From that day on, the way Adrian Lu pursued me shifted.

He no longer relied solely on thermal containers and community service. Instead, he began to appear in every tiny crack and crevice of my life.

The owner of the fruit stand at the complex entrance said to me, "Vivian, a man told me that from now on, whenever you come to buy fruit, I should just put it on his tab."

I replied, "Ignore him."

The lady at the courier station told me, "Vivian, someone sent you a box of imported folic acid. Is this the one you wanted to return?"

I opened the package. In the notes section of the shipping label, a small hand had written: [Suitable for the second trimester. One tablet per day.]

The writing was small, but I recognized that handwriting anywhere.

I didn't return it. My folic acid was indeed due for a replacement.

The most absurd instance was when I went to the community health center to register my pregnancy files.

As I sat in the waiting area, an older woman sitting next to me suddenly tapped my shoulder.

"Sweetheart, are you Vivian Su?"

"Yes."

"Dr. Lu on the second floor asked me to tell you that if you get bored waiting, you can go up and sit in his office. He has hot water there."

I didn't go up.

But I realized that everyone in the health center now knew who I was.

The girl at the registration desk would proactively help me jump the queue. "Vivian, don't wait in line. Dr. Lu mentioned you'd be coming."

The nurse taking blood pressure gave me extra reminders. "With triplets, you have to be extra careful with your blood pressure. If you feel even slightly unwell, go straight to the second floor and find Dr. Lu."

He had turned the entire community health center into his base of operations for winning me back.

I didn't know whether to be annoyed or to laugh.

My mother, however, saw right through it.

One night during dinner, she suddenly said, "That Lu fellow is lingering around the complex entrance every day. The neighbors are talking."

"Talking about what?"

"They say my daughter has a suitor. He’s quite handsome, but his face is too cold. Doesn't seem to know how to smile."

I kept my head down and focused on my rice, offering no comment.

"Ms. Li even came over to ask me about him. Apparently, Dr. Lu checked her husband’s blood pressure and wrote a prescription that worked wonders. She asked if you’d consider giving him another chance."

"Mom."

"I didn't say anything to her," my mother said, dropping a piece of food into my bowl. "Just eat."

My father took a slow sip of his tea and spoke up casually.

"If he wants to chase someone, he should show some real substance. Stop just leaving thermal containers at the door."

The table fell silent.

After finishing his tea, my father stood up and headed to the garden, leaving my mother and me staring at each other in surprise.

During this time, I spent my days taking care of the pregnancy and my nights studying.

I had opened that bookmarked webpage more times than I could count.

Senior Clinical Nutritionist Certification: four exam subjects, two national unified exams per year. The registration deadline was the 15th of next month.

I bought all the textbooks.

The four books stacked on my nightstand took up much more space than that old bottle of stomach medicine ever did.

Every night after my parents went to sleep, I sat in the garden to study. The crickets chirped loudly, and the streetlamp provided just enough light to see the words.

One night, around one in the morning, I heard a car door click shut nearby.

I peeked through a gap in the garden wall. It was Adrian. He had just returned from a surgery at the hospital.

He stood by his car, not moving immediately. He looked up toward our garden. My light was still on.

He watched for a while, then placed a thermal container at my doorstep before turning to leave.

The next morning, when I opened the door, there was a sticky note next to the container.

It had a single line of text: [Don’t stay up too late.]

I peeled the note off and tucked it into the front cover of my first textbook.

The exam took place a month later.

I went to the testing center alone.

By the time I came out, the sky was already dark.

My phone was filled with twenty-three messages. They were from my mom, my dad, and Ms. Li.

And there was one from Adrian.

I don't know when I had unblocked him. I probably did it while half-asleep in the middle of the night.

His message was short:

[Are you doing okay?]

It had been sent at three in the afternoon. I didn't know how he knew I was taking the exam today.

After a moment’s thought, I sent back two words:

[Doing fine.]

On the day the results were released, I found out I had passed all four subjects.

I sat in the garden chair, staring at the word "PASS" on my screen for a long time.

I didn't cry, but my eyes were burning.

My mother came out from the house with a plate of sliced watermelon.

"You passed?"

"I passed."

"Then eat some watermelon."

My father gave a grunt of approval from the side—his version of a celebration.

That night, I posted to my social feed.

No text, just a single photo: the four textbooks stacked together with the score report resting on top.

The first "like" was from Adrian.

The second was from Ms. Li.

The third was from the nurse who took blood pressure at the health center.

Adrian didn't leave a comment.

But half an hour later, a bouquet of flowers appeared at my door.

Not some cliché arrangement of roses, but a small bunch of daisies wrapped in brown kraft paper.

Beside it was another sticky note.

[Congratulations.]

Just one word.

I placed the daisies in an old vase in the garden and gave them some water.

The crickets were still chirping, and the moon was brilliant.

I sat back in my chair and rested my hand on my stomach.

"Babies, your mom passed today. From now on, we won't have to rely on anyone else."