Chapter 1: Burned and Betrayed

The waiter lost his grip on the pot of boiling soup. Steam billowed up, burning my eyes as I lunged forward, the clang of metal ringing in my ears. Before I could think, I threw myself between the scalding liquid and my girlfriend.

I threw my arms around her, bracing for the sting—then agony ripped across my cheek, hot and raw.

The smell of burnt skin and fabric hung heavy. I barely registered the pain—my mind spun with one question: Was she okay? Even as my skin screamed, I kept my eyes locked on hers, needing to see her safe.

A year later, she turned down my marriage proposal.

Her reason: our astrological signs weren’t compatible.

She’d once told me the scar on the side of my face wouldn’t affect our relationship.

But not long after, I overheard her complaining to her childhood friend:

“Why should I have to pay the price for the choices he made?”

“Spending the rest of my life with him—I just don’t think it’s worth it.”

That’s when I realized she never believed in astrology at all.

She just found me embarrassing.

The words haunted me. In the fluorescent-lit quiet of my apartment, I replayed them again and again, each time stinging sharper than the last. It was like that scar had marked something deeper than my skin—it’d marked the way she looked at me, and how she explained me away to everyone else.

Today is my girlfriend Natalie’s birthday.

She clasped her hands, closed her eyes, and made a wish with total sincerity.

The glow from the candles flickered across her face, softening the lines of anticipation as her friends sang out of tune around the table.

Watching her delicate profile, I nervously gripped the ring box in my pocket.

After eight years together, we were long past the age of just talking about marriage.

The candles were blown out, and the lights in the private dining room flicked on.

I knelt on one knee, my hand trembling as I held out the ring.

Urged on by friends and family, I spoke each word clearly:

“Natalie, will you marry me?”

But what greeted me was an awkward silence.

There was none of the surprise I had imagined.

Natalie’s fingers curled around her napkin, twisting it tight. Her lips parted, but the words stuck, eyes flicking to the faces around us before landing on me.

Natalie’s eyes drifted up, lingering silently on the scar on my face. She visibly frowned.

“...What are you doing?”

“Why didn’t you discuss this with me first?”

As if afraid of touching something dirty, she subconsciously took half a step back. Her tone was full of irritation and embarrassment.

“Seriously? On my birthday? What were you thinking?”

“When did I ever say I wanted to marry you?”

The mood in the room shifted, stifled by an embarrassed silence.

The looks from those around us were full of pity.

I thought this would be a surprise.

But I hadn’t expected such a blunt rejection. Heat crawled up my neck, the room spinning with everyone’s eyes on me. I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

Still, I forced myself to ask:

“But... didn’t we agree last year?”

At the end of last year, the two of us had talked about marriage.

It was only postponed because of my burn.

Back then, Natalie had even dreamed aloud about our future together.

She’d said that when she was proposed to, she would definitely cry tears of joy.

Now, she seemed to realize she’d overreacted.

She awkwardly tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to smooth things over:

“Oh, oh, you mean that.”

“Let’s talk about it later.”

“I checked our horoscopes, and this year isn’t good for marriage—it would bring bad luck.”

I didn’t know when she started believing in astrology.

But I wasn’t stupid.

If I pressed her, I’d just seem insensitive.

I nodded silently, put away the ring, and pretended nothing had happened.

This episode was soon covered up by the lively atmosphere.

But inside, I couldn’t calm down.

I excused myself to the restroom, escaping as if I was fleeing.

After washing my face and finally steadying my nerves,

I returned to the door of the private room, only to hear a familiar voice inside.

It was Natalie’s childhood friend.

“Look at yourself—do you really deserve her?”

“Honestly, calling him a loser is an insult to losers.”

Those words hit me like a punch to the gut.

My hand shook on the doorknob. Their voices felt like knives, carving out every last bit of hope I’d held onto.

Faced with the insult, Natalie didn’t defend me.

Instead, she let out two ambiguous laughs:

“Alright, enough, he’ll be back soon.”

“My birthday’s already half ruined by him—do you want to ruin the other half too?”

Outside that door, I could hear the scrape of someone refilling a wine glass, the low shuffle of shoes on carpet. I stood frozen, pulse hammering in my ears, wishing I could just disappear.

As laughter picked up around the cake, I sat frozen, ring box hidden in my fist, wondering if I’d ever been more invisible.