Chapter 2: The Taste of Goodbye

Alex’s pursuit was relentless. After that first day, I realized he was the male lead. While I was still plotting how to get close, he was already making moves—volunteering for campus activities just to see me, making Derek roll his eyes at his shamelessness.

He moved with that American-boy-next-door confidence—always sure of himself, a little cocky, but with a quiet tenderness that made me blush more than I’d admit. He wanted me, and he made sure I knew it.

He’d always claimed to be rational and restrained, but he said love at first sight took him by surprise. I teased him, but inside, I melted. The way he looked at me—like I was the only one in the room—felt more dangerous than any plot twist the system could throw at me.

But he didn’t know that loving him was my mission—and my only shot at escaping a tragic fate.

We became the campus golden couple. People stared, whispered, but he didn’t care. Every day he brought me breakfast in some new, creative way. I gave him a scarf and lied that I knitted it myself. He wore it for weeks, joy shining beneath his calm exterior.

Some mornings, he’d show up outside my dorm with Starbucks and a handwritten note—little inside jokes, silly doodles. He had a way of making even the ordinary feel like magic. I tried to keep my distance, but I fell a little more every day.

His love was genuine, passionate. He was the boy next door, but with the intensity of someone who’d fight for what mattered. I saw it in the way he stood up for me, the way his hand always found mine in a crowd.

In sophomore year, he used his competition prize money to take me to the amusement park. Under the fireworks, we kissed for the first time. He was serious, but his ears turned bright red. I teased him for being more innocent than me, and he bit me in retaliation.

It was one of those classic summer nights—the smell of funnel cakes, laughter echoing from the midway, the sky exploding in color. Our kiss belonged in a coming-of-age movie.

He whispered, “Nat, when we get married, we’ll bring our daughter here.”

I laughed. “How do you know we’ll have a daughter? What if it’s a son?”

He blushed, stammering, “S-son is fine too, but having a daughter would be even better.”

He looked so hopeful. I wanted to say yes to all of it—weddings, kids, the whole American dream.

But even as my heart soared, I felt the clock ticking. None of this was meant to last. The hero always ends up with his heroine.

Alex never told me about his family background. When we were together, nothing mattered but love. We played at being just two average students. His gifts were always from his own prize money. He didn’t want me working part-time, and I didn’t plan to. My family wasn’t rich, but we were comfortable.

Our apartment was like any near-campus place—old carpet, leaky faucet, the lingering scent of burned popcorn. Sometimes we’d sit on the floor with takeout, watching reruns and pretending we had forever.

He got busier and busier—professors and mentors calling about projects, managing a branch of his family’s business. He said he was working hard for our future, so his Nat could live like a queen. But I didn’t care about that. I just wanted his time.

I’d trade all the ambition for one lazy Sunday in bed with him, no calls, no world outside.

We didn’t have much time left together. I tried not to count the days, but every goodbye felt heavier, every hello more precious.

He’d come home tired and cook for me. As someone with 8 a.m. classes, I was still asleep when he made breakfast. Sometimes I tried to cook before he got home. It was edible, but never as good as his. He’d eat it, praise me, but gently remind me to let him handle it next time.

I’d watch him in the kitchen, humming old songs, and wish I could freeze time.

He’d work late, living off coffee. Being mischievous, I threw out his coffee, replaced it with protein shakes. I’d pester him to let me sit on his lap, hook my arms around his neck, and watch him work while he drank milk.

He’d sigh, “Nat, you’re gonna be the death of me,” but always let me stay.

He’d say, “Nat cares about me. I’m so happy.”

I’d laugh, then cry against his chest. He’d panic, put down his laptop, hug me, ask if I was upset he hadn’t spent time with me. I’d shake my head, then nod, feeling conflicted.

I always said I was fine, but he knew better.

Two months left. In two months, his mother would hand me a check, ask me to leave. The moment I touched that check, our love would vanish, and I’d become the infamous girl who left for money—just like the original novel.

Sometimes I’d stare at him over dinner, wondering if he’d ever forgive me for what I was about to do.

Actually, Alex, I don’t want your five million. I’m not a gold digger. But the system says the ending is set. I’m just a conscious puppet in someone else’s script.

Even if there’s a pit of fire ahead, whether I avoid it or not, I’ll still be burned to ashes.

But if I follow the script, my parents won’t end up miserable, and I can survive.

Survive, and then watch you love another girl who looks like me. You’ll cook for her, kiss her in the morning, hold her at night, maybe even marry her and have kids. I’ll be the ghost in your rearview—always there, but never really seen. That’s the curse of being the one that got away.

I’ll hide in the shadows, watching you fall in love, growing so jealous I could go mad. But don’t worry, this time I’m clear-headed. I won’t ruin your love again.

The day came fast. The night before, I lay in his arms, breathing in his scent, trying to memorize every detail.

“Alex, if—just if—I left without saying goodbye, would you be angry?”

His voice was calm, not even asking why. “No. I’d find you and bring you back.”

“Then if I left you for money, thought you had none and dumped you, would you be angry?”

His arm tightened. “Nat, you’re not that kind of person. If it’s about money, I’ll earn it back for you. You don’t need to break up with me, understand? Miss Natalie.”

I smiled, even as my heart cracked. He only called me Miss Natalie when he was trying to make me laugh. But it was never about the money. I didn’t answer—just kissed him.

I wanted to remember everything—how he tasted, how his hand felt on my back, the way he whispered my name.

When I woke, he was gone. Breakfast was on the table: waffles with blueberries, just the way I liked. My fork shook as I cut into the stack, syrup pooling around the edges. I tried to memorize the taste, knowing it’d be the last time. The note said: Nat, do you remember what day it is? I’ll come home early—don’t run off.

I ignored the note. Today was my birthday—and the day I would leave.

My hands shook as I put on my makeup, trying to look like the version of me who could walk away. I dressed up, put on light makeup, and went to the coffee shop to meet Alex’s mother.

Just follow the plot and you’ll be safe, right? I’d asked the system a hundred times. “Yes, you’ve already made Alex fall for you. Now take the five million, go abroad, and you’ll be free. But you can’t come back for four years—don’t mess up the plot.”

The city spun by outside the car window. The coffee shop was intimidating, all glass and chrome. The scent of espresso and expensive perfume hung in the air as I crossed the hardwood floor, rehearsed and steady.

The place had been cleared out. A sophisticated woman sat by the window, coffee untouched. She was pearls and power suits, her voice smooth from years of boardroom deals.

“Miss Parker, you know why I asked you here, right?”

Of course I knew. Somewhere, a camera was probably trained on me, streaming this live to Alex. He already knew his mother had called me out—they just wanted to see what kind of person I really was.

“Alright, I won’t waste words. I won’t accuse you of dating Alex for our money and status, but you know by now. Your father’s a small business owner, your mother’s a college professor. Not poor, not rich, but beneath us. Not a good match. I can’t accept you.”

She said it with the kind of cold grace you see in old movies—the polite sneer, the invisible line in the sand. Alex sometimes had that same class in his gestures.

I waited, hands folded, the way Mom taught me for grown-up parties.

“I tried to talk sense into Alex, but he’s stubborn. It’s just youth, just playing around. When real life starts, all that’s left is resentment. You’ll lose both money and love. Don’t waste your youth.”

She pushed a check across the table. “Make a decision. Money, or an uncertain future?”

Following the system’s script, I picked up the check, glanced at the number, let satisfaction flicker across my face, and slid it into my purse. It felt colder than I imagined. I almost laughed at myself—a real American girl, raised to be independent, now acting out a scene from a telenovela. Every dollar felt like a brick in the wall I was building between us. I wondered if Alex would ever forgive me—or if I’d ever forgive myself.

“Mrs. Sutton, you’re right. I’m not stupid—of course I choose money. What’s love worth?” I smiled. “I only dated Alex because he looked good. But he’s too controlling, ruined all my admirers, and after a while it got old. Don’t worry. Now that I’ve taken the money, I’ll disappear.”

I tried to sound as cold as possible, knowing somewhere, Alex was listening, his world crashing down.

Mrs. Sutton stood to leave, but I called after her. “Do you need me to break up with Alex in person? Humiliate him, so he’ll give up for good? Otherwise, I won’t feel right taking your money.”

She glared. “No need. Just disappear from his life. Don’t bother him again.”

She said it like she was brushing lint from her jacket—final, decisive. I looked at the maple trees outside. “Okay, I’ll disappear. Tell him: don’t wait for someone who hurts you. Live well with the one who’s meant for you. Be happy.”

My voice trembled, but I kept my chin up. I wanted her to see I wasn’t leaving out of shame, but out of love—the hardest kind there is.

Mrs. Sutton looked back, eyes full of contempt. “You’re not worthy.”

The ticket was booked. I took the check in the morning, went to the airport in the afternoon, packed one suitcase. My departure was always meant to happen. Maybe falling for Alex was always supposed to end in leaving.

I watched the city shrink behind the airplane window, lights like fireflies, trying not to cry.

While waiting for my flight, I got a voicemail from Alex. His voice was hoarse and desperate. “Natalie, come back. I’ll give you a chance. I don’t care what you said. Just come back, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

There were more voicemails, longer and longer. I didn’t listen, just deleted the contact. So humble, my Alex. He always gave everything, never asking for anything but my heart.

Goodbye, my love. Goodbye, Alex.