Letters spilled first.
Not neat.
Not arranged.
Some folded hurriedly.
Some creased like they'd been rewritten again and again.
Her breath shook.
Only then did she open the first bag.
Inside the bag everything Ling had given
Rhea spread them on the bed.
• A black leather-bound notebook— corners worn, pages slightly crumpled. On the cover, written in Ling's handwriting with silver ink:
"Things I can't say to your face."
• Loose letters, folded carefully — some neat, some rushed, some clearly written at 3 a.m.
Different papers. Different moods.
• A small velvet box— inside, a thin silver chain with a tiny star pendant. The kind Ling never wore herself.
• A hoodie— oversized, black, faintly smelling of Ling's cologne and soap. The sleeves were too long. Clearly intentional.
• A stack of Polaroids— candid shots.
Rhea, chubby sleeping on the couch as a kid.
Rhea laughing at the university café.
Rhea angry, eyes sharp, captured mid-glare.
On the back of one: "Even your anger is beautiful."
• A pressed flower, taped inside a transparent sleeve — the same flower from the university garden near the locker area.
• A small box of hairpins — simple, black and silver. Nothing flashy. Exactly Rhea's style.
• A folded scarf, soft fabric, neutral tone — something Rhea would steal and never return.
• Chocolate bars, all dark chocolate — every brand Rhea secretly liked but never admitted.
• A USB drive, labeled in Ling's handwriting: "When you're ready."
• A ring— not engagement, not promise — just a plain band, inside engraved:
"Still choosing you."
Rhea's vision blurred.
Her hands trembled as she picked up the first letter.
Letter 1
Rhea,
I don't know how to start without sounding weak, so I'll start honestly.
I messed up. Not because I didn't love you — but because I didn't know how to love you without hurting you.
You don't owe me forgiveness. I won't ask for it. I'll earn it or die trying.
— Ling
Her chest tightened.
She grabbed another.
Letter 2 (creased, rushed)
I didn't sleep tonight.
I keep replaying your face when you looked at me like a stranger.
That look scares me more than losing a match, more than losing my name.
If you ever read this — know I was thinking of you at 2:47 a.m.
Ink smudged at the bottom. Like her hand shook.
Rhea swallowed hard.
Letter 3 (angry handwriting)
I hate Roin.
Not because he's near you — but because he sees you cry and I don't.
I deserve that punishment.
Rhea pressed the paper to her chest.
Letter 4 (soft, almost childish)
You wore black today.
Everyone stared.
I just wanted to pull your sleeve and say "mine," but I stayed quiet.
Her cheeks burned.
A page torn from the notebook
Things I love about you (unfinished):
— the mole on your jaw and neck
— the way you pretend not to care
— the way you care too much
— how you ruin me without trying
Rhea's breath broke.
She opened the notebook slowly.
Every page was filled.
Not poems.
Not dramatic lines.
Just Ling's thoughts.
"She smiled at her mom today. I'm jealous of my own aunt."
"If she asks me to leave again, I will. If she asks me to stay, I'll burn the world."
"I don't know what women want. I only know what I want. It's her."
Tears dripped onto the pages.
She reached the last entry.
Last entry (written at dawn)
If you throws these away, I'll understand.
If you keeps them, I'll hope.
If you hates me — I'll still love her quietly.
Rhea covered her mouth, sobbing silently so no one would hear.
She hugged the hoodie to her chest, inhaled deeply, and whispered into the empty room—
"Idiot… you didn't sleep…"
For the first time since the fire, since the ashes, since the loss—
Rhea didn't feel empty.
She felt terrified.
Because she still loved Ling.
The USB Drive
Her fingers closed around the small black USB, a tiny silver "L" engraved on it.
Rhea plugged it into her laptop.
A folder opened automatically.
Folder name:
"My Miss Attitude 💢❤️"
Her breath hitched.
Inside were sub-folders.
📁 Random Rhea
Photos she never knew were taken.
Rhea asleep on Ling's shoulder, mouth slightly open
Rhea tying her hair, unaware
Rhea laughing with Zifa, head thrown back
Rhea angry, arms crossed, lips pouting
Rhea reading, brows furrowed
Rhea staring into space, lost
Under one photo, a caption Ling had typed:
"She looks dangerous even when doing nothing."
Rhea pressed her lips together, eyes burning.
📁 Us (That She Pretends Don't Exist)
Cartoon avatars.
Ling had drawn them.
Ling tall, smug, hands in pockets
Rhea smaller, arms crossed, eyes narrowed
Different scenarios:
Rhea angry, Ling teasing her
Rhea throwing a book, Ling dodging dramatically
Ling kneeling with a fake crown, saying "Queen is mad again"
Rhea blushing while Ling pretends not to look
One cartoon had a tiny handwritten note scanned beside it:
"Even when she hates me, she stands close."
Rhea's hands trembled.
📁 Future That I'm Not Allowed to Dream Aloud
Her chest tightened.
Inside were fantasy sketches.
Rhea and Ling graduating together
Rhea yelling, Ling laughing beside her
Rhea sitting on a couch reading, Ling's head on her lap
Rhea storming out, Ling following with coffee
A house sketch — their house — labeled "If she ever forgives me"
Rhea shut her eyes for a second. A tear slipped down.
📁 Baby Rhea (My Weak Spot)
Her breath broke.
Inside was a cartoon prediction.
Chubby Rhea. Tiny. Angry.
One drawing showed little chubby Rhea standing on a chair, yelling.
Next drawing:
The chair breaks.
Tiny Rhea falls.
Tiny Rhea cries angrily.
Written in bold handwriting:
"She'll cry but still be angry. That's her superpower."
Rhea let out a broken laugh through tears.
Another Letters (She Opened Them Slowly)
She reached for the another stack of handwritten letters, all wrapped separately.
Each envelope had a title.
✉️ Letter 1: "Read This When You're Angry"
Rhea,
You're probably angry right now. You always are when you don't know what to feel.
I won't ask you to calm down. I like you loud. I like you sharp.
Just don't break yourself while trying to break me.
Her lips trembled.
✉️ Letter 2: "Read This If You Miss Me But Won't Admit It"
You're stubborn. You'll deny this too.
But if you're reading this, then I'm already closer than you admit.
You don't have to come back.
Just don't disappear.
Rhea pressed the paper to her chest.
✉️ Letter 3: "I Didn't Sleep Writing This"
Ink slightly smudged.
I stayed up all night because my hands wouldn't stop thinking about you.
If loving you is punishment, I'll take it.
If it's a mistake, then let me keep making it.
Her tears dropped onto the page.
Another Small Gifts
She wiped her face and looked at the gifts.
A black bracelet with a tiny metal tag: "Breathe."
A keychain shaped like a broken crown: "Angry Queen."
A pen engraved: "Don't throw this at me."
A mini photo frame — empty — with a note taped behind:
"For the day you don't run."
Another hoodie, oversized, black, faintly smelling like Ling.
Inside the pocket: a folded note.
"Steal this. I know you will."
Rhea hugged the hoodie without realizing.
Last Envelope (At the Bottom)
Plain. No title.
Inside, just one line.
"Even if you never choose me, I'll still choose you."
That was it.
Rhea finally broke.
She curled up on the bed, gifts around her, letters clutched to her chest, tears soaking into paper Ling had written without sleep, without guarantee, without permission.
She whispered, barely audible:
"Why do you make it so hard to hate you…"
Outside, the mansion was quiet.
Inside her room, everything Ling had made was alive, breathing with her pain, her longing, and the truth she still refused to say out loud.
——
Next day at university felt wrong the moment Rhea stepped through the gates.
Something in the air was heavy. Quiet. Expectant.
As she walked forward, the first student stopped in front of her and silently handed her a single red rose.
Rhea blinked, confused. "What—?"
The student walked away without a word.
She took two more steps.
Another student. Another rose.
Then another. And another.
One by one.
Girls. Boys. Juniors. Seniors. Even people who had never spoken to her before.
Each handed her exactly one rose.
No smiles. No whispers. No explanation.
Rhea's arms slowly began to fill.
She laughed nervously at first. "Okay… what's this?"
No answer.
She stopped a group of girls. "Why are you giving me these?"
They only looked at her with unreadable expressions and walked away.
Her confusion turned into irritation.
"Who told you to do this?" she raised her voice now.
Still—silence.
Roin, standing beside her, frowned hard. He grabbed a boy by the shoulder.
"Hey. Answer her. Who asked you to do this?"
The boy gently removed Roin's hand, placed a rose on top of the pile in Rhea's arms, and left.
Roin shouted, voice echoing across the ground.
"ARE YOU ALL DEAF?"
Nothing.
By now, Rhea's arms were completely full roses slipping, thorns pricking her skin, petals brushing her face. The smell was overwhelming.
Her chest tightened.
"STOP IT!" she shouted. "I DON'T WANT THESE!"
She tried to drop them.
But another student came forward and carefully placed one more rose on top, as if it mattered.
That's when she noticed it.
Every rose had something tied to its stem.
Tiny white tags.
Her breath caught.
She looked down at the nearest one.
Just two words, written in Ling's handwriting sharp, familiar, unmistakable:
"Still you."
Her fingers trembled.
She checked another tag.
"Only you."
Another.
"Even angry, you."
Another.
"Even silent, you."
Her throat closed.
Rhea slowly lifted her head, eyes scanning the crowd.
Ling wasn't there.
Just roses. Hundreds of them. One per student.
Rhea's hands started shaking so badly the roses slipped and scattered across the ground.
Petals fell everywhere.
Her vision blurred.
Roin looked at her, startled. "Rhea…?"
She didn't answer.
Her mind replayed everything at once:
Ling not sleeping two nights
The burned letters
The rewritten gifts
The USB full of them
Ling collapsing on the field
Ling thinking Rhea didn't care
Ling crying
And now this.
A confession without words.
An apology without confrontation.
Love without demand.
Rhea whispered, voice breaking:
"…idiot."
Tears slid down her cheeks, silent but unstoppable.
She clutched the roses to her chest, thorns digging into her arms, as if punishing herself for every harsh word she had thrown.
Roin watched her carefully.
This wasn't anger.
This was regret.
Rhea's chest tightened.
Her arms were full now, roses slipping, petals brushing her neck.
"STOP!" she shouted, voice echoing across the corridor. "I DON'T WANT THESE. WHO SENT YOU?"
No one answered.
Just as Rhea was about to throw the roses away, the crowd parted slightly.
Ling walked in.
She wasn't dramatic.
No squad surrounding her.
No taunts.
Just Ling walking straight toward Rhea, holding one single rose.
Her expression was unreadable. Calm. Controlled. Almost… careful.
The entire corridor went silent.
Rhea's eyes snapped to her wearing mask of fury igniting instantly.
Ling stopped a step away and held the rose out not smirking, not flirting. Just offering.
That was the breaking point.
Rhea suddenly threw all the roses from her arms straight at Ling's face.
Petals scattered everywhere, red against white floors.
"What do you think of yourself?" Rhea shouted, voice shaking with rage and hurt. "Do you think I'm some joke? Some showpiece you can turn into entertainment?"
Students froze.
Ling didn't move. Petals clung to her jacket, one stuck in her hair. She didn't wipe them away.
Rhea grabbed the rose from Ling's hand.
For a split second, Ling thought she took it.
Then—
Rhea crushed the rose under her foot, grinding it into the floor until the petals tore apart.
Her voice dropped, deadly calm.
"Never do this again."
She turned and walked away, shoulders stiff, back straight refusing to let anyone see the storm in her eyes.
Roin followed immediately.
Behind her, the corridor stayed frozen.
Ling stood there, staring at the crushed rose.
She didn't laugh.
She didn't chase.
Her jaw tightened.
Rowen took a step forward. "Kwong—"
She raised a hand, stopping him.
"Leave it," she said quietly.
But her eyes followed Rhea until she disappeared from sight.
And for the first time, Ling Kwong realized something clearly:
This wasn't teasing anymore.
This wasn't control.
This was love turning into something dangerous for both of them.