Chapter 3: Cold Nights, Hot Tears

Dinner finally ended after ten. The city outside was quiet, the air crisp. The night felt endless.

Mr. Simmons asked a male coworker to walk me home, but seeing how drunk everyone was, I declined and called a rideshare on my phone. I didn’t need more awkwardness tonight. I needed space.

It was rush hour, so it took ages. The app said 17 minutes. It felt like forever. Each second stretched out.

One by one, my coworkers left, the last traces of warmth from the party swept away by the cold wind. I hugged my coat tighter, wishing I’d worn something heavier. My teeth chattered.

I hunched my shoulders and stamped my feet. "So cold," I muttered.

"Yeah…" came a voice beside me.

Huh?

I looked up. It was Julian. My heart jumped.

He stood next to me with his arms crossed. Who knows how long he’d been there. His breath came out in little clouds. I watched them drift away.

We stood in silence, the wind messing up our hair. It was like we were back in college, waiting for the bus after a late-night study session. The memory made me ache.

"I’m not drunk."

What? I turned to look at him, searching his face for a lie. He looked serious.

"I said, I’m not drunk. I meant what I said." His voice was low, steady. No hint of a joke.

Did he mean about getting back together? My mind spun.

I turned away, tucking my hair behind my ear. "Editor Whitaker, please don’t joke around. Do you think it’s fun to play with people’s feelings? If you have a girlfriend, don’t do things that give people the wrong idea!" My voice was sharper than I intended. I felt raw.

He grabbed my shoulders and turned me to face him. "Savannah, why won’t you believe me? It was all a misunderstanding—let me explain! I’ve only ever loved you!" His eyes were red, pleading. I could see the pain there.

His eyes were red, like he was really hurt. I almost believed him. My heart squeezed.

I laughed and brushed off his hands. "Forget it, it’s been three years. If you didn’t explain back then, who are you explaining to now?" My voice was brittle, barely holding together. I felt like I might shatter.

He turned away, letting out a bitter laugh. "What about you, Savannah? Why didn’t you tell me you were going to New York? Did you plan to leave me from the start? Did our two years mean nothing to you?" His voice was sharp, desperate.

"And why didn’t you go in the end? If I hadn’t seen your resume, I wouldn’t have known anything. You never told me. Did you ever really treat me like your boyfriend?" His voice cracked on the last word. I heard the heartbreak.

So he knew about my plans to go to New York? My stomach dropped.

Facing his teary-eyed questioning, my nose started to sting, the wind blurring my vision. I bit my lip to keep from crying. My chest hurt.

I wanted to tell him all the grievances of the past few years—why I didn’t go, how my family had problems, how I gave up on my dreams, gave up everything, went back to my hometown, how hard things had been for me. I wanted him to know.

I wanted to collapse into his arms and tell him how tired I was. How much I missed him. How lost I’d felt.

But when I opened my mouth, nothing came out. The words stuck in my throat. My jaw trembled.

Yeah, it’s all in the past. Who would I be saying it for now? I swallowed the words.

Life has worn down my pride and my edges. I know now I’m just one of millions—nothing special. Just another girl trying to make it. Just trying to survive.

I didn’t want to keep fighting about what happened three years ago. The energy was gone.

I didn’t know how to face this once-familiar stranger. I wiped away the tears that slipped out, and strode toward the curb. My boots echoed on the sidewalk. Each step felt heavy.

"I’m sorry, Savannah. I’m sorry." His voice cracked behind me.

"I’ll stop, Savannah. Please don’t be mad." His voice was soft, almost childlike. I could hear the plea in it.

Julian followed behind, red-eyed and flustered, trying to comfort me. He looked lost, like he’d wandered into the wrong story. My heart twisted.

"Let me take you home, Savannah." His voice was gentle, almost hopeful.

"No need, Editor Whitaker. I already called a car…" I kept my eyes on the street, willing the car to come faster. I couldn’t look at him.

"Don’t worry, I just want to make sure you get home. It’s hard to get a ride here." He waved, and a Mercedes that had been idling nearby slowly pulled up. Of course he’d have a driver on standby. Always the prince.

I glanced at my rideshare app—still over a hundred people ahead of me. Sniffling, I got in. Pride be damned, it was freezing. I needed warmth more than dignity.

It was just too cold. My fingers ached from the chill. I tucked them under my thighs, trying to warm them.

Julian didn’t say a word on the ride. The silence was heavy, but not uncomfortable. It felt like something was settling between us.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him leaning back, head up, brows furrowed, looking miserable. His profile was etched in the glow of passing streetlights. He looked older, sadder.

Under the neon lights, his profile was still striking. The kind of face that belonged on billboards. My heart ached.

Back in school, Julian was the campus legend. Everyone wondered which campus beauty would catch his eye. Girls would whisper and giggle as he walked by.

No one expected the plot twist. Not even me.

He confessed to me. Out of the blue, like a scene from a rom-com.

He was a freshman, I was a senior. People whispered, but he didn’t care. He just smiled at me, bold as ever.

I wasn’t ugly, but definitely not a beauty queen—and I was three years older than him. Everyone wondered why he liked me. I wondered, too.

I didn’t get it either, but I said yes anyway. Sometimes you just have to leap.

Not just because his gaze was so sincere, but because I’d already liked him for a long time. I’d watched him from afar, never daring to hope. My secret crush.

Back when I was a student council rep welcoming freshmen, he popped into my view. I remember the moment clearly.

"Hi, Savannah, I need to get to Dorm 6. Can you show me the way?" His voice was warm, friendly. It made me smile.

His eyes sparkled with warmth and energy. I felt myself melt a little.

He chatted with me the whole way, making me laugh. After that, I couldn’t help but pay attention to him, or try to bump into him. I found excuses to be near him. I was hooked.

Every time we met, he’d greet me with a big smile and call me "Savannah." He made it sound special. Like it meant something.

Who knew that would lead to his confession? Life is weird that way.

After we got together, he was a great boyfriend—maybe even a little clingy. But I loved it.

If I was too busy to reply to his messages, he’d sulk until I coaxed him, and I loved seeing him act all spoiled. Those moments made me feel so happy. It was like having a puppy and a boyfriend rolled into one. I adored him.

He always supported me, with both words and actions, helping me become a better version of myself. He believed in me, even when I didn’t believe in myself. That faith kept me going.

But somewhere along the way, things changed…

…

"Do you think I look good, Savannah?" Julian suddenly turned his head, locking eyes with me, snapping me out of my thoughts. His voice was playful, but his eyes were serious. I blushed.

I was caught off guard and nodded. Words failed me. My cheeks burned.

He chuckled, squinting as he leaned closer. His grin was infectious.

"If you like it, you can look all you want. Okay?" His smile was crooked, a little shy. I felt my heart skip.

My face flushed again, and I scooted away. "You’re drunk." I tried to sound annoyed, but my heart skipped a beat. I was in trouble.

The Mercedes rolled to a gentle stop in front of my building. The city lights flickered outside. The world felt suspended.

"Savannah, can I come up for a bit?" His eyes were watery, reminding me of that Valentine’s Day years ago—he’d had red eyes, wanting to stay out with me. I felt the old ache.

We were both nervous wrecks, like two scouts on their first mission. The air between us crackled. Every breath felt loaded.

But he ended up crying all night, so loud the neighbors knocked to check on us. I’d never seen him so raw. I’d never felt so needed.

His eyes were red, his forehead sweaty, frowning as he sobbed, "Savannah, please help me." It was a plea I’d never forgotten. It still haunted me.

Thinking about that night made me blush even harder. My cheeks felt like they were on fire. I ducked my head.

Julian grinned mischievously, leaning in. "Savannah, what are you thinking about? Your face is so red." His breath was warm against my cheek. I shivered.

We were just a few inches apart. His eyes were deep as a lake, staring at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing. I could feel the tension building. My heart beat out of control.

"Savannah… I…" His voice trailed off, thick with meaning.

He leaned in closer, his knee pressing against mine. The temperature in the car kept rising. My heart thudded in my chest. I felt dizzy.

"No way!"

Click.

I opened the car door, letting in a blast of cold air. It sobered me right up. My lungs filled with icy relief. I gulped it down.

"Thanks for the ride, Editor Whitaker. Goodbye!"

Slam!

I shut the door hard and hurried toward my building. My heels clicked on the pavement. I didn’t look back.

Julian caught up and grabbed my arm. "I’ve been to Paris."

I froze. The words hit me like a slap. My heart stopped.

"I went to every school in Paris, but you weren’t there! Didn’t you go abroad? Why couldn’t I find you anywhere?!" His voice trembled, eyes red, nothing like his usual arrogance. "I only found out you never went abroad when I saw your resume. Why didn’t you tell me you were struggling? Did you ever really see me as your boyfriend? If you needed money, you could’ve told me! Savannah, I just wanted to be with you—why wouldn’t you let me?" His voice cracked.

My fists clenched, tears blurring my vision. Fueled by the alcohol, I turned and snapped, "Editor Whitaker, did you forget? We already broke up." The words stung.

"Savannah Carter, so all that talk about being together forever was just a lie? You said we’d start a brand together—I’d run the business, you’d design. Did you forget? Do those promises mean nothing?" His voice was desperate.

"They mean nothing!" I yanked my hand away, voice choked, tears streaming down my face. I couldn’t stop.

"Because my mom got sick. All our money went to her treatment. I couldn’t afford to study abroad. I couldn’t even stay in Chicago—I had to go home and work." My voice broke on the last word.

"While you were hugging Tara, I got fired and accused of plagiarism. I couldn’t be a designer anymore!" The pain came rushing out.

"Yeah, you all have money—money can solve anything, so people like me can just be tossed aside!" My bitterness boiled over.

"Enough, Julian! Stop asking, okay?" I was spent.

I poured out three years of pain, sobbing until I was spent, finally collapsing into his arms. My body shook with the release. I let it all go.

Julian kept whispering "I’m sorry" over and over, his hot tears trickling down my neck. His arms were tight around me, like he’d never let go. I felt safe, for the first time in years.

In that quiet night, my heart finally calmed. For the first time in years, I felt seen. I let myself breathe.

That night, I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. My mind replayed everything, over and over. The past wouldn’t let go.

Outside, a flickering light glimmered in the darkness. The city never really sleeps. Neither did my thoughts.

Three years ago, I graduated and interned out of town while he was still in school. We tried to make it work, but distance is a silent killer. It crept in, slow and cold.

My overtime and his busy campus life meant we barely saw each other. The calls got shorter, the texts less frequent. We drifted.

That’s when Tara showed up. The beginning of the end.

Tara was a class officer, always coming to him with questions. He promised to keep his distance, even had Tara add me on Instagram so I wouldn’t worry. It didn’t help.

But Tara wasn’t like the other underclassmen—she was relentless: constant messages, bringing him coffee at the library, all her chats about studying and the future, never about love. She was always there, always perfect. I couldn’t compete.

The more she showed up, the more insecure I felt. I started to doubt everything.

I never had much confidence. I was afraid he’d fall for someone else. I was afraid I’d lose him to someone younger, prettier, easier. The fear ate at me.

I was just a good student—nothing else to offer. I felt invisible.

I even overheard his friends say I wasn’t good enough for him. Their words stuck with me. I carried them everywhere.

One time, he got mad that I hadn’t spent time with him or replied to his messages, sulking and waiting for me to coax him. I felt guilty.

Right then, I got the news my Paris study-abroad application was approved. It should have been a dream come true. Instead, it felt empty.

That day, I wore a new dress, bought a cake, and took time off to surprise him at school, only to find him on the rooftop stairs with his arm around Tara’s waist. My world stopped.

It was like a scene from a drama, and I ran away like the timid Cinderella, too cowardly to confront them. My heart shattered in my chest. I was humiliated.

I cried all night in my company dorm. The pillow was soaked by morning. I felt hollow.

I never confronted them, just ran away like some third wheel, so insecure it made me angry at myself. I hated how small I felt. I hated my own weakness.

The next day, the project I was in charge of at work went south. One more blow.

My designs were stolen by the lead designer, who even put his name on them. Betrayal seemed to follow me everywhere. I felt cursed.

I argued my case in the boss’s office, fought with the designer, but in the end, I was the one who got fired. The injustice burned.

"How can you prove those designs are yours?" The boss’s words stung. I had nothing left.

The boss, seeing me cry, stuffed an envelope with a check into my hand, saying the designer’s reputation was more convincing for the client. Money talks, talent walks. I felt cheap.

I felt cold all over. Numb. Like I’d been erased.

The termination letter even accused me of plagiarism, making it impossible to work in the industry. My dreams slipped through my fingers. I was lost.

That day, heartbroken, I left the office in tears. The city blurred around me.

It started to rain. It felt like every bit of bad luck had landed on me. I reached for my phone to call Julian, but saw Tara’s new post on Instagram. The knife twisted.

It was a photo of her and Julian at dinner. The caption: "You always call me your 'little sis,' but give it two years and I’ll be the 'big sis'! Thanks for being there for me."

The words burned my eyes. I threw my phone in my bag, not wanting to see any more. I wanted to disappear.

People had always commented on the age gap between me and Julian. It was always there, unspoken.

They said we wouldn’t last, but he always called me "Savannah," said he didn’t care, even admitted he was the one who felt insecure, afraid I’d be stolen away. But it never helped.

But he never realized that I was actually the most insecure one in the relationship. I carried it like a secret. It weighed me down.

He was younger, bold, dazzling like the sun. I was just an ordinary girl, three years older. I felt like a shadow beside him.

Every time a younger girl got close to him, I panicked, afraid I wasn’t good enough, afraid my age would pressure him. The fear never left.

There was always this invisible weight, pushing me to prove myself, to work harder, to be better. I was in a constant race with myself. I could never win.

I know now—that weight was my own insecurity. I built it, brick by brick.

But it was Julian’s love that gave me the courage to be with him. He made me believe I could be more.

But today, I was just tired. Too tired to fight anymore. I needed rest.

Suddenly, my phone rang. The shrill sound cut through my thoughts.

My aunt’s voice trembled: "Savannah, come to the hospital. Your mom is sick." My heart dropped to my feet.

On my phone, he and that girl were all smiles, while I stood in the rain, cold and shaking. I wiped my eyes and told myself to keep moving. One foot in front of the other.