The next day, Ethan had invited me to a café so we could discuss our project.
I stared at my phone for a second before shoving it into my jeans pocket with a loud sigh.
"…Ethan is too much," I muttered to myself as I walked out. "It's the weekend. I wanted boba, peace, maybe a book… not homework stress."
From behind me, Mom called out softly, "Be careful, okay?"
"I will," I replied, already stepping outside.
The street was alive in that annoying weekend way—people laughing, couples walking hand in hand, everything looking like a romance advertisement I didn't sign up for.
I walked through the "I LOVE YOU PARK" and immediately regretted it.
A couple was feeding each other cake.
Another was hugging like they hadn't seen oxygen in years.
Even elderly couples were sitting on benches, holding hands like they were competing in some emotional championship.
I clicked my tongue. "Is today national couple's day or something?"
I kept walking, trying not to stare too long—because somehow it just made me feel weirdly… empty.
Then—
Bump.
Something hard hit my shoulder.
"Ah—sorry!" I stepped back quickly.
A drink spilled.
Right onto the person's hand.
I froze when I looked up.
"…Mr… Mr… Ronson?"
My voice came out shaky without permission.
He looked just as shocked—but then his expression softened.
"Oh… it's you," he said gently.
My heart dropped instantly.
I didn't even know what to do with my hands.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "I didn't see—"
"It's okay," he interrupted softly, shaking his hand a little from the spilled drink. "It's just a little mess."
But his eyes weren't calm.
There was something heavier behind them.
Something familiar.
He studied me for a second, then spoke quietly.
"…You've grown a lot, Yana."
I froze completely.
That name.
Yana.
No one had called me that in years.
My throat tightened instantly.
I stepped back slightly. "I… I should go."
But he didn't let me pass so easily with his words.
"So she didn't tell you," he said softly.
My chest tightened.
"…Tell me what?" I whispered.
His eyes lowered.
"About me," he said.
Silence hit between us.
Then he added, almost painfully:
"I tried to reach you many times."
My fingers curled.
"But she didn't want anything to do with me," he continued, voice tighter now. "Because of a mistake I made."
My breath caught.
"…What mistake?" I asked quietly.
He looked away.
For a moment, he didn't answer.
Then he finally said, low and heavy:
"My past… my choices. It cost me everything."
I swallowed hard.
"That doesn't answer anything," I said, voice shaking now. "Why did you leave? Why me and Jake?"
His jaw tightened slightly.
"You should ask your mother," he said softly.
My eyes burned immediately.
"No," I said, stepping forward. "Tell me now."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then shook his head slowly.
"…You'll understand one day," he said.
And just like that, he turned away.
I felt something break inside me.
"Wait—no!" I called after him, my voice cracking. "Don't just leave like that! I deserve to know!"
But he kept walking.
"…Please," I whispered weaker now. "Don't go."
But he was already gone.
Leaving me standing there in the middle of the park, surrounded by people who had no idea my world just tilted.
By the time I reached the café Ethan mentioned, my mind was a mess.
I pushed the door open and spotted him immediately.
Ethan was already seated, arms crossed, looking annoyingly calm.
He glanced up.
"You're late," he said flatly.
I dropped into the chair opposite him.
"…Yeah," I muttered.
He frowned slightly. "What happened?"
I didn't answer.
He leaned forward a little. "Hey. Don't just sit there looking like a broken Wi-Fi signal. Talk."
That made me let out a small, shaky breath.
"…I ran into Mr. Ronson," I said finally.
Ethan paused.
His expression changed just slightly.
"…And?"
I stared at the table.
"He said I should ask my mom about him," I whispered. "He said I was called Yana… that he tried to reach me…"
My voice cracked at the end.
Ethan watched me carefully.
Then he spoke, quieter than before.
"So now you're confused."
I nodded.
"I don't know who to believe anymore," I admitted. "I feel like everyone knows something except me."
Silence.
Then Ethan sighed.
"…And you came here crying about it?"
"I'm not crying!"
He pointed at my face. "You were."
I covered my eyes. "Okay, maybe a little."
He leaned back, rubbing his neck.
"…You're exhausting."
"I know."
Another pause.
Then he said, softer:
"What do you want to do?"
I hesitated.
"…I think I need to ask my mom," I said finally. "Even if it hurts."
Ethan nodded once.
"Then do it," he said simply.
I blinked. "That's it? No dramatic speech?"
He shrugged. "You already have enough drama in your life. I don't want to add to it."
That made me laugh a little through my stress.
"…You're so rude."
"And yet you're still here."
I rolled my eyes, but I felt slightly better.
For a moment, the weight didn't feel as suffocating.
Ethan tapped the table lightly.
"Now," he said, "about the project—"
I groaned instantly. "Oh my—seriously?"
"Yes."
"I just got emotionally destroyed."
"And you still have deadlines."
I stared at him.
"…You have no soul."
"I have time management."
A few minutes later, I sat there flipping through notes, still distracted.
Ethan noticed.
"…You're thinking about it again," he said.
I hesitated.
"…Yeah."
He sighed quietly.
"Then don't ignore it," he said. "Just face it properly."
I looked at him.
For once, he wasn't joking.
Just… honest.
And somehow, that made it easier to breathe.
I nodded slowly.
"…Okay," I whispered. "I'll do it."
Ethan leaned back again.
"Good," he said. "Now focus. I don't want you failing this project and blaming me."
I gave a small smile.
"…Too late for that."
He rolled his eyes.
But he didn't argue.
And for now—
That was enough.