Chapter 4: Thunder and Longing

Whoa.

Fate, indeed.

No wonder the boy I liked was so striking, even in profile.

"Harper?"

Under my roommate’s amazed gaze, I snapped out of it and, with a straight face, turned my attention back to the book in my hands.

"He’s just okay."

A chorus of gasps.

You’d have thought I’d insulted a national treasure. The room erupted in protest.

"Come on, Harper, did you even open your eyes? That’s Northfield’s pride, Ethan Park! Do you know what the name Ethan Park stands for?"

So his name is Ethan Park. Not only is he handsome, but his name is nice too.

I tried hard to suppress my smile and replied casually, "What does it stand for?"

"Money and status!"

...

Alright, I admit I was shallow.

But I’d be lying if I said it didn’t make my heart race just a little bit more.

Then came the background check.

My roommate was a pro at digging up details—family, grades, even his favorite coffee order.

I learned how wealthy Ethan’s family was, how outstanding he was, how capable. Listening to my roommate’s animated praise, my heart gradually sank.

He seemed so far out of my league, it wasn’t even funny. I felt like a high schooler with a crush on a movie star.

The gap between me and Ethan was wider than the Grand Canyon. The more I learned, the more impossible it seemed.

Even so, I couldn’t resist the voice in my heart—just look, there’s no harm in having a crush.

I convinced myself that it was harmless to admire from afar. Besides, everyone needs a little eye candy in their life.

So, for a while, I quietly kept track of everything about Ethan: which dining hall he ate at, what food he liked, what time he went to the library, where he liked to sit.

I became a low-key Ethan Park expert. I could’ve written his unofficial biography.

I even became friends with his dorm mates and learned more about him. I also found out that girls from different departments confessed to him every day, but he rejected all of them without exception.

Apparently, he had a reputation for being “unapproachable”—which only made him more appealing, if you ask me.

A few times, I watched it all from the shadows.

I was the queen of lurking, always careful to stay out of sight.

Ethan’s way of rejecting people was brutal—he’d just look at you, eyes cold and emotionless. The girl would run away with red eyes before she even got a word out.

It was legendary. The rumor mill called it the “Park Freeze-Out.”

In that situation, I didn’t dare confess my feelings to anyone, not even Ethan. I hid myself even deeper.

Maybe, what you can’t get always lingers in your heart. My obsession with Ethan only deepened over the four years of college.

He became my north star—always there, just out of reach. If I was any sappier, I’d need a GPS to find my way back to reality.

After graduation, Ethan went to work at his family’s company, doing better and better, rising higher and higher. Of course, someone so outstanding is destined to stand at the top of the pyramid.

He popped up in business magazines, LinkedIn posts, and alumni newsletters. I’d see his name and feel a weird mix of pride and longing.

As for me, I became an editor for a digital magazine. My job was flexible, no need to clock in, and I could work from home.

Not exactly Forbes 30 Under 30, but I liked it. Plus, I could wear sweatpants to meetings.

To be a little closer to him, I spent quite a bit to rent an apartment in his complex, right below his building, continuing my silent watch from college days.

It was a little crazy, but hey—love makes you do wild things. Besides, Maple Heights was a nice place to live.

I swear, I never had any intention of taking advantage of proximity!

After all, there’s nothing wrong with having a crush.

The apartments at Maple Heights have only one unit per floor, and in such a fast-paced city, the odds of meeting another person in the elevator are pitifully low.

Sometimes, I’d go days without seeing another soul. It made my little run-ins with Ethan feel even more special.

Maybe the little angel statue I brought back from St. Jude’s took pity on my unrequited love. Several times, I ran into Ethan in the elevator. But in front of him, I seemed invisible; he never even glanced at me.

It was like I had Harry Potter’s invisibility cloak. I’d practice saying “hi” in my head, but the words never made it out. Honestly, introvert superpowers at their finest.

Let alone greet me or say hi.

Clearly, fate was slacking off.

This continued until Ethan showed up at my door with Daisy in his arms.

Who would’ve thought that what broke the stalemate between me and Ethan was Biscuit, the little stray cat I picked up.

Of all the things that could’ve brought us together, it had to be a cat romance. Life’s funny that way.

Before this, I knew Ethan had a cat named Daisy.

I’d seen them together in the elevator—Daisy peeking out from her carrier, Ethan with that soft look in his eyes.

A few times, I saw Ethan in the elevator with Daisy, taking her for a walk. The way Ethan looked at Daisy was so gentle.

It made my heart ache a little, seeing that side of him reserved for his pet.

From then on, the idea of raising a cat took root in my heart.

I started following cat accounts on Instagram, researching breeds, and daydreaming about having a little furball of my own.

As if that way, I could get a little closer to Ethan. Yeah, I know, totally transparent. But it was a harmless little fantasy.

It was a flimsy excuse, but it made me happy.

Until Biscuit appeared—truly love at first sight.

He was a scruffy little thing, but those eyes—how could I say no?

I remember, that day I came back from a meeting at work. As soon as the elevator doors opened, I saw a cat curled up at the entrance, looking so pitiful.

He looked up at me with the saddest eyes, like he’d been waiting for someone to rescue him.

Maybe it heard me, and immediately started meowing. The moment I met Biscuit’s big round eyes, I decided to keep him.

I couldn’t leave him there. He purred the moment I picked him up, sealing the deal.

But before taking him home, I checked with the building manager. After confirming he was just a stray who’d wandered in, I felt at ease.

I wasn’t about to steal someone’s pet. Once I got the all-clear, I brought him home, gave him a bath, and named him Biscuit—because he was soft and warm and made everything better.

A tug on my calf brought me back to reality. Looking down, I saw Biscuit, eyes wide, trying hard to climb up and snuggle against the Daisy he’d wronged.

He was on a mission to win Daisy’s forgiveness, and maybe a little of mine, too.

As someone who’s been there, I totally get Biscuit. Besides, he’s the hero now.

I ruffled his fur, whispering, “Go get her, buddy.”

I gently placed the docile Daisy on the sofa. The next second, a chubby black blur darted past my eyes.

Biscuit wasted no time. He leaped onto the sofa, nuzzling up to Daisy like he was making amends for all his past mischief.

"Once a guy gets a girlfriend, his mom’s old news"—this phrase applies across species, apparently.