Chapter 1 And Then It's Nothing

_PROLOGUE_

My mother used to say that first love casts a spell that stays with you.

I remember the exact moment mine began.

It was raining. I was sixteen, standing under the awning of Westhill High, watching sheets of water drench the world. A voice said, “Here.” I turned. He held out a simple black umbrella. His uniform jacket was already dark with droplets.

“It’s okay,” I said, my voice colder than I felt. “You’ll get wet.”

He just smiled—that easy, sun-breaking-through-clouds smile—and said, “It’s just rain. I don’t mind.”

He pushed the handle into my hand before I could refuse. His fingers brushed mine. A spark. A current that shot straight up my arm and settled somewhere deep in my chest.

I stood there, clutching the umbrella he’d never get back, watching him jog away into the downpour. That was the moment the careful walls around my heart developed their first, fatal crack.

I didn’t know then that I’d spend the next decade carrying him with me. Quietly. From a distance. A story he probably doesn’t even remember.

But to me, he’s always been like moonlight on a dark night—beautiful, soothing, enchanting—the first warmth that ever reached the coldest part of me.

_END OF PROLOGUE_

The most controlled part of Yerin Lin’s day was the five minutes at 9:05 AM.

Her desk was a monument to order. Pens aligned, monitor dust-free, the single potted succulent pruned with geometric precision. The first hour was for parsing data, not people. Quiet. Predictable. Hers.

At 9:04 AM, she finished her first coffee. At 9:05 AM, she allowed herself one indulgence.

Her phone was face-down on the desk. She flipped it over. Her thumb went straight to the app—an automatic ritual, so ingrained it felt like muscle memory.

She didn’t search for his name. She went straight to his profile.

Elliot Nam.

Her breath hitched. It always did.

A new post. From last night. A photo from Grouse Mountain—Elliot grinning at the camera, his face flushed, a sweep of orange and purple sky behind him.

Nothing like earning the view. #AnotherAdventure

Her finger hovered, then tapped to expand. She zoomed in. Not on the scenery. On him. On the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. On the faint sheen of sweat on his temple.

She saved the image to her phone, her thumb moving with practiced ease. Then she swiped left.

The folder opened. Dozens of his photos, arranged in neat rows. His college graduation. A candid at a coffee shop. A hiking shot from last summer. Going back years—each one quietly collected, meticulously organized. A secret gallery she’d never show anyone.

The sterile office air shifted. She was sixteen again, standing under that awning. The weight of the umbrella handle in her palm. The shock of his fingers against hers. The way his smile had cracked something open in her that never quite closed.

She locked the phone and slid it into her desk drawer, her face smoothing into its usual neutral mask. The data analyst was back at her screen.

A flicker of movement in her peripheral vision. Her boss, David Park, was leading a small group on a tour. New hires. Her spine straightened automatically.

David’s voice carried. “…and this is the heart of our data analytics division. Everyone, this is Yerin Lin, one of our most meticulous strategists. Yerin, we have the new transfer from our Toronto office. He’ll be joining your team.”

She turned, a polite, empty smile already on her lips.

It froze.

Standing beside David, wearing a crisp new shirt and that same easy, familiar smile, was Elliot Nam.

The photo from her screen. The man from her phone. The boy from the rain.

Here. In her office. Joining her team.

The air left the room. The hum of computers, the distant chatter, the fluorescent lights—everything muted into a high‑pitched ring in her ears. Her heart slammed against her ribs like a trapped animal.

He was looking at her, head tilted slightly. That curious, friendly expression from all those years ago.

David was still talking. “…Elliot, this is Yerin. She’ll get you up to speed.”

Elliot’s gaze lingered on her face. A spark of recognition—not of her name, but of her face. Then his eyes lit up.

“Wow, no way,” he said, his voice warm and real. “High school. You went to Westhill, right? We had that brutal calculus class with Mr. Chen.”

Yerin’s mouth was desert‑dry. She managed a tight nod.

He remembers the school. He doesn’t remember me.

“Yerin Lin…” Elliot repeated, testing the sound. He snapped his fingers softly. “Right! You always sat in the back. You were, like, a genius. I could never get those formulas you whipped up.”

He didn’t remember the umbrella. He didn’t remember the rain. He didn’t remember pushing his shelter into her hands and jogging away while she stood frozen and fell in love.

The relief was so sharp it was indistinguishable from pain.

He extended his hand, his smile widening. “Elliot Nam. Wow, small world. It’s really great to properly meet you.”

Properly meet you. As if they were strangers. As if the most formative moment of her life had never happened.

Yerin’s body moved on autopilot. She reached out. Her fingers were ice‑cold. His hand was warm, solid, real. The contact was a jolt of lightning—exactly like it had been twelve years ago, except this time he didn’t feel it. This time, it was just her. His fingers wrapped around hers, warm and solid. The same current. The same impossible warmth reaching somewhere she’d long thought frozen.

“Yerin,” she forced out, her voice a stranger’s. A thin, reedy sound. “I’m Yerin.”

“I’m looking forward to working with you,” he said, sincere and easy, before turning back to David.

He didn’t look back. He didn’t hesitate. He just moved on, already part of the tour again, already fitting into his new world.

Yerin dropped her hand. She turned back to her monitor, her movements stiff, robotic. The numbers on the screen were a meaningless blur.

She could feel the heat of his presence a few feet away. She could smell his faint, clean scent of soap and laundry detergent. She could hear him laughing at something David said—that same laugh she’d been replaying in her head for over a decade.

The desk drawer seemed to pulse. The phone inside held a folder full of his face, and now the real thing was twenty feet away, breathing the same air.

She closed her eyes for a fraction of a second. Behind her lids, she saw moonlight on a dark night—beautiful, soothing, enchanting.

When she opened them, he was still there. Real. Alive. Oblivious.

The boy from the rain had walked back into her life.

And he had no idea he’d never left.