I didn't expect the jumbotron camera to pan to me. When my face was projected onto the massive screen, Liam's voice noticeably faltered mid-song. After the concert ended, my phone buzzed with a text message: [What's wrong? Regretting it now?] I stared at that familiar number, frozen for a long time. In the end, I didn't reply, simply slipping the phone back into my coat pocket. The notification chimed twice more in rapid succession: [Didn't you say you'd never settle for someone like me in a million years? Maya Vance?] [It's too late for regrets anyway. Now I'm the one who looks down on vain gold-diggers like you.] ... I didn't reply. A long time later, my phone pinged again. It was from Liam: [Stop peeping into my life acting like a fan.] I hadn't booked a hotel. From the stadium where Liam performed back to my apartment, it took nine hours and thirteen minutes, transferring through various trains and buses. So, nine hours and thirteen minutes later, Liam received a text from me: [Liam, I wish you a bright and beautiful future.] After the text sent successfully, I mixed a handful of brightly colored pills into a slice of cake and swallowed it all down. ... My suicide attempt failed. The neighbor from the next apartment over came to borrow some salt, found me, and rushed me to the ER. I hadn't set up an emergency contact, and my phone book didn't even have a single entry for "Mom" or "Dad." Desperate, the hospital staff called the last person I had contacted: Liam. When I woke up, Liam was sitting beside me. He was still wearing his concert outfit, the stage makeup only half-wiped off. His glamorous appearance starkly contrasted with the sterile, glaringly white hospital room. Seeing my eyes open, Liam spoke: "You're awake?" I asked, "Why are you here?" Liam crossed his arms, wearing an expression that said he had already figured it all out: "Drop the act, Maya. Didn't you tell the hospital to call me?" I lowered my eyes: "I didn't." He uncrossed his legs and leaned in closer, saying: "You clearly have so much family, so many relatives and friends. Tell me, Maya, why did the hospital just happen to call the ex-boyfriend you haven't spoken to in three years? "Faking a suicide is just pathetic. Even if you saw my success and regretted your choices, you could have at least picked a classier way to try and win me back. Maybe then I'd have given you a second glance. But pulling a stunt like this only makes me despise you more." Liam's words hammered against my eardrums one by one. My chest tightened painfully, yet I couldn't utter a single word in my defense. He stood up from the chair, looking down at me. My face was pale from the stomach pumping. His thin lips parted again: "Next time you want to kill yourself, pick a more efficient method. Taking sleeping pills is just a cry for attention. It won't kill you." With that, Liam turned and left, seemingly unwilling to spare me another glance. Half my face buried in the pillow, I finally managed to defend myself with one sentence: "It wasn't sleeping pills." What kind of pills were they? I didn't even know myself. I just knew sleeping pills were hard to get a prescription for, and even if I did, the dosage wouldn't be nearly enough to be lethal. So I just picked the cheapest over-the-counter meds I could find and bought a random assortment. On the way home from the concert, for the first time in over twenty years, I bought myself a beautiful, delicate little cake. The pills were too bitter; I needed something sweet to wash them down. But it was late when I got back, and the bakery only had one chocolate cake left... and it wasn't sweet at all. My not-so-long life was coming to an end, and I didn't even get to taste a little sweetness at the very finish line. 02 Liam was photographed at the hospital last night, and rumors started swirling that I was his secret girlfriend. Because it was a hospital, and someone leaked that I had my stomach pumped, plus others claiming they saw me at the concert, the speculation ran wild. Add in the haters spreading fake news, and the rumors quickly escalated into absurdity. Things like, "Liam sleeps with fans and abandons them, driving the girl to suicide out of despair." Overnight, Liam plummeted from "America's Boyfriend" to a universally despised scumbag. I looked at the trending topics that refused to drop, pulled out my phone, and called Liam. It rang for a long time before he finally answered: "What do you want?" Liam's voice was hoarse. He had probably been up all night dealing with the fallout. I gripped the phone tightly: "This is my fault. However you need me to clarify things, I will cooperate." Liam let out a short, cynical laugh on the other end, ignoring my statement and instead asking: "Maya, did you only call because you feel guilty for causing me trouble?" What else? What other reason could there be? Because I was worried about him? Because I was scared? Scared that after three years, his career and his future would be dragged down by me yet again? I couldn't say it. After a long silence, Liam finally sighed: "Clarifying this isn't as simple as you think. Wait for my PR team's instructions. But Maya, you said it yourself—this whole mess started because of you. So no matter what happens, you have to cooperate, even if it means..." "Means what?" I asked. Liam mumbled for a bit before saying: "Never mind, it's nothing. Keep your phone on. Send me a message every half hour. Otherwise, if you run off and refuse to take responsibility, who am I supposed to complain to?" I wouldn't run away. And I certainly wouldn't refuse to take responsibility. I set an alarm and sent Liam a message every thirty minutes. Sometimes it was a random photo I took, sometimes a punctuation mark, sometimes an emoji. But mostly, I asked him how the situation was going. Liam never replied to any of them. Only when I repeatedly asked him about the situation did he finally send a warning: "Ask that question one more time, and we switch to FaceTime every half hour." I had no choice but to tirelessly try and find topics to text him about. Occasionally, if I hit on something that interested him, Liam would mercifully reply with a few words. I knew Liam wasn't doing this because he was afraid I'd run away. He was afraid I'd try to kill myself again. Since he couldn't physically be there to watch me, he resorted to this clumsy method to keep an eye on me. But... I closed my eyes. The auditory hallucinations were getting worse. The voices in my ears were a chaotic jumble, and my head felt like it was going to split open. But Liam, I tried so hard to eat something, but I kept throwing it all back up. I tried everything, but I just couldn't get a good night's sleep. I was constantly plagued by panic, terror, and an overwhelming sadness... Liam, it seemed that all my longing, my guilt, my hopes for you—they were no longer enough to keep me alive. It was too agonizing. Truly, every minute, every second, was unbearable agony. Even eating candy didn't help. 03 Liam's manager came to see me. Compared to three years ago, he had put on some weight, a slight beer belly now noticeable. I heard he got married and had a cute little daughter. "Maya," David set his bulging briefcase down and casually took a seat across from me. "How do you always manage to cause such monumental disasters?" I slid a glass of water toward him and offered a self-deprecating smile: "I guess it's a special talent of mine." David ignored my joke and bluntly dumped stacks of cash from his bag onto the table: "This situation is complicated. Given that you attended Liam's concert right before your suicide attempt, and the hospital called him directly when you were brought in, simply stating you two are just friends won't cut it. The fans and the public won't buy it. They'll just turn on Liam even harder, accusing him of dodging responsibility, which will only make things worse." I glanced at the piles of cash on the table and asked: "So, how do you plan to resolve this?" David leaned forward, interlacing his fingers: "People have already dug up the fact that you two used to date. So, to protect Liam's reputation, our only option is to say that after an amicable breakup, you couldn't let go and attempted suicide to threaten him. Liam only showed up at the hospital to save your life." David paused, then continued: "But don't worry, I'm a businessman. I understand the concept of a fair trade. So tell me how much you want, name your price. If this isn't enough, I can go back and get more. It's just... Maya..." He suddenly used my first name: "You need to understand, three years ago, you almost ruined Liam once. He endured a lot to get to where he is today. He absolutely cannot be ruined by you a second time." David left, leaving behind a massive pile of money that would last me a very long time. I agreed to cooperate with the clarification. I told everyone that I was the one who couldn't let go, that I was the one who used suicide as a threat. Even though I was immediately bombarded with hate from his fans the moment the statement went live, I didn't feel wronged. After all, this incident was entirely my fault, and Liam was innocently dragged into it. Besides, I was also helping myself. If I attempted suicide again right after clarifying, and I survived, fine. But if I died, people would undoubtedly blame Liam again. So I couldn't die just yet. Even if it was just for him, I had to hold on a little longer. I looked at the photo of Liam and me hidden in the back of my phone case and smiled. I finally found a reason to keep living. 04 Liam and I, we had an amicable breakup back then. At least, that's what I thought. But Liam always insisted that I dumped him. I hated the word "dumped." It made it sound like there was a winner and a loser in a breakup. At the time, I just felt we weren't a good match, so I told him: "Liam, we need to stop seeing each other." What did Liam say back then? He said over the phone: "Maya, if you don't want to hear about a specific topic, you say 'stop talking about this,' not 'stop seeing each other.' You're a journalism major, how is your English worse than mine?" I fell silent for a moment. "Liam, what I mean is, we need to break up!" "You want to get married? Sure, but I'm not of legal age yet..." "Liam, I know you understand what I'm saying. Let's break up. Don't contact me anymore." Everyone thought I was being dramatic. Giving up a perfect boyfriend like Liam and insisting on a breakup. What, did I think I was in a soap opera? Playing the whole "forced separation, he chases, she runs" trope? When we were together, Liam was already making a name for himself in the entertainment industry. With his incredible singing and dancing skills, coupled with his striking looks, his popularity was skyrocketing. His future looked incredibly bright, but it was almost dragged down by me. After my dad had an accident and fell into a coma, my mom didn't want to deal with it. She dumped the entire mess on me and ran off to fool around. I hadn't seen her in ages until one day, a man showed up at our door claiming my mom stole his money and demanding we pay it back. I didn't know if he was telling the truth. Besides, the amount he mentioned was massive. Between going to school and taking care of my dad, the money I made from part-time jobs barely covered our basic living expenses. Even if it was true, there was no way I could pay it back. One time, he showed up drunk to harass me again, and Liam saw him. To protect me, Liam got into a physical fight with him. Liam's parents were wealthy business owners, well-known in the area. Plus, Liam himself was frequently on TV and social media. The man recognized Liam and decided to target him instead. So, by the next morning, the internet was flooded with news: Liam's girlfriend leverages his status to avoid paying debts; Liam aids and abets her by getting into street brawls. During a crucial turning point in Liam's career, I had brought him trouble—a massive problem. Liam's team had to burn through a ton of money just to suppress the story's traction. After the incident blew up, Liam's manager, David, came to me. He told me that my mom didn't owe that man any money at all. The man was maliciously extorting us. However, they had no concrete proof. To clear everything up, my mom would have to publicly state that she had no financial ties to him. "Furthermore," David looked up at me: "There's something I need you to understand. If you and Liam are not a couple, then in this scenario, he's simply an innocent bystander who saw someone being bullied and stepped in to help." How could I not understand what David was implying? Liam had a brilliant future ahead of him, and that future was almost destroyed by my hands. So that night, I told Liam: "Liam, we need to stop seeing each other." After the breakup, I went to find my mom, begging her to step forward and clear the air. Instead, she cursed me out, yelling at me for finding a rich boyfriend and not telling her, while she had to suffer in poverty every day. That's when I realized she knew everything that man was doing. She was even the one who suggested exposing the story to manipulate public opinion, all to extort a lump sum of cash from Liam. "You want me to clear his name? Fine. Aren't you two together? Go tell that Hayes kid to cough up a million dollars. Five hundred thousand for the statement, and another five hundred thousand for your dowry. Not a penny less." That night, after being kicked out by my mom, I walked home alone. The late autumn night was freezing, so cold my entire body shivered. A million dollars? After I almost destroyed Liam's career, was I supposed to shamelessly ask him for a million dollars? 05 That very night, Liam booked a red-eye flight back. When he arrived, I was at the hospital, sitting by my dad's bed. Liam found me, looking miserably at my dad, who had been in a vegetative state for three years. Then he asked the most melodramatic question ever: "Did my mom demand this? Is this the classic 'here's half a million, leave my son' scenario?" I sweatdropped. I couldn't blame him; he'd been acting in too many soap operas. ... "Liam, you see it yourself. We're not from the same world. Dating someone like you is just too exhausting for me. "I always have to walk on eggshells, terrified someone will find out about us, terrified it'll ruin your image. I can't even contact you most of the time because it might interfere with your work. "I have to work myself to the bone just to try and close the gap between us, just so people won't think I'm a gold-digger who doesn't deserve you. "It's too exhausting, Liam. Every single day is exhausting. "I don't want this life. I just want an ordinary, quiet life. Do you understand? You can't give up your career, your dreams. And even if you did, you're still a rich kid from a completely different background. The quiet life I want is something you can never give me." In that hospital room, Liam kept his head down and remained silent for a long time. I gripped the corner of my dad's blanket, biting my lip so hard I almost bled, just to stop the tears from falling. I don't know how much time passed before Liam finally spoke: "But Maya, you're not in this relationship alone. A breakup involves two people, and I don't agree. "The things you mentioned... I might need some time to give you a proper answer, but we have to try and find a way to fix this together, don't we? You can't... you can't just run into a problem and immediately decide to give up on me. That's not fair to me." I don't clearly remember what happened next. My memory has been failing me lately, and everything in my head feels foggy and chaotic. I probably said a lot of awful things. I remember saying: "Liam, other than relying on the privileges your parents handed you, what else can you do? People like me at the bottom scrape by just to survive, but you were born with things we could work our whole lives and never achieve." I told him: "Liam, for the rest of my life, the kind of people I despise the most are rich kids like you, hiding behind your parents like parasites." In my memory, the only tangible, real thing left of Liam is the sight of his back as he slammed the door and walked away. For three years after that day, I never saw him again. ... After Liam left, I issued a public statement clarifying that Liam and I were just friends. Regardless of whether I owed anyone money, it had nothing to do with him. He was merely an innocent bystander who stepped in to help. Once the statement was out, the scandal finally died down. But my mom and that man, failing to get the money they wanted, started harassing me constantly. I had no energy to deal with them, but I also had no way out—I couldn't just abandon my bedridden father. Those three years were hell. Life was a grueling struggle. Just surviving, trying to find a moment of happiness, or even just eating a decent meal or getting a good night's sleep became an impossible task for me. I knew I was sick. I felt it deep down, but I never had the courage to go to the hospital. I avoided doctors because my dad needed me. I couldn't afford to collapse. Half a month ago, after clinging to life for four years, my dad slowly stopped breathing. After arranging his funeral, I grabbed my meager belongings and finally left that city. I went to see a doctor. They said my condition was already severe and required medication. If that didn't work, I might need Electroconvulsive Therapy (ECT). I didn't take the meds, nor did I undergo any therapy. I had completely lost the will to live. I just wanted to see Liam one last time before the end. I took out all the money I had saved from scrimping and scraping over the years and bought a ticket to Liam's concert from a scalper. I also bought a really nice, expensive outfit and did my makeup. I just wanted to look at him from afar. I never expected the camera to find me. And so, after three years, I brought trouble to Liam once again. 06 After I posted the clarification, the internet erupted with hate directed at me, but I didn't care. I had quit my job a long time ago. I locked myself in my apartment, surviving on delivery food and sleeping pills day after day. But honestly, I couldn't keep much down. I had no appetite. Even if I forced myself to swallow some soup, I'd throw it right back up. Still, I stubbornly set three alarms every day to force myself to eat on schedule. I needed to stay alive a little longer, otherwise, the mob's fury would pivot back to Liam. Let's say a hundred days. I gave myself a deadline. Liam, whatever I owe you, I'll pay it back with these hundred days of my life. ... When Liam showed up at my door, fully disguised in a mask and cap, I was sitting alone on the sofa, staring into space. The apartment was terrifyingly quiet. The rhythmic knocking on the door felt like a lifeline, snapping me out of my crushing loneliness. "Maya, why did you say those things online?" I smiled at him, reached over, and pulled open all the drawers in the coffee table. Inside were neat stacks of cash. The scene looked like a shady underworld transaction, as if the command to "move in" was about to crackle through a hidden earpiece. Liam stared at me, bewildered. "What is the meaning of this?" I shrugged: "Exactly what it looks like. Taking someone's money to solve their problems, that's all." Liam's face darkened. He didn't speak for a long time. Then, inappropriately, my phone alarm went off—it was time for dinner. I silenced the alarm and looked up at his face, now free of the mask. A face without a trace of makeup, yet still breathtakingly handsome. I suddenly spoke: "Liam, have you eaten? If not, let's eat together." Liam abruptly stood up, anger blazing across his face: "Maya, what... what do you take me for?" I didn't look up, pursing my lips in thought for a moment: "For... a dinner buddy." Liam ultimately didn't leave. He stayed, his expression cold. All his anger hit me like punches landing on cotton. I didn't fight back; he said his piece, and I said mine. Liam paced the living room in furious circles until he got tired, then started nitpicking: "Why did you put so many chili peppers in this?! Did you do it on purpose?! Don't you know I need to protect my vocal cords?" Liam yelled from the living room, and I answered from the kitchen: "I only put one tiny tip in, just for flavor." "You put way too much water in the rice, are you making porridge?" "Is it too much? Doesn't look like it. Whatever, think of it like a blind box. It adds to the suspense." "Why is this plate so ugly?" "It came free with some yogurt." "Why are you peeling the apple so thick?" "Bought them on sale." "Why is there a chip on the rim of this bowl?" "It fell on the floor and only a tiny piece chipped off. I named it 'Survivor.'" "The cartoon on your apron is so childish. What kind of taste is that?" "That's a chibi caricature of a certain artist named Liam." "..." Liam stopped talking. The soup in the pot bubbled and gurgled, seemingly echoing the rhythm of someone's heartbeat. A long time later, Liam's voice drifted in softly: "Maya... why did you try to commit suicide?" I lifted my head from the cloud of steam and met Liam's eyes, which could never quite hide his emotions: "Liam, if you buy me a cake, I'll tell you. But it has to be sweet." However, that night, we didn't end up eating dinner together, and I didn't get to eat the cake Liam bought.
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