Chapter 2

I opened my mouth to speak, but Natalie was already talking.

"Ethan does not like flashy romantic gestures.

"We agreed a long time ago that we would only exchange handwritten letters for graduation. We care more about understanding each other and having a real emotional connection than spending money on gifts."

She pulled open a drawer and handed me a letter. The envelope was sealed with a piece of tape slapped across it carelessly.

Ronald sat down on the couch and raised an eyebrow at me.

"I am honestly jealous. You two are so pure."

Natalie looked at him, and her expression softened without her even realizing it.

"He is different from you. You need those little romantic gestures. Ethan is mature. He does not care about things like that."

"True. Ethan has always been more mature than me. Unlike me, I actually like those pointless little surprises."

I did not respond. I lowered my head and opened the envelope.

The first line read:

[Ethan, throughout these four years, we have always maintained a clear‑headed and equal relationship.]

The second line said:

[I hope we can continue to keep money from controlling our relationship in the future.]

I did not read any further.

Natalie stood up and walked over to Ronald. She bent down and gently brushed a speck of dust off the edge of his shoebox.

"Do not keep carrying it around. The box is dirty."

Her movements were so gentle.

I held the letter that was supposedly proof of our emotional connection, then turned and walked toward the trash can.

The paper slipped inside with a soft rustle, unnoticed by Natalie, who was too busy showing Ronald a more stylish way to tie his shoelaces.

We arranged our graduation dinner at a newly opened fusion restaurant near campus. Natalie was in charge of organizing everything.

At three that afternoon, she posted the payment code in our group chat.

[Everyone pays $150 upfront. Any difference will be refunded or collected later. All expenses will be listed clearly.]

A spreadsheet followed.

My name was at the top, marked as paid: $150.

Ronald’s column was blank.

Someone joked in the group chat: [Why has Ronald not paid yet? Natalie, are you playing favorites?]

Natalie replied almost immediately. [His phone is dead. He will pay when we get to the restaurant.]

By six that evening, everyone had arrived.

When we were ordering, Natalie stood up and flipped through the menu.

"Let us not order too many spicy dishes. Ronald has a sensitive stomach, and cold drinks tend to upset it, too. We should take it easy on those."

Someone beside her dragged out their words in a teasing voice.

"Wow, you take better care of him than a girlfriend would."

Ronald lowered his head and brushed a few strands of hair away from his forehead, looking slightly embarrassed. "Come on, do not say things like that. Ethan is right here."

Natalie handed the menu to the server, her tone casual.

"It is fine. They are just joking. Ethan does not mind things like that."

I drank from my glass and said nothing.

Natalie used to shield me from jokes like that, too.

During our sophomore‑year sports festival, our classmates had teased her into bringing me a bottle of water. Her ears had been bright red, but she still stepped in front of me.

"Stop messing with him. He is shy."

However, now she had given all her favoritism to someone else.

The dishes arrived one after another. Ronald glanced over the menu, then pointed to the last page. "Does anyone want this daily special dessert? I heard they only make a limited number every day."

It cost $388.

Someone at the table sucked in a sharp breath.

"That dessert costs more than the main course."

Ronald closed the menu and lightly rubbed his fingertip over the cover.

"Never mind. It is probably not a good idea."

Natalie glanced at the price and barely hesitated. "Bring us one."

Ronald quickly waved his hands. "No, it is fine. We are splitting the bill. That will raise everyone’s share."

Natalie kept her tone light. "It is fine. I will pay for it. We are celebrating graduation today, after all. What matters most is that everyone has a good time."

For a moment, silence settled over the table. Someone glanced in my direction, and I lowered my head, quietly picking up some food without saying a word.

Ronald asked quietly, "Natalie, will Ethan be upset if you do that?"

Natalie frowned.

"Do not make Ethan sound so petty.

"He is a man. He is not going to nitpick over a little money."

She looked at me as if waiting for me to play along. "Right?"

I pulled the corner of my mouth into a faint smile and gave a small hum.

Only then did Ronald relax. He picked up the dessert and scooped up a bite with a small spoon.

"This is really good."

He narrowed his eyes in satisfaction.

Natalie pulled out a napkin and handed it to him. Then, without thinking, she reached over and wiped a little cream from the corner of his mouth.

"Slow down. Nobody is going to steal it from you."

As dinner drew to a close, Natalie took out her calculator. She photographed the receipt and uploaded it to the group chat, listing the service charge, extra toppings, napkins, and every other expense separately and clearly.

Our classmates started teasing her, saying she should work in accounting.

"Everyone feels more comfortable when the money is accounted for."

When it was my turn, she held out her phone.

"Ethan, you had one extra bottle of soda. Your total comes to $155, so you owe me another five."

The conversation around us quieted. Someone froze with a piece of food halfway to their mouth.

Ronald watched me over his straw.

I pulled out my phone and held it over the card reader. A moment later, the payment went through.

"Got it."

A guy sitting nearby laughed, trying to ease the tension. "Natalie, are you this strict with your boyfriend, too?"

Natalie put her phone away, her expression serious.

"It is precisely because he is my boyfriend that we cannot lump all our money together without keeping track.

"Ethan is not the kind of man who takes advantage of his girlfriend, either."

She reached out and patted me on the shoulder.

"I respect his dignity."

I looked at her hand.

A moment ago, that same hand had reached out to shield a drop of soup from splashing onto Ronald’s clothes.

When it landed on my shoulder, all that remained was a halfhearted gesture.