In the third month of the cold war with my boyfriend, I couldn't hold back anymore. I swallowed my pride and sent a text to test the waters. "Do you still want to make this work?" He replied almost instantly. "Yes." I put down my awkward ego and asked him: "Can we meet and talk?" He replied, "You don't have cramps today, do you?" "..." "Your place or mine?" 1 No one knows how I survived those three months of silence with Ethan. It started over something small, so small I can't even remember what triggered it. But this time, I held onto a ball of rage in my chest, refusing to reply to his messages. The chat history was frozen on his icy, non-apology from weeks ago: "Fine, let's just say I was wrong." Honestly, seeing that sentence made me vow out of spite that I would never speak to him again. I knew that even if I tried to reason with him, it would only earn me his classic rebuttal: "I already apologized, what else do you want from me?" He always used that line to control me. We had broken up and gotten back together countless times. In the beginning, it ended with him coaxing me back. Later, it turned into me finding various ways to beg for peace, giving him an off-ramp for his ego. Because he knew that once he said that line, it meant he had "apologized." If I continued to discuss the actual issue, I was being "dramatic" or "high maintenance." And after that, what awaited me was inevitably a long-lasting cold war. I obviously couldn't handle the silence as well as he could. So, I would usually swallow my grievances and accept his "apology." I psyched myself up and sent a message first: "I'm at the Urgent Care getting an IV drip alone. It's hard to even go to the bathroom." To make it seem less stiff, I added a cute, pouting sticker. He didn't reply for a long time. After waiting for thirty minutes, I couldn't suppress my anxiety. Every minute, a million thoughts popped into my head. Does he really want to break up? Does he not love me anymore? Does he have another girlfriend? Finally, before these thoughts drowned me, I sent another message. "Why are you ignoring me?" Truthfully, I was getting angry, but I still sent a cute GIF. "Do you want to grab dinner later?" He replied: "?" "No time." Stiff. Emotionless. I had thought that if his tone softened even a little bit—just a tiny bit—I would drop the argument, smile, and pretend nothing had happened. But no. I tried hard to control my emotions, holding back my sadness and anger, and sent a question mark back. He asked: "You want to fight again?" My tears instantly poured down. But damn it, even while crying, all I could think about was Ethan. If he were by my side right now, if he could see me crying, would he hold me in his arms and comfort me? Would he feel guilty? I realized I was hopeless. Tears dripping onto the screen, I typed: "I just wanted a little care from you. I don't want to fight, but your silent treatment really hurts me." "Ethan, once the disappointment piles up enough, I really will leave." The "typing..." bubble appeared, then disappeared. It flickered on and off for five minutes. I stared at his chat box the whole time. Was he writing me a long, heartfelt paragraph? I felt a secret joy. Honestly, I hadn't seen more than a few words from him in ages. But no. His reply was short. "Here we go again. I don't want to talk about your issues." "Fine, let's just say it was my fault." 2 After reading that, my tears stopped instantly. It’s strange how human emotions can shift in a split second. I stared at the phone and turned it off without hesitation. I was certain Ethan would regret what he said today. I told myself that when he eventually came back, crying and begging for forgiveness, I must not be soft-hearted. The more excessive he was now, the more sincere his begging would be later. But as time passed—two whole weeks—there was not a single movement from him. I checked his Instagram. No updates. He was never one to post stories anyway. Aside from texting, I had no way to track him. I intentionally posted a story of me out having fun with friends. Ethan didn't like it. He didn't view it. Worried he missed it, I posted a few more. Still no reaction. Did I play it too hard this time? Is he really planning to draw a line and end it? Once the doubt started, the spiraling began. I re-read the chat logs from two weeks ago over and over. Actually, he did apologize. Why is it that every time I want to smooth things over, we fall into a new round of arguing? If I had controlled my emotions back then, would today be different? He was the only one who could tolerate my little tantrums. In front of him, I could be myself without fear. He gave me a grounded kind of love. I didn't really want to break up. So why did we fight? Was I being too demanding? Come to think of it, the last time we laughed together feels like ancient history. If being together only means suppression and pain, then naturally, one would want to escape the relationship. So I shouldn't blame Ethan. I should make it so that thinking of me brings him joy. I knew I could do it. Making him happy was actually very simple. Thinking this, I opened the chat box to message him. I typed and deleted, typed and deleted. Summoning my courage, I pressed send. "Do you know I'm really sad?" Unexpectedly, he replied quickly this time. "I know." "Then why are you indifferent?" "I don't know what to say." My fingertips trembled on the screen. What was I expecting? He is Ethan. How could he possibly coax me just because I lowered my head first? 3 I looked up and out the window. My colleague's boyfriend had arrived to pick her up from work. He tucked her cold hand into his pocket, and the smiles on their faces infected me. If Ethan and I weren't fighting, we would probably be eating hot pot right now. He would fix my layered winter collar, holding my coat, watching me laugh quietly from the side. I admit it. I lost. I missed Ethan a little. No, I missed him terribly. But did he miss me? Or rather, did he still love me? I was always confident yet insecure. Was a girl like me worth loving? Thinking this, I couldn't wait any longer and sent the message. "Do you still want to make this work?" He replied quickly. "Yes." I almost cried. As expected, no matter how bad things got, Ethan never gave up on the relationship. "Then why the silent treatment?" "I don't know." I put down my awkward ego and asked him. "Can we meet and talk?" He replied, "You don't have cramps today, do you?" ... "Your place or mine?" The implication of that sentence was obvious, but I played dumb. "Is there a difference?" He said, "There are people at my place." If I had a backbone, I would have called him, cursed him out, and blocked him. But I couldn't. I typed out words that bordered on fawning, almost like I was a masochist. I wanted to know just how far Ethan would go. I handed him the knife that hurt me, perversely expecting him to stab me with it. Because the deeper the wound, the firmer my resolve to leave would be. I wasn't afraid of heart-wrenching pain; I was only afraid of him mixing true love with fake intentions to torture me, making me hesitate. "Okay, my place. What time?" He waited a while before replying. "No rush. I'll come after I drop her off." Who is she? I didn't ask. I checked the message, didn't wait for him, didn't eat, didn't wash up. I turned off my phone, lay in bed, and fell asleep. Turns out, expressing sadness takes energy. And right now, I really didn't have the heart to think. In my drowsy state, I felt cold lips kissing my face. I opened my eyes. It was Ethan. He skillfully slipped under my covers. Still unsatisfied, he prepared to kiss further down. I quickly dodged, extending my leg and using all my strength to push him away. But the strength difference between men and women is real. He grabbed my leg and pulled me under him. His lips murmured against my ear. "So eager to be eaten?" My face flushed with anger, but I couldn't stop his hands. In desperation, I said loudly: "I'm on my period." He froze. His brows furrowed, and he clicked his tongue. "Then why did you call me over?" "Boring." My heart went cold. Did he really only come to me to satisfy his physical desires? I really was a fool. Seeing me silent, he chuckled. "Look at you, getting all mad. You little brat, who told you not to reply to my messages for two weeks?" "Was my acting like a scumbag convincing just now?" As he spoke, he poked my cheek with his finger. "Giving you a taste of your own medicine. That's for pissing me off." Hearing this, all my grievances, sadness, and anger mixed together. After suppressing it for so long, I finally cried out loud. He gently wiped away my tears. "Princess, why don't you just bite me? Don't cry. My heart hurts when you cry." I was amused by his exaggerated expressions and asked: "Who did you go to drop off just now?" He looked arrogant. "Guess." "I'm not guessing. Just tell me." "How about this? I'll tell you, and you let me game all night." My face darkened. "Tell me or don't." He seemed unhappy. "I came all this way to comfort you, not to look at your angry face." "I knew as soon as we made up, you'd restrict me from gaming with the boys again. Can't I have some personal space?" I was dizzy with anger and threw a pillow at him. "Then don't come to comfort me! I knew we wouldn't get two sentences in before you'd want to play games and disappear." "You say I piss you off? Ethan, I bet you wish we were in a cold war every day so no one would control you." He walked to the door and started putting on his shoes. "If I wanted a cold war every day, why wouldn't I just break up?" I laughed, my voice trembling with agitation. "Fine! You finally said it. You just want to break up." He opened the door, his face indifferent. "You're being irrational. Think whatever you want." Bang! The door closed. The room was silent. Only the sound of my sobbing remained. 4 We fell into a cold war again. The next day, I applied for a business trip to another city. The weather in the South was humid and muggy. As soon as I got off the plane, I felt the moisture in the air. In the past, I would have been impatient to share my mood with Ethan. But not now. For the whole month of the trip, I didn't want to say a word to him. On sleepless nights, I wondered: when did things change between us? In the beginning, we got together because of vanity. He was handsome. At a party, I lost a game and casually said I liked him. Why him? Because half the school liked him, so no one would believe it even if I said it. Everyone teased that I wasn't sincere and demanded a serious answer. Unexpectedly, Ethan, who had been nestled in the sofa playing board games all night, suddenly sat up, looked at me seriously, and asked: "What do you like about me?" My face turned red, my head hot. "I like that... I like... that everyone likes you." He lowered his head and smiled faintly. Maybe he was in a good mood that day, but he took out his phone and asked me: "You want to scan my QR code?" Seeing me stunned and silent, he asked, "Weren't you going to pursue me?" Later, we somehow ended up together. Honestly, I didn't take it seriously at first. Someone as good-looking and popular as him, who was rumored to change girlfriends frequently, probably wouldn't take relationships seriously. My roommate hinted that he wasn't someone I could handle and advised me not to overthink it. But privately, she stalked his socials, added Ethan on WeChat, and confessed to him. "Ethan, I like you." My roommate was a beauty. She and Ethan were both regulars on the campus "Confessions" page. Even if they hadn't interacted, they knew of each other. Someone asked Ethan why he got together with me. He said, "She's easy on the eyes." He didn't say "like," so everyone was convinced he was just with me for the novelty, a spur-of-the-moment thing. After all, getting together after meeting once? What feelings could there be? Love at first sight is fake. So my roommate felt confident in her confession. But Ethan just showed me his phone, typed a slow "?", blocked her, and warned me: "Stay away from her in the future." I nodded. "Oh." I felt he was different from the rumors. Although he didn't say he loved me, he was thoughtful and serious with me. Gradually, my emotions became tied to him. In my free time, I was either texting him or waiting for his reply. Sometimes, even while showering, I would check my phone to see if he had replied. But the better he treated me, the more I wanted, and the more insecure I felt. This life of being held hostage by emotions was exhausting. I hated being like this, but I was afraid that if we separated, I would never find anyone who treated me as well as Ethan. But now, amazingly, my mind wasn't on any of that. It was truly miraculous; even I was surprised. On the day of my return, as soon as I turned off airplane mode, I saw dozens of messages flashing. All from Ethan. The first few messages he sent had been unsent. An hour later, he sent a few more. "It's been a week... you haven't even posted a Story." "Are you on a business trip?" "Usually when you travel, you send me dozens of messages a day." ... I scrolled through the screen. He sent another message, but quickly unsent it. However, I caught it this time. "Thinking about it now, I don't think I've replied to your messages seriously for a long time." Surprisingly, he had learned self-reflection. In the past, when I sent him long paragraphs, he never felt he was the problem. Seeing this message, it would be a lie to say I wasn't moved. Undeniably, I get happy because of the other person's guilt and affection. I couldn't help but reply with a simple "Mm." Inside, conflicting emotions swirled, but unlike before, there was no resentment—mostly a sense of vengeful pleasure. Ethan sent me a barrage of messages. I clutched my racing heart, trying to calm down in the taxi, deciding to read them when I got home. As soon as I arrived downstairs, I saw the familiar Range Rover. He was leaning against the car door. Since it was early winter, he wore a navy blue coat over a camel turtleneck. His style was always good. Having not seen him for a month, he seemed to have lost a lot of weight, looking sharper and colder. As I got closer, I saw a cigarette between his fingers, the ember glowing in the twilight. Hearing me approach, he hurriedly stubbed out the cigarette and walked over. The faint smell of tobacco on him made me frown. In the past, we fought a lot about his smoking. Maybe because of my dad, I strongly resisted a partner who smoked. So when Ethan picked up the habit after graduation, I opposed it vehemently. I don't know where I got such intense desire for control over this matter. We argued countless times. Often, while we were cuddling and watching a movie, the atmosphere sweet, I would catch a whiff of smoke on his clothes and check his pockets. The mood would snap, followed by his complaints about not being trusted, or his anger from embarrassment at being caught. At first, he would agree verbally but smoke secretly. Later, he just laid his cards on the table. "Stop controlling me. As long as I don't smoke in front of you, isn't that enough?" I thought about finding a non-smoking partner, but the truth is, the love a boy gives during the honeymoon phase always gives girls the illusion that they can change him. Thinking back, I was such an idiot.
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