I Warned My Younger Self About Love

It was quiet in the shop again once the call ended. I lowered my head and went back to wrapping ravioli. I was missing part of my left ring finger, so I always had trouble applying enough pressure when shaping the folds.

It was then that the man waiting nearby rapped the table impatiently. "How much longer will it take? Isn't it just a bowl of ravioli?"

I lowered my gaze and murmured, "I'm sorry. It'll be ready soon."

I, Theo Webster, had once been the beloved heir of the Webster family, cherished by everyone.

Hannah Shaw had once said that my hands were meant for playing the piano, painting, and wearing rings, not for the kitchen.

Mia Shaw was different. She could yell at the chef until he broke down in tears if I got burned by the scalding soup. She would threaten others if they dared to look at me for a second too long, asking, "Do you want to lose those eyes of yours?"

I had been sheltered by the two of them back then, genuinely believing that no one in this world would ever let me go through any hardship.

Yet, here I was, stuck running a ravioli shop that was barely 130 square feet.

I used my disfigured hand to serve an eight-dollar bowl of ravioli to that man.

That man finally lost his temper and swore under his breath. "You're so damn slow! It's no wonder you don't have any customers."

He looked at the right side of my face, his gaze lingering on the bandage covering my eye before moving away in disgust. "You'll scare people to death looking like a monster."

I remained silent before my phone buzzed with a notification—it was a message from my 18-year-old self. "You're lying to me, aren't you? Hannah just dropped off a suit for me. Mia even said that she'll keep loving me no matter who I choose at the engagement banquet tonight. They really do seem to love me."

I looked at the message, my hands stiffening slightly. I had once trusted them the same way.

I had believed that Hannah would always be gentle and that Mia would always favor me. In the end, however, Hannah used a kind voice to pressure me into giving up the Webster family's shares, while Mia used the very hand that once took a knife for me to sever my ring finger.

They said, "Isaac grew up with nothing, while you've already received so much. What's wrong with giving in to him for once, Theo?"

I closed my eyes for a moment. I had listened to those excuses for seven years—yielding the suit to him, giving the room to him, and letting him have the ring. I kept giving in until I almost gave up my own life.

I was just about to reply to the message when the bell above the door chimed, and a man wearing a dark-colored coat walked in. "I'd like a bowl of ravioli."

I had just leaned over to ladle some soup when that man spoke up hesitantly. "T-Theo Webster? Is that really you, Theo?"

He looked at my right eye and then down at my severed finger. He then spoke with a mix of awkwardness and pity. "H-How did you end up selling ravioli here?"