It was our 99th wedding, and Sebastian was late again. As I calmed our guests, his mentee Nina texted: "Vivi, don’t wait—he’s not coming. Do you know why he proposed? I got a boyfriend; he was mad, and you were just his tantrum. He regretted it right away, hence the excuses and 98 standups. Isn’t it time to quit?" I said nothing—no screams, no breakdown. I just watched Sebastian rush in, still in his white lab coat. "Data fluctuation," he said flatly. "I’m late." I’d heard that too many times. He didn’t apologize, just grabbed candy from the favor bowls. "All good now—I’m leaving. Nina’s waiting for our tutoring session." He never missed a session with her. I glanced at my parents, hunched over apologizing to guests. Exhaustion and disgust flooded me. Then it hit me: the groom didn’t have to be him. 1 Sebastian didn't care about anything that wasn't physics. Sometimes, he'd even mistake me for someone else. I used to think he was just lost in his own world, that he was like that with everyone. But just now, the candies he'd grabbed were all the strawberry ones. The ones with the pretty wrappers. Nina's favorite. Meanwhile, he had never once remembered I was allergic to flowers. A dense rash of red bumps was already blooming across my arms. I stared blankly at the yellow roses Sebastian had brought as a half-hearted apology. I remembered all the times I had lost my temper over his thoughtlessness. He never explained, just watched me, his brow furrowing into those fine, handsome lines, waiting for my storm to pass. Then he'd act as if nothing had happened. "Vivian!" My mother's gasp cut through my thoughts as she saw the angry red welts covering my skin. She and Dad rushed me to the hospital. As my consciousness began to fade, the sound of my mother's suppressed sobs echoed in my ears. "It's all your fault, John! You were the one who insisted on introducing Sebastian to her!" My dad had been Sebastian's professor in college. He’d seen Sebastian's brilliance and had been determined to set us up. I, on the other hand, had been captivated by Sebastian’s cool, distant aura and had chased him relentlessly. He had sighed back then, a single plume of frosted air in the winter chill. "Vivian, I don't do relationships." I’d just blinked, my voice bright and fearless. "That's okay. I can teach you!" He had smiled then. Only now did I understand the exhaustion and annoyance laced into that smile. My father couldn't reach Sebastian. Seething, he called the university lab, but they couldn't find him either. "Sebastian isn't here. I think he had something important to take care of." "What could possibly be more important than his fiancée being hospitalized?" my dad roared into the phone. Just as he finished, I looked up and saw him. Sebastian. He was carefully supporting a pale-faced girl. The same Sebastian who always maintained a physical distance from everyone was pressed right up against her, their bodies leaving no space in between. The man of few words was murmuring an endless stream of instructions. "Nina, the doctor said you have to take the fever medication every day, you can't..." His voice trailed off as his eyes met mine across the bustling emergency room. So, a minor fever for Nina was a crisis of epic proportions. An event so monumental it could pull him away from his precious experiments. I remembered the time I was harassed by a group of thugs on a dark street. I’d frantically called him, my voice shaking with terror. His voice had been chillingly calm, like the clinking of glass beakers. "Calling me won't help, Vivian. The person you need to call right now is the police." In his eyes, I was no different from any other nameless face in a crowd. "What's wrong with you?" he asked, walking over, his voice laced with a sliver of detached concern. Nina was still clinging to his arm, looking frail and guilty. "Vivi, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be such a bother on your wedding day." A smile stretched across my lips. "Oh, don't worry. You can bother him all you want from now on." "Because I'm done marrying him." 2 For the first time, the stern line of Sebastian's mouth slackened. My parents, on the other hand, looked at me with a mixture of shock and relief. They knew I was stubborn as a mule; once I made up my mind, I never backed down. And once I let something go, I never looked back. Sebastian, clearly, hadn't grasped that yet. He pinched the bridge of his nose, a weary gesture, assuming I was just throwing another jealous tantrum. "Vivian, you'd better mean that." He said it because every time I'd broken up with him before, I'd come crawling back within two days, begging to get back together. He thought this time would be no different. But when he finally returned home after another long, complicated experiment, he was greeted not by a warm meal and a waiting fiancée, but by a cold, silent apartment. Sebastian's exhausted mind ground to a halt. He frowned, puzzled for a moment, then pulled out his phone to call me. "Vivian, I'm hungry." I froze on the other end of the line, stunned that this was the first thing he would say to me after days of cold silence. Then, a bitter, self-mocking laugh escaped my lips. Sebastian was hailed as a genius in the world of physics. He could solve the most complex equations, conduct the most intricate experiments. But when it came to basic life skills, he was a complete zero. I was young then, my world revolving entirely around him. I willingly moved in, became his caretaker, his maid, his chef, believing my warmth could eventually melt his icy exterior. But just moments ago, Nina had unblocked me from her private social media stories. [Day 100 of bringing lunch for my mentor. Today is eggplant with ground pork!] The photo showed a vibrant, delicious-looking meal. My eyes immediately locked onto the long, elegant hand in the frame. Sebastian's hand. [He said it was amazing! He ate every last bite!] Reading that, my eyes stung with unshed tears. Because the one food Sebastian absolutely despised was eggplant. My thumb pressed hard against the screen, zooming in on the photo. And there, in the corner of the shot, I saw it. The meticulously prepared, nutritionally balanced lunch I'd woken up at 6 AM to make for him... sitting in the trash. I swallowed the lump in my throat, my voice trembling with suppressed rage. "Sebastian," I said, each word a carefully chipped piece of ice, "do you just think I'm that easy to walk all over?" He heard the sob in my voice, a sharp intake of breath on his end. He started to say something, but I had already hung up and blocked his number. He was a smart man. I figured he would understand that for an adult, refusing to communicate meant the end. But it seemed Sebastian was missing that particular circuit. Later that night, in the pouring rain, he stood on my doorstep, holding a cake box. "Nina said girls like cake, so I went all the way to..." "Enough!" I shoved the box out of his hands, sending the cake tumbling to the wet ground. The dam of my emotions finally broke. "You're not Nina's goddamn dog, Sebastian! You don't need her permission to breathe!" "I am so done! Just go be with Nina! I sincerely, truly hope you two are happy together!" I slammed the door in his face. Through the peephole, I saw him standing there, raindrops clinging to his long eyelashes, a stunned expression on his face. It was only then, I think, that it began to dawn on him that this time was different. Before he could process it, his phone rang. His advisor, telling him there was a problem with the experimental data. Sebastian had no choice but to leave. We didn't speak for two weeks. From what little my dad told me, he was preparing to compete for the Buckley Prize, one of the highest honors in physics. Then, one night, he called me from an unknown number. "Vivian, what are you doing?" Hearing his weary, raspy voice, I paused for a beat before answering truthfully. "I'm trying on a wedding dress."
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