Ficorpio
Chapter 1
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First Edition
My rival in love posted a tweet with two photos attached. The first one is a screenshot of a text conversation—it’s the message I sent Ryan begging him to come back to me after we broke up. Every word, every punctuation mark felt like it was trampling my dignity and self-respect. The second photo showed Ryan lowering his head to peel shrimp for her.
Her caption read: “Hahaha, this is also the guy another girl is pining for day and night.” Followed by a proud emoji.
My world fell apart in that moment.
1
I suddenly realized I no longer loved him.
It was a strange feeling—this lover who had been by my side day and night, yet when I looked at him now, my heart remained utterly still. All the little gestures that once made my ears burn and my heart flutter no longer moved me in the slightest. Looking at him felt no different from looking at any random passerby on the street.
But I didn’t let it show. I continued to take care of him meticulously: breakfast laid out on the dining table by 7 a.m., a glass of water on the nightstand, toothpaste already squeezed onto his toothbrush in the bathroom. Before leaving, I used the remote to adjust the air conditioning, which was set a bit too low. Standing at the bedroom door, I said, “I’m heading to work now.”
His face was buried in the snow-white sheets as he mumbled a groggy “Mm.” I turned and left without another word.
Recently, I took on a new project, and the entire team was swamped. By the time I finished handling the preliminary details of the proposal, it was almost 1 a.m.
It suddenly struck me—I hadn’t thought of him once all day.
This wasn’t normal. I remember when I first graduated, working under a senior who had already been out of college for years to help organize events. It was just as chaotic back then, often keeping me busy late into the night. Still, I would text him every hour to let him know where I was. If it was past 6 p.m., I’d give him a rough estimate of how late I’d be working and ask him not to wait up for me. Even later, when we had been together for a while, I would still keep him updated if I was working late.
But today, I hadn’t thought of him at all. When I opened my phone, I saw he had sent me a message around 7 p.m., asking when I’d be back. I hadn’t noticed it.
I never took more than three minutes to reply to his messages.
I stared at my phone, hesitating, but in the end, I didn’t reply.
I didn’t see him until I stepped out of the office building—leaning casually against his G-Class SUV, his tall frame silhouetted against the night, head down as he checked his phone. The glowing tip of a cigarette flickered in the dark. He’d started smoking again.
I really couldn’t stand it when he smoked. His father had passed away from liver cancer. When we first started dating, I always tried to keep him from smoking. Every time, he’d just raise an eyebrow, give me a faint, mocking smile, and light up anyway.
I couldn’t control him. I knew that.
In love, the one who loves more is always at a disadvantage. This relationship was unbalanced from the start. I had placed myself too low, so I couldn’t hold his attention.
I walked slowly toward him. He seemed lost in thought, so absorbed that he didn’t notice me until I stood right in front of him. I asked softly, “What are you doing here?”
He snapped back to reality, looking a bit flustered as he took the cigarette from his lips and crushed it under his foot. Only then did I notice the ground was littered with cigarette butts—I had no idea how many he’d smoked. Out of habit, I almost told him to cut back, but I pursed my lips and stayed quiet.
I realized with despair that I no longer wanted to control him.
He looked at me for a moment, as if waiting for something. A flicker of light seemed to pass through his eyes in the darkness before fading into gloom. His voice was hoarse from too much smoking. “I came to pick you up,” he said. After a pause, he added, sounding somewhat hurt, “You didn’t reply to my message.”
Chapter 2
I pretended to check my phone, then said, “I was swamped. I must have missed it.”
He didn’t say a word, just opened the car door for me.
This was a level of consideration he had never shown before. To him, I had been too easily won, too humble in my devotion. I suppose he believed with absolute certainty that I would never leave him.
So he could summon me at will and dismiss me just as easily. Picking me up after I worked late into the night—aside from that brief period when he felt guilty—never happened again.
2
In the car, I leaned against the window, gazing blankly at the lights flashing by outside. The car was completely silent. My mind drifted to the past. He always seemed a bit distant. Whenever we were alone, I would try to keep the conversation going, searching for things to talk about. He would occasionally respond with a quiet “Mm” or two. But now, I was just tired.
After a moment of silence, he asked, “Have you eaten?”
I just said “Mm,” without asking if he’d eaten.
When he woke me, I realized I must have dozed off without even noticing. He looked at me with concern and said, “You’ve been exhausted lately, haven’t you? If you’re tired, just rest. It’s fine if you don’t go to work—can’t I take care of you?”
I didn’t say a word.
In the past, when I was completely exhausted, I was the one who would ask this question. Back then, his business was just getting off the ground, and I was constantly worn out from work. The office politics at the company were also draining. So one time, after coming home from working late, I wrapped my arms around his waist and said in a playful, affectionate tone, “What if I quit and come back home? Then you’d have a chance to take care of me.”
He simply smiled, changed the subject, patted my head, and said, “Keep it up, keep it up.”
After that, I never asked such a foolish question again. Hearing him say that, I looked up, smiled faintly, and stayed silent.
Just like he always did.
I loved him so deeply that it amazed my friends. They would half-jokingly, half-seriously warn me, “Vivian, don’t get in too deep.”
But I was like a moth to a flame. From the moment I first saw him, I knew I was a goner.
I met Ryan during my sophomore year. Before that, I had only heard his name. He was a prominent figure at University A—his effortlessly cool attitude and handsome looks made him popular with all the girls on campus. Rumor had it he had more girlfriends than you could count. As for why I ended up winning and securing the “main girlfriend” spot, I thought about it for a long time and could only chalk it up to fate.
Fate brought him to me during the darkest chapter of his life. Fate tamed his restless spirit in those days. And fate made certain he never met another soul as foolishly kind to him as I was back then.
So I became his girlfriend, and thus began an on-and-off relationship that lasted seven years, surprising all our friends.
As one of his friends put it, we were simply not from the same world.
I was a person with clear goals—excellent grades, every step of my life carefully planned. He was different. He was indifferent to everything, always taking things one day at a time. I never saw him truly care about anything. Not only was he casual, but he was also fickle, drifting through the world of fleeting pleasures, letting petals brush against him but never truly holding them close.
Oh, wait, that’s not entirely true. There was one he cared about.
I met him right after he ended his previous relationship. Even though Ryan and I were together for seven years, Samantha was the only ex whose name made me feel like I was facing a formidable rival.
I believe she was the only girl he ever truly fell for and deeply loved.
Chapter 3
The first time I saw Ryan was at a club event. He was leaning against the doorway, looking down at his phone. The outline of his profile was as sharp as if it had been carved with a knife. I couldn’t help but glance over at him a few more times. A freshman standing next to me said with a mix of envy and admiration, “That’s Ryan. He’s probably waiting for his girlfriend.”
I followed the direction of her chin and saw a tall figure with long, curly hair—only from behind, but I imagined she must be beautiful too. The second time I met her was late at night outside campus. I had represented our school in an intercollegiate competition in City N and rushed back as soon as the event ended. It was already late, and a heavy rain was pouring down. I jumped out of the taxi and sprinted toward the school gate through the rain, and that’s when I ran into her at the entrance.
At first, I didn’t recognize him. A dark figure was leaning against the wall inside the campus. I paused for a moment, then turned on my phone’s flashlight and walked over to take a closer look. It was him—unconscious, slumped against the wall. The rain had soaked his hair, plastering it to his forehead. Gone was his usual arrogant, carefree demeanor; he looked almost pitiful.
Perhaps it was a moment of foolish infatuation, but when I saw him, I didn’t hesitate at all. I hailed a taxi and took him to the hospital.
He had drunk too much, and the heavy rain had given him a high fever. Later, I often joked with him, saying I was the one who saved his life.
Whether I actually saved his life or not, I can’t say. All I know is that I nearly lost my own in the process.
I stayed by his side until he woke up. His eyes were still dazed as I stood by his bed, smiling. I said to him, “Hi, Ryan. I’m Vivian. Your medical bill from last night came to $340, and the taxi fare was about $20. Would you like to add me on WhatsApp so you can send me the money?”
After a moment, he snapped out of it, squinted his eyes, and smiled. That easygoing charm returned, making my heart race like thunder.
He was in the hospital for a week. Every day, I brought him chicken soup. On the day he was discharged, he finally remembered my name. Then, with a slight smirk, he asked me, “Are you trying to chase me?”
Sunlight streamed through the small window, illuminating tiny specks of dust floating in the air. Trying to sound calm, I shot back, “You just noticed?”
Later, I pursued him for six months and three days. On the fourth day, which happened to be Christmas, we were eating at a restaurant off campus. As I was carefully peeling shrimp for him, I heard him say, “Vivian, let’s be together.”
My hands froze mid-peel, and I stayed like that for a long moment. In the end, I didn’t look up. I just kept peeling the shrimp and answered softly, “Okay.”
It was such an insignificant and ordinary beginning.
He didn’t speak of love or feelings—just a simple “let’s be together,” and I willingly ran toward him, savoring every moment.
But back then, I was truly happy. So happy that after the meal, I took a cab alone to the hospital and spent an hour on an IV.
Because I’m allergic to seafood.
I was genuinely, wholeheartedly joyful.
3
When I woke up the next morning, it was already 8 a.m. It was unusual for me to sleep in that late—I must have been completely exhausted from the night before. As I opened my eyes, I was lying on my back, perfectly still. Even under the covers, I felt a little chilly.
He was always sensitive to the heat, so the air conditioner in our room was always set to the lowest setting. When we first moved in together, I couldn’t get used to it. I’d often wake up shivering in the middle of the night, wrap myself tightly in the blanket, and curl into his arms—clinging to him as if he were a furnace.
At first, he was impatient. He wasn’t used to sleeping like that, so every time I snuggled up to him, he’d push me away irritably. But I’d unconsciously drift back toward him not long after, so I’d often be woken up several times a night. I never managed to break the habit, and eventually, he got used to it.
But recently, I’m not sure what changed. It started about four or five months ago—one morning when I woke up, I suddenly realized I hadn’t woken up in his arms for a long time. Every night, when I’d feel cold in that half-asleep state, I’d just curl up on my own.
Even though he was right beside me, even though I could feel his warmth nearby, even in my drowsy, half-asleep state, I hadn’t rolled over to his side in a very, very long time.
This really wasn’t a good sign.