Final Breakup: No. 100

A few of Lina and Thor's friends commented beneath his post.

[Lina, you're amazing—you actually got the aloof and restrained Thor!]

[Wow, you two are official now! Expecting wedding bells soon and a baby!]

[Yes! Don't forget to invite me to the wedding!]

[I call dibs on being the best man!]

Reading through the comments, I felt a twinge of discomfort. No matter how many times I told myself to move on, the heart wasn't a machine—it still ached.

But this pain wasn't as sharp as before. It had dulled, softened around the edges. Time truly could change a person, and fade emotions that once felt impossible to forget.

When I returned to campus for the graduation ceremony, the first thing I saw upon stepping through the gate was Lina, arm-in-arm with Thor. They were laughing, radiant—a perfect match of beauty and charm. Someone nearby was taking their photo.

Even though Thor's pose looked a little stiff, he still smiled for the camera, eyes filled with gentle affection when he looked at her.

I remembered our first photo together—he'd looked at me the same way.

I turned down another path, choosing not to cross their way. I had no desire for awkward encounters.

As I walked, memories of Thor and me flooded back like flickering scenes from an old film—our laughter echoing through the campus, our warm embraces, the dizzying sweetness of first kisses.

We had once promised to marry after university, to build a home, to decide how many children we'd have.

Back then, we were childish—but genuine. Now, it all felt like a beautiful dream. And when I woke, the dream was gone, and so were we.

I made my way to the back garden, picked up a fallen branch, and pried open a patch of earth. Beneath it was a small box—our names carved onto its lid.

There was an old legend at our school: if two lovers wanted their bond to last forever, they had to write down their names, tie them together with a ribbon, and bury them in the ground. That way, their love would be blessed for a lifetime.

The year we decided to marry, we came here and buried our names together. It was also here that he had promised to love me forever.

I dug up the box, opened it, and pulled out the slip with my name. Without hesitation, I tore it to shreds.

They were together now. Why should I cling to a promise that no longer meant anything?

Footsteps sounded behind me. I turned and saw Lina approaching, her expression cold, eyes sharp with disdain.

"Still can't let go, can you?" she said icily.

I looked up and held the box out to her.

"Tie your name with his," I said flatly.

She blinked in surprise, hesitated for a moment, then took the box.

I stood, inhaled deeply, and said, "You love him, don't you? Then hold on tight."

A confident smile curved her lips. "Of course."

She quickly scribbled her name, tied it with his, and buried the two together.

I said nothing more and walked away, oddly numb.

Before leaving campus, I decided to stop by the library for a few books. One title caught my eye, something philosophical yet comforting, and I found myself absorbed in it.

Then, a pungent smell reached my nose. I frowned, sniffed again, and instantly sensed something was wrong. Dropping the book, I bolted for the door.

But it was too late. Flames were already roaring outside, blocking the exit. Within seconds, fire engulfed the room, trapping me inside.

I tried to find a way out of the fire, searching desperately for a corner to shield myself while scanning for any possible escape.

Just then, a shadow rushed in. When I looked closer, my stomach sank—it was Lina.

Of course. Even in a fire, fate had a way of throwing us together.

Her expression was dark, her tone bitter.

"This is all your fault. Nothing good ever happens when you're around."