Chapter 4: Moonlit Memories

There’s no room for me in this crowded relationship. That’s why I want to give up on him.

I finally said it. “Brandon, let’s break up.”

He laughed, like it was a joke, probably thinking I was just being dramatic. “Still can’t figure it out? I thought you’d be used to it by now.” He said it with a shrug, like it was just another Tuesday.

Yeah. I should’ve gotten used to it by now.

Brandon’s fickleness wasn’t new. Everyone knew I was his girlfriend, but he was so attractive, there were always girls trying their luck—and he never turned anyone down.

If he liked their looks or their vibe, he’d let things get ambiguous.

I still remember—a girl from his department, misled by his attitude, thought she could win him over, so she came to show off in front of me. I didn’t even look up, just smiled: “Just wait and see.”

Less than a week later, there were rumors about him and the dance department beauty. People asked how I could tolerate it. I just smiled.

Brandon and I were childhood sweethearts. Before I even knew what a crush was, I was already following him around.

When we started school, he held my hand, carried my backpack. Once, during a thunderstorm, the babysitter locked me inside so she could play cards. I cried so hard I couldn’t breathe, and he broke the glass to climb in, his hand bleeding, but he stroked my head and told me not to be afraid.

Later, I ran into a drunk creep on my way home. Brandon shielded me, refusing to let go even as he got hit, until someone finally came to help.

When I turned sixteen, I made a wish: “I want to marry Brandon someday.”

But before blowing out the candles, I looked up and saw him gazing at my sister. His sharp features softened, even his mouth wore a gentle smile.

Yeah, my sister—so amazing, beautiful, gentle. In my childhood memories with Brandon, I always tried to avoid mentioning her.

I lied to myself, pretended it was just Brandon and me.

But that wasn’t true. My sister was dazzling, like the moon, making all the stars look dim.

Everyone liked her. Especially Brandon.

She was always there in his story. Always.

The day my sister brought her boyfriend home, I was probably the happiest one. They were such a perfect match. When they looked at each other, the air felt thick and sweet, like candy melting in the sun.

But I felt ashamed of my secret joy, because only I knew that, besides being happy for my sister, part of me was just… relieved.

I glanced at Brandon. He stood in the corner, loneliness written all over him. His gaze drifted from my sister’s face to her boyfriend, eyes sharp and wary, like he was guarding his territory.

But my sister always saw him as just a kid brother.

After sending my sister and her boyfriend off, I followed Brandon home. The streetlights and moonlight were cold, exposing his sadness. I didn’t say anything.

We walked six miles in three and a half hours. The moon stretched his shadow long, and I stepped on it, sighing inside: When will you look back at me, Brandon?

When we were almost home, he finally turned around, as if he’d figured something out, and suddenly smiled.

I asked, “Brandon, have you given up?”

He looked up at me, so young, so sure of himself, a little surprised: “Of course not. Natalie isn’t married, she’s just dating. I can wait for her to break up. Even if she gets married, what if she gets divorced?”

“I can always wait. I’ll grow up. One day, she’ll look at me the way she looks at a man.”

I stared at his face, swallowed all my words.

If that day ever came, I’d be happy for him.

If not, that was okay too. I’d just stay by his side.

Look at our food chain—an incomplete loop. He’ll never know someone’s waiting for him too.

Later, I’d rather never have Brandon, and would rather he kept waiting for my sister, even if there was no answer. At least we’d both have hope.

Even if that hope was just an illusion.

But my sister died.

I’ll always remember the day she passed. She finally didn’t have tubes everywhere. Chemo had left her so pale, so small. She lay on the hospital bed, her boyfriend holding her hand in silence.

I sobbed quietly, head buried in the sheets. My sister stroked my hair. Her hand was cold, her voice gentle. She turned to Brandon, standing by the bed, and said weakly, “Brandon, I’m entrusting Lila to you. Please take good care of her, okay?”

After a long silence, Brandon choked up and answered, “Okay.”

At that time, I was hopelessly in love with Brandon. Sometimes, looking at my sister, I’d have the awful thought that if only I didn’t have a sister.

But when she was gone, all I felt was fear and despair. I would’ve traded anything to get her back.

But I no longer had a sister.

After her funeral, I spent a long time drowning in grief. Couldn’t get out.

I took a year off school. When I finally came back, Brandon had changed.

It was a new school. When I waited for him outside his classroom, a girl passed by and asked, “Do you like Brandon?”

She said it like she was giving advice: “You just transferred here, so you probably don’t know. Brandon is all show and no substance. He’s hurt so many people. Don’t be foolish.”

I blinked. Didn’t get it.