Some things seem incredibly complicated before you act, but once you take that first step, you realize the hardest part is already over.
Hao Yi and I parted ways with an unspoken agreement to keep things low-key. Our social media accounts remained cheerful and carefree; neither of us said a word. It wasn’t until two months later, at a mutual friend’s wedding banquet, that people noticed we weren’t sitting at the same table. In an instant, many quietly understood. Amid the clinking of glasses and casual chatter, new topics quickly emerged to ease any awkwardness. By this age, we all knew the unspoken rules of social interaction—better to maintain appearances than cause discomfort.
What about Chu Ke Huan and Gao Zi Yuan? Their Facebook updates remained the same as ever—occasional posts about minor joys in life, never showcasing public displays of affection. They seemed to be living separate lives. When the wedding date I had memorized arrived, I heard no word from friends about attending their ceremony. All I knew was that Gao Zi Yuan had ended her leave of absence and returned to work. As for the stories beneath the surface, I didn’t inquire. Since I had hurt someone, the best apology was to leave them undisturbed, whether or not they knew I was the one responsible. I owed this silence to Hao Yi, to Gao Zi Yuan, and especially to Chu Ke Huan.
I still worked in the same office building, but I never ran into Chu Ke Huan again during lunch breaks. Maybe he was avoiding me, or maybe our lives had simply become parallel lines, each returning to its own predictable course.
At this age, losing love isn’t so terrifying. Work has a way of flooding in like a tidal wave, not because your boss wants to help you forget your heartbreak, but because they see you as unencumbered and free to dedicate yourself fully to the company’s rising stock price.
Six months passed. The frequency of my business trips increased, and the destinations grew farther. Adjusting to time zones became second nature, and my luggage shrank from a 28-inch suitcase to a 26-inch, then 24-inch. Eventually, for the sake of speed, I switched to just a carry-on. I no longer got stopped at security for forgetting to remove accessories. This ease was no accomplishment—it was bought with youth and life’s choices.
February 14th, Valentine’s Day. It snowed heavily in New York.
When I was twenty, I had a romantic wish: If one day I had the financial means, I’d watch the snow on Valentine’s Day with the person I loved. Now, at thirty, I was seeing the Valentine’s Day snow, but I was unmarried, without a lover, and, to make matters worse, my flight back to Taiwan was canceled due to the snowstorm. The airline staff refused to provide compensation for even a single night’s accommodation.
“Miss, I know this isn’t your fault, but my flight has been canceled. I’m not going anywhere tonight. Asking for compensation for one night’s stay isn’t unreasonable, is it?” I tried to keep my anger in check as I calmly reasoned with the staff in English.
“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do. All nearby business hotels are fully booked. It’s Valentine’s Day, and the hotels with available rooms exceed our company’s compensation limits.” Her words only fanned the flames of my frustration.
“You know it’s Valentine’s Day! Do you think I wanted to be working on a day like this? Dumping passengers when costs run over budget—is that your idea of service?” I finally lost my temper, yelling, “What, am I not a person because I’m not one of your premium members?”
“I truly apologize, but there’s nothing we can do. If you have travel insurance, you may want to check the coverage for delays…”
Travel insurance? Damn it. I usually bought coverage but had forgotten this time—and of course, this was the trip where everything went wrong.
“Is there anything else? There are still many passengers waiting behind you,” she said, her tone cold and dismissive.
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