At that moment, Su Yuejin stared blankly at the extra yuan for nearly ten seconds. Suddenly, she flung her phone—a brand-new iPhone 11 Max Pro—against the wall. It wasn’t built to take that kind of hit. It didn’t shatter, but it was clearly broken.

She finally got it. He had zero intention of taking responsibility—that’s why he transferred money instead of adding her. Su Yuejin gazed dazedly at her reflection. Seconds ago, her face had glowed with joy, a sweet smile blooming as if blessed by affection. Now, her eyes were red-rimmed, her expression haggard.

Thankfully, getting out of bed hadn’t hurt much—just a lingering unease. She slept until afternoon. Showing up late didn’t matter; teachers wouldn’t care.

That afternoon, arms crossed, she waited quietly in the corridor. Since he knew her, he had to be a classmate. She waited until the hallway emptied—then saw him. Slowly descending the stairs, calm and composed.

He still looked neat and gentle, though his expression was distant. A flicker of surprise crossed his face when he saw her.

Later, in the back garden, they argued. As she turned to leave, tears welling, she fought to hold them back. “One last chance,” she whispered, voice trembling. “Will you add me?”

…*If you do, I might forgive you.*

He refused. Instead, he left her with words she couldn’t refute:

“From the very start, you never asked my name. Do you even know it now?”

The next afternoon, under the blazing sun, she walked home feeling utterly lost, as if the world had slipped away.

…………………………

Lin An ate fast. Finished the pork chop, half the rice. Hated wasting food, but couldn’t force more down. Dumped the rest. Stepped out of the cafeteria—rain still pouring.

Unseen by him, Su Yuejin, after five seconds of hesitation in a corner, set down her tray. Picked up her umbrella. Her pride screamed *don’t*. Yet… her feet moved anyway. At the door, she caught sight of his figure sprinting through the downpour.

So stupid.

Stupid like a defeated dog.

…………………………

Lin An reached class with slightly damp hair, jacket speckled with rain. Wiped it off, slumped onto his desk—suddenly drowsy.

Su Yuejin, transparent umbrella in hand, passed Grade 11, Class 3 on her way back. Glanced in. Saw his sleeping profile. Startled, she noticed the exercise book on his desk.

*Lin An.*

Her breath hitched. A strange warmth surged in her chest. She hurried to her own classroom—back row, window seat, alone.

But didn’t sit. Went to the front. Sat beside Xu Qinghuan—shorter, cute, curvy.

“Qinghuan.”

Xu Qinghuan set down her pen, turned, smiled. A hollow smile. Lin An would’ve seen through it. Su Yuejin didn’t.

“What’s up, Yuejin?”

“You know lots of people in our grade. I need to ask about someone.”

Xu Qinghuan’s eyes lit with gossip-hungry curiosity. “A boy?”

“Mm.”

“No way… *You’re* asking about a boy? Who?” Her smile held a cold edge.

“Class 3. Lin An.” Su Yuejin’s voice wavered slightly.

Xu Qinghuan feigned shock. “*Him?*”

…*Of course she’d ask. But seriously? Does she like my brother?*

Xu Qinghuan chose her words carefully. “If it’s him… I’ve got stories. We were middle school classmates.”

“Tell me.” Su Yuejin’s urgency barely contained.

“Don’t be fooled by his clean looks. No guy friends. But girlfriends? Changed every few weeks.”

“Even eighth graders. Rumor says he tangled with delinquent girls outside school too.”

“Just gossip, okay? Don’t spread it. They say he… slept with most. We were *kids*. Might not be true.”

“Point is—he’s no good. Why ask?”

Su Yuejin froze. The last thread of hope snapped.

“A friend asked,” she said coldly. Her voice cracked—unnoticed by her.

“I see.”

“Thanks, Qinghuan.”

“No problem.”

Su Yuejin returned to her seat, buried her face. Soft, muffled sobs escaped—too faint for anyone to hear.

…………………………

Lin An sneezed. *Cold? Or someone badmouthing me?*

He didn’t know. Finished homework early, read quietly. Listening wasn’t needed—he’d mastered the next three months’ material.

But today: cleaning duty.

He hated tedious chores. At 4:30 PM, students left one by one. He stayed reading. Only the class monitor remained, packing slowly.

“I know what you’ll say,” Lin An said. “Think it through first. Rain’s heavy—your ride’s waiting. Be safe.”

“Let my mom drive you,” she said, voice clear.

“No. I’ve got things.”

“Going to see the girl who gave you that hickey?” Her voice trembled.

Lin An’s mask slipped. Eyes narrowed, a faint smirk. “Yeah. See you.”

She hurried off. Lin An cleaned: chairs stacked, board wiped, floor swept and mopped. Thirty minutes. Dizziness washed over him. *Fever?*

Locked the door. Rain unchanged. No umbrella. Headed downstairs.

At the stairwell, someone sat on the steps—slender fingers holding a cigarette, smoke curling.

He passed. A tug on his sleeve.

He turned. Straight into Su Yuejin’s tear-streaked, red-rimmed eyes.

…………………………

“What’s wrong?” Lin An stopped, glancing at her hand clutching his sleeve.

“That night… was it all intentional?” Her voice shook. She needed the truth.

Lin An paused. Admitting it would end things. But he wouldn’t own blame that wasn’t his. Didn’t matter anyway.

“What ‘intentional’? You hugged me. You kissed me—I pushed you away. You said *you’d* send me home.”

“If you call it playing hard to get… fine. But explanations won’t change what happened.”

“If you think it’s my fault—I’m sorry, Su Yuejin. I shouldn’t have had those thoughts.”

“Enough?” His eyes held quiet confusion.

“Sit.” She yanked his sleeve. He sat beside her. Caught her perfume—different today. Nice.

“Then why the extra yuan?!”

“My WeChat had 261. Sent you 161. Left me with a clean 100. Numbers like 101? Drive OCD people nuts.” He sounded utterly sincere.

…*Couldn’t say “I wanted to mess with you.” Getting slapped hurts.*

…*Really hurts.*