To the Love of My Life

But how could he have appeared so coincidentally by her side at such a dangerous moment? Why did he save her, only to vanish without a word?

Ruby Gregory took a few steps, paused again, and took a couple more glances down the quiet alleyway before silently walking out of it and back to her neighborhood.

A while after Ruby had left, a door in the alley finally opened, and Steve Burton stepped out. His gait seemed no different from any other day, albeit a tad slower. In particular, his left leg, which had been hit, appeared to give him some trouble as he walked.

Steve exited the alley, glanced in the direction of Ruby’s neighborhood, and turned to walk the other way.

He returned to his car, took out the key, opened the door, sat down, and then rolled up his pant leg to see his left calf, bloodied and raw.

Steve stared at the wound for a while before regaining his composure. He let his pant leg back down, started the car, and drove down the street using his right foot to step on the accelerator.

Neon lights outside passed repeatedly over his face through the window.

His expression remained calm as his eyes resolutely stared straight ahead. Pain from his left leg incessantly crept through every cell in his body.

Steve did not go to the hospital; instead, he returned to his apartment, took a shower, and disinfected the wound simply with alcohol.

The gash was deep, providing a vague glimpse of the bone inside. Steve sprinkled some clotting medicine, wrapped a bandage around it, and then casually lay down on the sofa.

When he lived alone before, he never felt lonely. But since she had stayed here, the empty room seemed suffocating.

Out of boredom, Steve took out his phone and saw that there were many missed calls. After a cursory glance, he absentmindedly pressed a series of numbers on the keypad. When he realized, he was surprised to find that he had keyed in Ruby’s phone number.

During that month since their separation, it wasn’t that he didn’t miss her—he just didn’t let anyone see that he did.

He found himself accidentally dialing her number every time he held his phone. Those eleven digits, just like her, were unforgettable.

He felt an urge to call her, to ask if she had been frightened or hurt. But he only entertained the thought for a moment before locking his phone screen and tossing it onto the plush carpet.

Knowing she was happy was enough for him. Although he longed to be a part of her life, even if it tore him apart inside, he wouldn’t allow himself to disturb her new life.

Because he wanted her to have the world she desired.

Not disturbing her was his final form of tenderness.

People often say that if someone loves you, they will come looking for you.

But what they don’t realize is that sometimes it’s because they love you, and because they know you don’t love them back, that they don’t seek you out or disturb you.

They don’t want to trouble you; they want you to be better off, even without them.