The next morning, I woke up before the sun.
No alarm. No dreams. Just an ache in my chest and the faint hum of life outside the hotel window. I packed my things in silence, checked out, and caught the earliest bus back to B-town.
I didn't cry.
Not a single tear.
By the time the bus pulled into the station, I was exhausted—but not the kind of exhaustion sleep could fix. I didn't even bother to eat. I walked straight home, dropped my bag at the door, collapsed on the bed and stared at the ceiling.
Empty eyes. Numb chest. Mouth too dry for words.
The world moved on. I didn't.
That evening, my phone lit up.
Alvin.
Calling me.
How dare he.
I didn't hesitate.
Block.
Done.
What did he want to say now?
What could he possibly say that would change anything?
Nothing.
I turned the phone off and lay back down.
The next morning, I got up. Brushed my teeth. Fixed my face. Wore my lab coat like armor and walked to work with quiet determination.
I couldn't afford to lose everything. I wouldn't give Alvin the satisfaction of watching me fall apart.
My career was the only thing I had left to fight for.
So I fought.
I poured myself into research. Data entry. Sample tests. Procedure write-ups. Bi-weekly team presentations. I stayed late, arrived early, and barely looked up from my workstation unless it was urgent.
Love?
It was dead.
And I wasn't interested in resurrecting it.
I was Kim.
Alone.
And against the world—again.
I wouldn't let anyone close enough to ruin me like Alvin did. Not again.
Just as I began forgetting him, the universe decided to be cruel.
I was in the lab, minding my business, when my colleague Pamela walked over, holding a petri dish and a curious smile.
"Hey Kim," she said. "Haven't seen your fine baby boy drop you off in weeks. What's up? He finally went back to heaven or what?"
I blinked.
Then chuckled awkwardly. "We broke up."
"Oh… oh no," she said, her face falling fast. "Wait… for real? But you two were, like, cute cute."
I shrugged. "Not cute enough, I guess."
Another colleague, Jefferson, who overheard, turned from his microscope. "Wait, the rich guy with the baby face? He didn't even look like he had it in him. What happened?"
I smiled a little. That bitter kind of smile that holds back a scream. "He got married."
Jefferson almost dropped his pipette.
Pamela gasped. "He what?"
"Long story," I said. "Let's just say... he wasn't mine to begin with."
After that day, they stopped asking. And I was grateful.
Days passed. Then weeks.
The drug we'd been developing for months—Menostill—finally passed the last phase of quality control.
A small, fast-dissolving tablet designed to ease menstrual cramps. Just one tablet on the first day of your period was enough to keep pain away for 24 hours—without the fatigue and bloating most other drugs caused. It worked by modulating prostaglandin activity and relaxing uterine muscles without the heavy hormonal interference.
It was smooth. Clean. Effective.
And our R&D team had done it.
The official release date was set for a month later.
Naturally, the workload decreased after that. Most of the heavy lifting was over. The product was in the hands of marketing and regulatory affairs.
So when our department organized a small celebratory get-together at a cozy restaurant near the city park, I agreed to go.
For the first time in a while, I felt free.
After the team meal ended, everyone stood, paid their bills, and filtered out in twos and threes. I lingered behind.
I'd never gone out alone in B-town. I always had Alvin. He'd drive me around, walk beside me, plan the locations. Always us.
But now… just me.
And it didn't feel as bad as I thought.
The restaurant had a lovely outdoor view—green trees, golden sunlight slicing through clouds, and soft jazz playing from invisible speakers. 4:00 p.m.
I told myself I'd stay just two hours.
Eat.
Breathe.
Exist.
I hadn't eaten much earlier, so I checked the menu again. My eyes locked on the seafood platter.
Expensive.
Too expensive.
But then I remembered—I'd been through hell. What was the point of working this hard if I couldn't treat myself once in a while?
I ordered it.
And oh—my God.
I'd never tasted anything like it. The shrimp, the buttered crab, the sauce—what kind of sorcery was this? I was almost moaning.
I leaned back in my seat, licking my fingers and sipping lemon water like a satisfied empress.
Then someone sat opposite me.
A man.
"Is this seat taken?" he asked.
I hesitated. Just for a second. Then I looked up at him.
Clean-cut. Tall. Smelled expensive. Pretty eyes.
I could have said yes. Could have shut it all down.
But something about the breeze… the food… the hour... made me mischievous.
"No," I said. "It's not taken."
"Thanks," he said, sitting down. "I'm Mark. Hope you don't mind the company."
I smiled sweetly. "Not at all. I'm Catherine."
Yes. Catherine. Today I was someone else.
We talked. Laughed. Ate.
He ordered the same dish I did, said it was his favorite. I nodded like I'd been eating seafood since childhood.
Everything I told him was a lie.
Where I was from. What I did for work. Where I lived. My phone number. I was just having fun.
He flirted. I flirted back. But only with words.
When the bill came, he insisted on paying. I didn't object. Why would I?
Free food.
No expectations.
No emotions.
No strings.
I left with a full belly, a fake name, and the satisfaction of knowing that for once, I was the one with the power.
This wasn't a love story.
It was survival.
After Alvin, I learned my lesson.
I don't stay.
I don't trust.
I don't hope.
I run. Again.