Chapter 5
It was like going back to the first time we met. My parents were fighting because I was unruly, and they had beaten me badly. I had only suggested they stop torturing each other and get divorced sooner. What was wrong with that? I ran away and hid alone, crying. Halfway through my crying session, I heard a lazy, carefree laugh: “Whose little spitfire is hiding here crying?” Ryan, with his hands behind his head, slowly sat up and moved next to me, offering me a tissue: “Crying alone is too lonely. You don’t know me anyway, so I can be a quiet listener.” That year, we were both fifteen. I didn’t tell him why I was crying. But he sat with me for the whole afternoon. Later, I got to know him, the school bully from the neighboring school. Rumor had it he was fierce and ruthless in fights. He was also known as a “bastard”, without a father. Perhaps it was fate, but we gradually got to know each other. He would take me to the mountaintop to watch the stars. He introduced all his friends to me. The care and affection I didn’t receive at home, he gave me in abundance. He would also tell me to be true to myself. Because some people just like me for who I am. He would appear in front of me every time I had a fight with my family, gently hugging me, letting me vent my emotions. He would also seek revenge for me, teaching a lesson to those who spoke ill of me or said I wasn’t a good girl. He said: “Vivian, no one can define whether a person is good or bad, and no one can judge you. You are who you are.” I would also confront those who called him a bastard. When he didn’t want to talk, I would quietly stay by his side, telling him he wasn’t alone. I said: “Ryan, you don’t need to be a certain way to be worthy. Your existence itself is meaningful.” Everyone said that he, usually so rebellious and cold, only became gentle in front of me. Like two people drifting in the deep sea, we finally found our lifeline in each other. Ryan and I grew closer. After high school graduation. We started dating. That night, a group of us rode to the mountaintop, cheering and celebrating our coming of age. Then he quietly took my hand behind the group. Pulling me into a run. In that moment, there was only the sound of our breathing. “Ryan, doesn’t this feel like we’re eloping?” I still remember that summer. It had the fullest moon, the brightest stars, and the most melodious cicada songs. And the most sincere eyes of a young man. Under the starry sky. We embraced and kissed. As if that moment was eternity.