, what would he do? Well, I didn’t have to worry about that anymore. I wiped my nose and forced a silly smile. This was actually for the best. By breaking up, I wouldn’t be a burden to him. A sharp pain flared in my chest. The cancer, probably. Before the checkup, I hadn’t felt all that bad. But the moment you find out you are sick, your body seems to capitulate to the reality. Once the tears cleared from my eyes, I packed a bag and walked out the door. Instead of looking for Asher, I went to check myself into the hospital. Maybe if I left our apartment, I would stop crying. 02 After the biopsy, the nurse’s aide placed my phone on the pillow. “Did anyone call?” I asked, my voice raw. “It rang once,” she replied. I struggled to turn my head and asked her to hand it to me. There were no missed calls. Just a single text message from Asher. “I’m coming back this weekend to pack up my things.” I knew he wouldn’t change his mind. I wasn’t holding out hope for a reconciliation. But my heart still gave a pathetic, violent flutter before sinking like a stone. The monitor beside my bed began to beep frantically. The aide silenced it with a practiced click. “You bought the apartment.” My head was spinning, and with IV lines taped to both arms, I hit send before I could finish the thought. I forced myself to keep typing: “So you don’t need to move. I will. But can I leave my stuff there for just a little while?” I wouldn’t need to go back while I was hospitalized, but finding a new place to rent would take time. Minutes ticked by, but no reply came. Asher was probably busy again. He had stopped replying to my messages a while ago, honestly. Probably because I always sent him trivial, pointless things. “I have zero inspiration today. I can’t draw my webtoon. I’m going to have to take a sick week!” “Just saw this new dessert place online! Let’s go together after you finish work, okay?” Or even: “If I turned into a cockroach, would you still love me?” Even after he moved to Denver, I still sent him updates every day. “It’s freezing in the city today! Don’t forget an extra layer before you head out!” “Make sure you eat well and sleep on time, even without me there to nag you.” Asher was a CEO running multimillion-dollar deals. It made sense that he didn’t have time for my silly texts. I used to think that even if he just glanced at them, it might give him a moment of peace. Now that I thought about it, he must have found me incredibly annoying. Was that why he wanted to break up? Because I talked too much? I fell asleep trying to guess all the reasons he might have fallen out of love with me. Asher never texted back. On the weekend, he called me directly. “Jesse, you’re not at the apartment?” It hadn’t actually been that long since the breakup, but hearing his voice felt like a lifetime ago. I froze for a second before answering, “Are you there?” “Yeah, just picking up some things,” Asher said, his tone detached and clinical. “And we need to settle the deed transfer.” I wanted to tell him he didn’t need to give me the apartment. But then I remembered the diagnosis sheet tucked inside my nightstand drawer. The fear of him finding it sent a jolt of adrenaline through me. I scrambled to sit up. “Wait, don’t touch anything yet!” In my panic, I forgot about the central line newly inserted in my upper arm. As I pushed myself up, a sharp pain shot through my chest, and a quiet gasp escaped my lips. “Jesse?” Asher’s voice sharpened over the line. “What’s wrong with you?” I winced, forcing myself out of the hospital bed. “Nothing. I’m fine.” “Just don’t pack anything yet, okay? I’m on my way back.” “Fine,” Asher said after a brief pause. “But make it quick. I have an important meeting in two hours.” To hide the bandages and the IV port on my arm, I pulled on a heavy coat over my long-sleeved shirt. When I washed my face in the hospital restroom, I realized I looked like a ghost. I looked terrible. I imagined Asher seeing me, frowning, and thinking how lucky he was to have broken up with me. I stopped by the convenience store near the hospital entrance, bought a cheap lipstick, swiped it on, and hailed a cab home. When I opened the door, Asher turned to face me. He hadn’t changed at all. Still tall, handsome, looking every bit the successful, sharp executive. I think I tried to smile. But it must have looked forced, because his expression only grew colder. He was holding a sheet of paper. Walking toward me with a grim expression, he asked, “What is this?” 03 For a terrifying second, I thought he had found the diagnosis sheet. But as he drew closer, I realized he was holding the transfer deed. Before I could let out a sigh of relief, Asher pointed a finger at my collar. “Jesse, what is that?” I looked down, confused, and saw a faint smudge of pink on my lapel. Lipstick. I must have smudged it while applying it in the cab. “Oh, nothing,” I said, trying to cover it with my hand, rubbing at the spot. I didn’t want him to know I had put on makeup just to see him. It would make me look desperate, like I was trying to win him back. But Asher’s eyes narrowed. “And on your lips? Is that lipstick?” His expression turned to one of pure disgust. “You waste no time, do you?” he sneered. “Next time you kiss someone, at least have the decency to wipe your mouth.” No matter how slow I was, I understood what he meant. He thought I had a new boyfriend, and that we had just been kissing. How could he think that? I could never find anyone better than him. Back in college, Asher was the golden boy of the computer science department. He was brilliant, wealthy, and striking. But he was also aloof, quiet, and arrogant to everyone else. Yet, when we were together, he was a completely different person. When a webtoon publisher tried to scam me, he hired a lawyer to fight them. When I was broke, he paid for two years of my tuition. He never cared what anyone else thought. He always held my hand in public. Even when his parents found out about us, cut off his trust fund, and threatened him, he didn’t waver. He built his startup from scratch just to support me through grad school. Sometimes, when I got upset by his controlling nature and hid under the blankets to pout, he would play along. He would walk around the room, loudly asking, “Where’s my Jesse? I can’t find him anywhere!” Then he would scoop up the giant lump on the bed, pretending to be thrilled. “Aha! Found him!” But as his company grew, he no longer had the time or patience for those silly games. Over those five years, Asher kept moving forward. He became mature, calculated, and wildly successful. Meanwhile, I remained frozen in the cozy little bubble he had built for me. If Asher turned around, he could always find me exactly where he left me. But if he abandoned me, I would have no idea how to find him. Looking at his angry face now, I forgot for a brief second that we were over. I wanted to reach out, grab his hand, and tell him the truth. I wanted to tell him there was no one else. But before I could even lift my hand, Asher stepped away. He didn’t let me touch him. He threw the paperwork onto the dining table. “Whatever. Just sign the damn papers.” I just wanted to get my diagnosis sheet and leave. I walked toward the bedroom, mumbling, “The apartment is yours. I don’t want…” “What are you throwing a tantrum for now?” Asher strode over and grabbed my arm roughly. “Stand still and talk to me!” A sharp gasp escaped my throat as the central line shifted under my skin, tearing at the tissue. Asher immediately let go, his face darkening. “What’s wrong with your arm?” “You just grabbed too hard,” I lied quickly. “It’s fine.” “You used to hate the heat. Why are you wearing a coat today?” He didn’t believe me. “Take it off.” 04 I couldn’t let him find out I was sick. Because if he did, no matter what he chose to do, it would destroy me. If he came back out of guilt, I would feel like I had chained him to me. It would be a slow torture for both of us. And even if I got better, he might just break up with me all over again. So, for the first time in five years, I didn’t obey him. I didn’t hide under the covers to cry, either. I just stood there and said softly, “I have a cold. That’s why.” Then I looked him in the eye. “Asher, we broke up.” We broke up. I didn’t have to listen to him anymore. Asher stared at me, his jaw clenching. “Is that why you won’t take the apartment?” his voice shook with rising anger. “You want to cut ties completely?” That wasn’t it. I just didn’t want the place where we lived and loved for years to become some sort of consolation prize. And I didn’t need consolation. He had loved me truly for five years, and those memories were enough. But I couldn’t say that. It would make me look weak. So I lowered my gaze. “Isn’t that what people do when they break up?” Asher looked at me as if I had slapped him. He seemed utterly speechless. Then, in a fit of rage, he snapped, “Fine!” “Where is the ring I gave you? Give it back!” I froze. After a long silence, I whispered, “I lost it.” “Lost it?” Asher let out a dry, angry laugh. “Unbelievable.” He marched to the window, slipped his own matching ring off his finger, and threw it out. The silver band caught the sunlight for a split second before vanishing into the thick grass below. He turned back to face me. “I suppose that’s how easily you ‘lost’ yours, too?” No. The nurse’s aide had lost it after my biopsy. But I didn’t correct him. I just shook my head. After a tense silence, Asher checked his watch. “I’ll give you one last chance on the apartment. If you change your mind, call my lawyer.” “Since we’re cutting ties, there’s no reason for us to ever meet again.” He turned and walked out, never once looking back. He was right. We shouldn’t meet again. Every meeting felt like dying a little more. I stared at the empty hallway, my mind involuntarily drifting back to the way he used to leave. He would always kiss my forehead in bed and whisper, “I’m off to work.” And I would run down to the entryway just to get one last hug. “Jesse, I’m going to be late,” he would say, but he never let go. He would tilt my chin up and kiss me thoroughly before finally opening the door. But somewhere along the way, those kisses had quietly stopped. My phone buzzed, cutting through the silence. I wiped my face quickly and answered. “Is this Jesse?” a stranger’s voice asked. 05 “Yes,” I replied, cautious. “Who is this?” “Hi, Jesse. This is the host at The Black Pearl. We are so sorry, but the window table you reserved for tomorrow night was accidentally double-booked. We’ve had to move your reservation to the center island. Is that alright?” Tomorrow was Asher’s birthday. I had booked that table weeks in advance, imagining us sipping champagne while looking out over the city skyline. “It’s fine,” I said quietly. “Any table is fine.” Asher wouldn’t be there anyway. It didn’t matter where I sat. Since the custom cake couldn’t be refunded, I went to the restaurant anyway. After I was seated, the cake was delivered to my table. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sunset bled into the sky. I looked up and noticed that the window table I had originally booked was still empty. The chemo had ruined my appetite, so I just picked at my food. As the night grew darker, the city lights outside began to sparkle. Suddenly, the chime at the entrance rang. I looked up and saw a tall man walking in. Even in the dim light, I recognized him instantly. Asher. What was he doing here? I had planned to surprise him for his birthday, but I hadn’t even told him about the reservation yet. How did he know? My heart hammered. What do I do? The food is cold, and the cake is already cut. Should I order another one? Then, I saw the woman walking in behind him. They didn’t look toward the island tables. They walked straight to the window table, the one that was supposed to be mine. Asher pulled out her chair, smiling gently. Once they ordered, her excited voice carried over to me. “I heard this place is almost impossible to book! How did you get this table on such short notice?” Asher muttered a low response, but the words drowned in the rushing sound in my ears. It wasn’t a double-booking mistake. Someone had pulled strings to steal my table just to impress a girl. And Asher had no idea I was sitting just yards away, holding a cake to celebrate his birthday alone. I felt like a fool. I needed to get out of there. I paid the bill in a rush, grabbed my cake box, and headed for the exit. The dark wooden floor seemed to tilt beneath my feet. My eyes were dry, yet everything was a blur. Right near the door, I collided with a waiter carrying a tray. With a loud crash, glasses and silverware shattered on the floor. Every eye in the restaurant turned toward me. Including Asher’s. “Jesse,” his voice cut through the murmurs as he approached. “What are you doing here?” I couldn’t focus on his face. I tried to take a step back. Asher grabbed my arm, his grip cold. “Yesterday you wanted to cut ties, and today you’re stalking me?” “Jesse, I don’t have time for your mind games.” I tried to pull away, my voice barely a whisper. “I wasn’t stalking you…” My nose began to itch. Before I could wipe it, a warm, thick liquid spilled over my upper lip. I stared at him blankly as someone nearby gasped, “Oh my god, your nose is bleeding!” 06 I touched my face and saw my hand covered in bright red. Why now? Of all the times to have a nosebleed, it had to be right in front of Asher and his date. It was so humiliating. Asher pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, reaching out to help. I flinched away, wiping my face with my sleeve. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, keeping my head down as I rushed to the restroom. Under the bright lights of the bathroom mirror, I saw my blood-smeared face, my red eyes, and my swollen nose. I looked like a clown. I stuffed a wad of paper towel into my nose. Maybe I can just hide in here until they leave, I thought miserably. The bleeding slowly stopped. But then, a tickle started in my throat. I began to cough, trying to muffle the sound as footsteps approached the door. Just as the door swung open, a violent cough ripped through me, and a spray of blood splattered across the white porcelain sink. With my lips stained red, I turned to see Asher standing in the doorway. “Jesse?” Asher stared, a look of profound confusion on his face. He stepped closer as I quickly turned on the faucet to wash the blood away. “What’s wrong with you?” I rinsed my mouth with cold water, forcing my voice to remain steady. “Nothing. The nosebleed just ran down my throat and choked me.” He kept staring, though the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease slightly. “Is it still bleeding?” “No,” I muttered, looking down. “Why did your nose start bleeding out of nowhere?” I looked up at him for a few seconds. “Happy birthday.” It was completely inappropriate, but I knew it might be the last time I ever got to say it to him. The vanity lights caught his eyes, reflecting my pathetic image back at me. I had a giant wad of paper stuffed up my nose, and my eyes were puffy and wet. I must have looked so ridiculous that he couldn’t even bring himself to be angry. He just looked at me, with an intensity he hadn’t shown in a very long time. It reminded me of our first kiss, right here in front of a bathroom mirror. He had been so passionate that he accidentally cut my lip. Back then, he had held my chin, looking at the tiny cut with such tenderness and care. I knew he had loved me once. But love doesn’t come with a lifetime guarantee. He didn’t love me anymore, and someone else would be celebrating his birthdays from now on. That was okay. “So,” Asher said quietly, “you came here just to say that?” “No,” I lied, looking at the floor. “I booked this table a long time ago. Then I realized I’d never actually eaten here, so I figured I’d try it out by myself.” “Goodbye, Asher.” I slipped past him and walked out. At the door, the manager stopped me, handing me my cake box. “I am so sorry, sir. Our waiter ruined your cake.” “We can order a replacement for you if you’d like.” Through the clear plastic window of the box, I could see the collapsed layers and smeared frosting. “Do you want us to throw this out and make a new one?” the manager asked. “No, thank you,” I said. “I’ll keep this one.” I walked out of the restaurant just as a cab pulled up. The driver rolled down his window. “Where to, buddy?” “St. Jude’s Hospital,” I said, opening the door. Suddenly, a hand gripped the car door, stopping me. I turned and saw Asher standing behind me. “Jesse,” he demanded, his brow furrowed. “Why are you going to the hospital?”
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