All Chapters of Gone Was His Jasmine: Chapter 11 - Chapter 20

[Arya’s point of view] The sunlight in Sunnyvale was nothing like that of the sunlight in New York. It was not the kaleidoscopic light sliced into pieces by the hard edges of skyscrapers. Rather, it was a continuous burst of sunlight charged with the scent of the earth and fragrant fruits.I had been home for three months. Though the town was not far from the metropolitan area, it retained its agricultural traditions. This was the place Grandpa settled thirty years ago.Now, it was harvest season. Ripe Fuji apples, Honeycrisp apples, and Gala apples bore their weight upon the branches. The ones left on the branches too long fell to the ground and started to ferment, filling the air with their intoxicatingly sweet scent.I stood by the orchard wearing a straw hat I bought from a convenience store. I was looking at Jason, who was awkwardly livestreaming on his phone. He wore a pair of work pants, the colors having faded, and the cuffs were speckled with mud. His skin glowed healthil

I ended the livestream exactly at noon. Grandpa was in a good mood today. He had picked a bunch of tomatoes, zucchini, bell peppers, and various herbs from the garden. Then, he prepared a chicken and made stew with the ingredients. It was a local recipe, where he used chicken broth as the base and a sauce he bought from the local grocery store as a dipping sauce.While he was working away in the kitchen, Ethan stood outside the gate, motionless like a totem.I sighed and went to open the gate.“Come in.”When he followed me into the yard, I noticed how stiff his footsteps were.The section of the yard was vibrant with life. There was an array of washed clothes hanging on the clothesline, Grandpa’s succulent plants on the terrace, and a pile of freshly sawn lumber, which Jason stashed in the corner. His metropolitan mannerisms seemed completely out of place in a setting like this.Grandpa poked his head out from the kitchen and asked while wiping his hands with a cloth, “Who is

Jason and I planned to start a new video series with the theme, “Life in the Mountain Orchard.” We had to scout for an ideal filming location in the mountains, so we prepared to set off at six o'clock the next morning.Ethan stubbornly insisted on following us. He put on a pair of new hiking boots he had bought at the store, which were clearly not yet broken in. The rugged mountain paths of California were far too strenuous for him, considering his dose of exercise in Manhattan consisted of walking from his office to the cafe downstairs.We had only just started, and he was already having trouble catching his breath. Large beads of sweat pooled on his forehead.Jason could not bear the sight much longer. When Ethan nearly lost his footing on gravel again, Jason offered him a hand.“Hey, man. This trail isn’t easy. Do you want some help?”Ethan abruptly shrugged off. I could almost hear his teeth gnashing when he replied crossly, “No thanks.”His pride would not allow him to show

Ethan settled down in the village by renting the only Airbnb in town—a converted barn. He stopped trying to intrude on my relationship with Jason. Instead, he became a quiet observer, filming us from a distance.He would film Grandpa feeding the chickens while basking under the morning light. He filmed scenes of Jason teaching the children how to identify plants correctly, and me dozing under a fruit tree with a straw hat.Later on, he had the footage edited into a twenty-minute short documentary. Despite the heartwarming tone, the film was titled “Regret.” There was no narration. The only sound was the ambient sound of wind coursing through the mountainous landscape and the orchard, accompanied by Grandpa’s humming.It eventually won the Best Short Documentary Award at a film festival. Thanks to the film's popularity, Jason and I received a flood of orders, which kept us busy for a while. As for Ethan, he donated all the proceeds from the film to the community center in the village

The morning after the wedding, I went to the village entrance with Jason to pick up some agricultural equipment we had ordered.The old oak tree stood tall as ever. Wafts of morning light filtered through its leaves, casting dappled shadows on the ground. The potted jasmine was still there. This time, there was a folded note next to it, so I bent down to pick it up.It was written with Ethan's familiar handwriting. The handwriting was very standard and consistent, representative of an architect’s precision.“Arya, do you remember the first class we took together in university? The professor asked us what architecture was, and I remember you raising your hand, answering that architecture was about creating spaces where people can truly live rather than just existing. At the time, I thought you were too idealistic. But now, I understand you weren't just talking about the building; you were talking about life itself.“As for me, I spent six years designing buildings but forgot to crea