Chapter 2
Everything returned to square one.
But Mack Washington still showed up at our dorm building every day.
He wasn’t here for me.
He was here for Pearl Forbs.
Unlike our breakup, which was prompted by mutual amnesia, Pearl remembered her past relationship and struggled to move on.
ck did everything he could to cheer her up.
One evening, as I was returning from the library, I saw them outside the dorm.
Mack handed Pearl a bag of candied chestnuts and a box of begonia cakes–the kind that supposedly requires a three–hour wait to buy.
He spoke to her gently:
“Don’t be sad anymore. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to the claw machine.”
“I’ll get you lots and lots of those Cinnamon Rabbit plushies you love.”
The next second, he looked up and saw me approaching.
The light from the dorm entrance was too bright for me to see his expression clearly, but I could tell he stiffened slightly.
Maybe it was because we had just broken up.
After all, we were now nothing more than strangers.
It was Pearl who approached me instead, her eyes red from crying. She managed a brave smile as she said:
“Crystal, don’t misunderstand. There’s nothing going on between Mack and me. He’s just trying to help me distract myself after the breakup. Once h regains his memory, everything will be fine.”
This wasn’t the first time she had reassured me like this.
And every time, I calmly told her:
“It’s okay. I don’t remember anything, and we’ve already broken up.”
The next time we met, she’d say it again, as if firmly believing that Mack and I would recover our memories and get back together.
Sometimes, she even sighed enviously:
“If only I could forget like you guys. Then I wouldn’t have to feel so heartbroken.”
She really was devastated–so much so that she often went out drinking after her breakup.
One night, she ran into her ex celebrating his birthday with friends at a bar and mistakenly thought he was with a new girlfriend.
She stormed over to confront him, causing a scene until he loudly told her off. That was when Mack jumped in and started fighting with them.
When the chaos ended, the bar was littered with broken bottles and smashed cake. The birthday celebration was ruined, and a shard of glass left a tong cut on Mack’s face.
Seeing the wound on his face, I was startled and blurted out in a panic:
“Mack, can you stop being so reckless next time?!”
He wiped the blood from the cut, completely unfazed:
Chapter 2
“What was I supposed to do–stand by and let them bully Pearl? That jerk deserved to be hit! How could he go on having fun while Pearl was so miserable?”
I thought he was being unreasonable but still softened my tone to plead:
“Just… be more careful next time, okay? Try not to hurt your face.”
These events were things I discovered from reading my old diary.
I’ve always had the habit of keeping a journal.
One entry mentioned a time early in our relationship when we passed a row of claw machines after watching a movie. I had eagerly wanted to tr winning a little butter–colored puppy plushie.
ck, hands in his pockets, looked utterly uninterested and said,
“That’s so childish. Claw machines are for kids.”
But now, he was telling Pearl he’d help her win as many Cinnamon Rabbits as she wanted.
Perhaps losing his memory had changed his perspective.
Like the diary also recorded his opinion about those begonia cakes. He once said waiting three hours in line for something so cloyingly sweet wasn‘ worth it.
I never did win that little butter puppy plushie.
I never tasted those begonia cakes either.
I couldn’t tell whether he thought the begonia cakes weren’t worth it…
Or if it was me who wasn’t worth it.
