A Joy That Never Was

I used to believe Julian and I had a love that could weather any season, sharing both sweetness and hardship.

When he bought me that one dollar comb, I would be moved to tears.

That was until the day I saw him step out of a luxury sports car, surrounded by an entourage, and walk into a private club.

Only then did I realize my three years of devotion were just an elaborate performance, a long con to win over the true object of his obsession, his first love.

So when he handed me that cheap comb again, I replied with a calm voice, “Thanks.”

Then, I quietly submitted my application for the academic research program.

Aurora POV

“Professor Hayes, I’ve made up my mind.” My voice was flat.

A few seconds of silence hung on the line.

“The Pathfinder Project is a fully enclosed research program, requiring a seven-year uninterrupted commitment. Aurora, are you sure? What about your boyfriend…?”

“I’m sure,” I cut him off. “I’ve decided to break up with him.”

As soon as the words left my lips, the lock turned.

I hung up immediately, without a second thought.

Julian pushed the door open, saw me putting my phone down, and casually asked, “Who were you chatting with?”

“A friend.” I slipped my phone into my pocket.

He didn’t seem suspicious. He pulled a small box from his jacket’s inner pocket and handed it to me.

It was another wooden comb.

The cheap wood reeked of acrid paint, hitting me like a slap.

It seemed like these cheap trinkets were all he ever gave me.

“Do you like it?” he asked.

I took it, opened the box, and glanced inside.

“Thanks.”

I offered only a calm word of gratitude.

Julian’s movements faltered.

The old me would have instantly hugged him, my eyes welling up, calling him silly, telling him I worried about him wasting his money.

But today, I couldn’t muster any reaction.

I just watched him, expressionless.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“Nothing,” I said, putting the comb back in its box. “Just… I feel bad about you spending. Aren’t we supposed to be saving up? For a house and our wedding after graduation?”

His expression visibly relaxed.

He reached out to ruffle my hair, just like he always did, his voice softening.

“Got it.”

He turned and headed into the bathroom. I heard the shower start a moment later.

A few minutes passed before I walked into the bathroom, pretending to get a towel.

His clothes lay in the laundry basket, his phone on the sink counter.

The screen suddenly lit up.

A new message popped up.

It was from Tiffany Sinclair.

The content was brief:

“Thanks for the clover brooch.”

A photo was attached below it.

My gaze drifted from the phone screen to the small wooden box on the dresser. Inside, the $1 comb lay silently, a stark contrast.

Steam filled the bathroom, fogging the mirror.

I stared at my blurry reflection, a humorless smile twisting my lips.

Actually, I had learned the truth a week ago.

That afternoon, I was working my part-time job at a coffee shop.

At 3 PM, Julian Vance, who was supposedly working at a used bookstore across town, appeared at the entrance of the private club opposite the coffee shop.

A silver-gray sports car pulled up.

He stepped out of the driver’s seat.

He was wearing a perfectly tailored dark suit, completely unlike the faded, worn-out T-shirts and jeans he usually wore.

At the club entrance, people quickly greeted him, surrounding him.

I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window on the second floor, watching him disappear inside.

Half an hour later, I went downstairs to the breakroom for water.

The hallway was quiet, but a few art students were chatting, and I heard every word.

“Wasn’t that Julian who just went in? The heir to that huge family?”

“Didn’t he always say he was working odd jobs for living expenses?”

“Working? Please. That’s called ‘slumming it’ for him. He’s been playing the poor student act for three years, all for Tiffany’s sake.”

“Isn’t Tiffany with another guy?”

“That’s why he’s copying him. They’re seeing who can endure more by finding someone even poorer and more ‘ordinary.’ Aurora Lee is the perfect example, isn’t she?”

Ordinary.

I thought of all the gifts he’d given me.

Wooden combs, braided bracelets, cheap earrings…

All of it combined probably cost less than $300.

For three years, we’d shared a cramped and stuffy rental apartment.

I always believed it was a love forged in shared struggles and simple joys.

But now I knew, it was just a carefully orchestrated, three-year-long performance.

A rich kid’s elaborate show, designed to provoke the woman he truly desired.

Even more ridiculous, Tiffany and I used to be friends.

She always looked at me with a complicated expression, listening to me recount our humble yet sweet daily life, saying I worked too hard.

Now I understood. That wasn’t sympathy.

It was pity.

That winter, the first snow fell.

I excitedly called him, wanting him to come out and watch the snow with me, just like we did when we first got together.

The phone rang for a long time, unanswered.

I stood alone under that old tree, all night long.

Snow settled on me.

When I went back, I fell ill.

For an entire week, he didn’t send a single message or make a single call.

After I recovered, for some inexplicable reason, I found myself scrolling through Tiffany’s Ins feed.

The latest post was a photo.

In the picture, a familiar hand was peeling an orange for her.

That hand… I knew it all too well.

That faint scar on his ring finger… I’d traced it countless times.

The caption was just one line:

“Turns out someone still cares for me.”

The sound of water in the bathroom stopped.

Julian walked out, wrapped in a towel, his hair still dripping.

I had already returned to my desk, turned off my phone screen, and picked up a book, pretending nothing had happened.