After that, more than a month passed quickly, and soon it was Lunar New Year of 2022—a time that should have been joyful and warm, yet inside me was a feeling I couldn't quite name. I spent New Year's Eve with that person. Nothing special, everything went on normally, just as I had chosen. But my heart wasn't fully there.
As the moment of the new year passed, my phone vibrated. It was him. Not a call, but a message with a red envelope. The amount was 530,000. I stared at that number for a long time. I didn't understand why it was that number—not round, not carrying any obvious symbolic meaning like the usual lucky amounts. I kept thinking but couldn't figure it out. Still, I didn't ask. Maybe for him, everything he did had its own reason—he just didn't say it.
I also sent him a red envelope in return. Not as much as what he gave me, just a small amount. Not to balance things, but so I wouldn't feel like I was only receiving without giving anything back. Even so, the feeling inside me didn't get lighter.
Ever since I told him I was getting to know someone else, he seemed to reach out less. Not disappearing, not cutting off, but naturally reducing the contact. It didn't make me uncomfortable, didn't make me overthink, yet the connection between us was still clearly there. He still texted, still checked on me—not often, but enough for me to know he was still there.
On special occasions, like my birthday or holidays, he still sent gifts. And those gifts were never simple. They weren't careless or casual—they were valuable, carefully chosen. Every time I received them, I didn't feel completely happy. Instead, there was a strange feeling, as if I owed him something—not materially, but something deeper.
I had told him many times,
"You shouldn't send me things like this."
I said it clearly—not because I didn't appreciate it, but because I didn't want that feeling to continue.
He asked,
"Does this affect your life with him in any way?"
I shook my head, even though he couldn't see it.
"No."
I answered.
"He's a good person."
I was telling the truth, but for some reason, saying it made me uncomfortable.
"But I don't want you to keep caring about me like this."
I didn't want him to stop completely, but I also didn't want him to continue like that. Even I didn't understand what I wanted.
In our messages, I kept repeating the same thing,
"You should get to know someone."
I said it like a habit.
"Don't stay like this… it'll be lonely."
I thought it was reasonable, the right thing to say. But every time I said it, there was an unclear feeling inside me—as if I was pushing him away, yet not fully wanting to.
He replied simply,
"Being with someone you don't have feelings for…"
"That's what loneliness really is."
I fell silent. That sentence seemed to touch something very deep inside me.
"I would never stay beside someone I don't have feelings for."
"If one day I do choose someone…"
"I will give them everything."
"Don't worry."
Those words should have made me feel lighter. But for some reason, they made me feel heavier instead. Not sadness exactly, but a suspended feeling—unclear, as if something was hanging between two sides without falling to either.
I didn't say anything more, just shifted the conversation to something else, as if everything was normal, as if there was nothing that needed to be resolved.
But when I was alone, I still thought about him. Not because I wanted to, but because everything he did, everything he said, was still there—not fading, not disappearing. I was just trying not to look at it.
I continued saying the same familiar things to him,
"You're an only child… and you're already over thirty."
"You can't keep living like this."
I didn't know if I was advising him or convincing myself.
He laughed, didn't argue, didn't explain, just said lightly,
"Alright."
I could hear the smile in his voice.
"Don't worry about me all the time like that."
"You sound like a little old lady."
I laughed, but the feeling inside me didn't change. It was still unclear, still unresolved, still without an ending.
At that time, between us, there were no more direct conversations about feelings, no more clear moments like before. But it wasn't distance either. It was a suspended state—neither of us stepping forward, neither of us walking away, just standing there, keeping a distance that both of us understood.
And maybe… it was exactly that uncertainty that made it impossible for me to leave, yet also impossible for me to step in.
Message of Chapter 43
Some relationships are unclear not because there is no love, but because both people lack the courage to make it clear.