Chapter 4

My fear of Blake piling food onto my plate persisted until I entered high school and when Blake was in his fourth year of university. According to Great-Uncle Gregory, Blake was busy with his internship and wouldn't have time to come back.

Upon hearing this news, I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

The high school I had gotten into was the same one that Blake had attended. However, while Blake had easily entered the honors class, I had to work tirelessly to secure a spot in the regular class.

This particular high school had a competitive atmosphere, with everyone striving to perform well academically. Now, my grades were near the bottom of my class, and if I didn't work hard, I might find it difficult to even get into a reasonably good university.

I had no time or energy to deal with anything else other than studying. There was still a photo of Blake smiling on the school bulletin board. Every time I looked at that smiling face, I felt a lump in my throat.

I would either think of the way Blake smiled while telling me ghost stories or the way he smiled while piling food on my plate. Sometimes, I would even recall the way Blake laughed at me. Somehow, this gave me the motivation to study harder.

If I had known that a photo of Blake could have such an effect, I would have used it to motivate myself long ago. Whenever I felt tired, I would stand in front of the school bulletin board and look at Blake's picture. Then, I would feel revitalized, muster my resolve, and push myself to study harder.

To keep up with my classmates, I voluntarily joined the study group set up by my teacher. I stopped going home on weekends when there were no classes and stayed in the school instead.

As such, I only went home during winter and summer vacations.

But even when I was home, I would either be revising or getting ready to start another round of revision. My mom and dad were delighted to see me studying hard.

I lived a simple but fulfilling life that year.

My hard work eventually paid off. When I was about to start the 11th grade, my grades had climbed back up to the middle-to-upper range.

Unexpectedly, one Sunday, I received a phone call from Blake. The scoundrel had gotten his hands on my number somehow. Under Blake's insistence, we exchanged contact information. The reason Blake gave was that I could reach out to him if I had any questions.

Blake informed me that he had been working in Southvale since he had secured a job with a good salary and benefits there. He even urged me to study hard and aim to get into a university in Southvale. He promised that if I got in, he would buy me a computer as a reward.

Although Blake always annoyed and frustrated me, as an older cousin, he genuinely treated me well. Whenever it was my birthday, he would always send a gift no matter where he was.

I decided that I would make sure to get a computer with the highest specs from Blake this time. The promise of getting a computer as a reward worked wonders for me. Although I had always been motivated to study hard, having that extra encouragement added a peculiar sense of anticipation for me.

Time spent studying flew by in the blink of an eye. Before long, I was sitting for the SAT. During my senior year, I spoke to Blake a few times.

One evening, when I couldn't figure out the solution to a problem, I sent a picture of the question to Blake but didn't get a reply. The long wait caused me to get frustrated, so I called Blake.

Blake's voice sounded a bit tired over the phone, as if he'd just gotten on a bus. Upon thinking about his situation, I felt a slight twinge of guilt.

There was another time when I called Blake at around 11:00 pm. I thought he would have finished washing up and was getting ready to call it a day. But when I called, Blake was getting into a taxi.

As the call connected, I heard him giving an address to the taxi driver, so I didn't ask him about the problem I had. After that, I never called Blake again.

After the SAT, I signed up for driving school. Every day, I practiced driving under the scorching sun. As someone who was slow to warm up, I often got scolded by the instructor due to my poor social skills.

Being introverted, I couldn't smile back or joke with the instructor like the other trainees. Sometimes, I felt that getting a driver's license was even harder than taking the SAT!

One day, after I was done with driving practice and heading home, I received an admission letter from a top university in Southvale. The tense feeling I'd been feeling dissipated instantly.

I didn't have any friends to share this joyous moment with. At that moment, the first person to come to my mind was Blake.

I called Blake, who didn't answer my call. Thinking he must be busy, I sent him a message on WhatsApp. However, I never received a reply to that simple text message.

Could it be that Blake thought I was calling about the computer and was deliberately not replying to my messages or answering my calls?

Even if there was no computer, it didn't matter. I just wanted to share my joy with Blake and tell him I would be coming to Southvale too. I wanted to sit in some random café in Southvale and walk the streets Blake had walked.

Yet, it was as if Blake had vanished. Occasionally, his past achievements were mentioned in family conversations, but there was hardly any talk about his current situation.

During the holidays, I decided to go home. Every time the elders mentioned Blake, I couldn't help but hold my breath and listen for any news about him. Surprisingly, even Great-Uncle Gregory, who used to take pride in Blake, now stayed silent whenever he was brought up.

I wondered if Blake had done something wrong and if Great-Uncle Gregory felt he had brought shame to the family, hence the silence.

Then again, that didn't seem likely. Blake was good-looking, polite, and practically perfect. He didn't seem like someone who would commit a crime.

Later, a few days before my birthday, I received an anonymous package with only the vendor's information. Even so, I could tell at a glance that it was from Blake.

The suspense was finally lifted. At least Blake hadn't been caught and sent off to a labor camp or something of that sort. But why hadn't he replied to my messages or calls?

No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn't come up with a convincing explanation for Blake's vanishing act. I decided to call and ask what had happened.

After all, Blake wasn't a petty person. He couldn't be avoiding contact just because he didn't want to buy me a computer.

Unfortunately, Blake's number was no longer in service. The WhatsApp messages also went unanswered. With that, I completely lost contact with Blake.

Blake was always like this—he was a jerk who popped in and out of people's lives whenever he pleased. He never cared whether the other party was willing to put up with him. When he had his fill, he left.

How could he leave without a trace, as if nothing had happened?

I suddenly realized that if Blake didn't want to contact me, there was no way for me to get in touch. I guessed that Blake was breaking off their friendship one-sidedly.

If so, why had he sent me that birthday gift? Was it the last bit of goodwill from an older cousin?

With these unresolved questions in my mind, I started my university life. In an unfamiliar and new environment, I joined the university's volunteer association to keep myself busy every week.

When I had free time, I would go to the library on campus to read. I liked the library there—it was quiet and had a vast variety of books.

After a few years, I graduated from university uneventfully. Then, to my surprise, my parents suddenly became anxious and started arranging blind dates for me. I couldn't help but laugh at their desperation.

Their reasoning was that a young man with my kind of personality who didn't get a girlfriend even in university had a 90% chance of remaining single for life. In today's society, where there were more men than women and with the female population becoming increasingly picky, the likelihood of me remaining a bachelor well into my middle age was as high as 99%.

"Well, doesn't that still leave a 1% chance?" I asked.

My mom and dad ignored my question and continued making arrangements. I thought that there was no harm in dating after being single for so long.

Through the introduction of some not-so-close relatives, I met a young lady named Willow. She was very quiet. Besides that, she had a lifestyle and personality so similar to mine that she was pretty much like a female version of me.

Perhaps that was why she received unanimous approval from my family right away.

We exchanged contact details and started chatting casually for a year. We both felt good about each other. Of course, I knew why. Spending time with someone who was like another version of oneself was always more comfortable.

After a year, we confirmed their relationship. As we were both working in Southvale, we maintained a routine of meeting up at least once a week. On weekends, we would go to the library to read together. Occasionally, we'd watch a movie.

Both our families approved of our simple and straightforward relationship. As long as no unusual issues arose, I had it in my mind that I would eventually marry Willow.

The two of us had a candid conversation right from the start. After confirming we both had the same consensus, we decided to date. Our relationship was more like a partnership than a romantic relationship.

Our first meeting had been a year ago at a matchmaking event.

Both of us had been pushed into it by our parents. We only managed a few perfunctory conversations when we first met. But later, we discovered how similar we were, which gradually brought us closer.

But what I didn't expect was that as soon as we sat down, Willow's first sentence almost made my jaw drop.

"I experienced some psychological trauma and don't feel comfortable around men. Being with men makes me feel slightly nauseous and uncomfortable," she said nonchalantly.

"Does your family know about this?" I guessed her purpose for meeting me that day.

"They don't know, and I don't think I should let them know," Willow replied.

"Then, do you... do you..." I wondered how to ask this question without hurting her. Apart from talking to my mother, I hadn't had much interaction with other women.

"You're wondering if I've seen a doctor, right? I have, but it didn't help much," Willow answered impassively.

"But I don't feel repulsed by you. The feeling you give me is kind of funny—you're like another version of myself."

Well, coincidentally, I felt the same way about her.

"I know you don't like me. But you don't hate me either, right? It's the same with me. I'm not sure if you like men, but I have this feeling that we're of the same kind."

I didn't agree with Willow on this. I affirmed that I was straight inwardly. Just because I hadn't met a woman I liked, it didn't mean I liked men.

"Why don't we work together until we find someone we truly love? You don't want to be constantly pushed to go on dates by your family, I presume?" Willow proposed.

"What if we never come across someone we love?" I asked.

"If that's the case, when it's time to get married, we'll just get married. If there's no one we passionately love, then it doesn't matter who we end up with. We don't dislike each other, and we get along well. We can at least keep each other company, don't you think?"

"Okay!" I agreed, thinking that it was a good idea.

While I didn't like men, I wasn't particularly interested in women either. I would rather quietly read a book. I didn't want to date or get married, but I wouldn't be able to resist the pressure from my family.

When that time came, I would be sent to attend another matchmaking event to find someone I could form a family with. Since that would happen one way or another, why not start with someone who shared the same view?

After that talk, Willow and I defined our roles more clearly. Being clear about our positions and roles made our relationship more comfortable and enjoyable.

In reality, our relationship was more like a friendship. Or as Willow put it, we were more like BFFs.

I later discovered that Willow wasn't as unassuming as she appeared to be. On the surface, she was serene and composed, but in private, she loved reading queer fiction. She worked as an administrative assistant by day. But at night, she was a queer fiction writer.

Willow recommended a lot of these novels to me. I wasn't interested in the novels at all, yet she'd keep recommending more novels to me despite her busy schedule. Ugh.

On May Day, I took Willow back to visit my parents. Over dinner, they suddenly brought up Blake, causing me to have one of those strange dreams that had troubled me for years.

Since I was unable to get back to sleep, I picked up a novel from the bedside table. It was the one Willow had been reading in the car. In a hurry to get out, I had stuffed it into my backpack.

After reading it, I felt as if a door to a whole new world had opened up in my mind.

Willow was truly something else.