"Sir, I want to withdraw from school." I stood up and handed him the withdrawal application I had written the night before.

The surprise on the counselor's face turned to shock.

He took off his glasses, rubbed his eyes, put them back on, and looked at me closely.

"Withdraw? Why? Nina, you’ve only been here for a month! Aren't your grades excellent?"

"Personal reasons." I repeated the same line.

"Is it because of last night?" He lowered his voice. "Seth and Sonia went too far; I was already planning to talk to them today and have them apologize to you publicly."

"No need, Sir." I shook my head. "It has nothing to do with them; it’s my own decision."

"You stubborn child!" the counselor became agitated. "Dropping out for something so trivial? Do you think of your parents? Do you think of your own hard work? Eighteen years of studying weren't meant to be a joke!"

I looked at him without saying a word. Eighteen years. Another eighteen years.

My eighteen years seemed, in the eyes of others, to be worth nothing more than a "joke."

Seeing that he couldn't convince me, the counselor sighed and started the process. He made several calls, sending me to the academic office, the finance office, and the library.

Holding a form, I shuttled between one office after another, getting stamp after stamp of red ink.

Every stamp that fell felt like a period being drawn at the end of my past life.

The sun was bright, and the trees on campus were lush and green.

I saw Seth and Sonia walking together; he was holding breakfast, laughing at something he was saying to her.

They saw me too. Sonia’s gaze lingered on me for a second, with undisguised contempt, before she looked away.

Seth’s expression was more complex; he wanted to walk over, but Sonia pulled him back.

I didn't stop my pace, walking past them without a sideways glance.

At ten in the morning, the last seal was applied. I took my withdrawal certificate and walked out of the administration building.

From this moment on, this university I had fought so hard to get into had nothing more to do with me.

03

I dragged my suitcase toward the school gate.

I had already booked a car to the train station on my phone.

"Nina!" Seth’s exasperated voice came from behind me.

I didn't stop. He ran over and grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight it felt like he wanted to crush my bones.

"Where are you going?" He panted, his eyes locked onto the suitcase in my hand.

"Home," I said flatly.

"Home? You're not going to class? Don't you have a lecture this morning?" he demanded.

"I'm done."

"What do you mean?" He furrowed his brows, impatience creeping onto his face. "Are you still angry about last night? I told you it was just a prank, why can’t you just move on?"

I looked at him and found it almost laughable. Why did he think that just because he apologized, I had to forgive him?

Besides, he hadn't apologized at all.

"I’ve withdrawn from the university," I stated calmly, presenting a fact.

The impatience on Seth's face instantly froze.

He acted as if he hadn't heard me correctly and asked again, "What did you say?"

"I said, I’ve withdrawn," I repeated, giving my wrist a shake to signal him to let go.

Not only did he not release me, he gripped tighter.

His complexion turned pale at a visible rate, his eyes filled with incredulous panic.

"Withdrawn? Are you crazy?!" He raised his voice suddenly, causing passing students to cast sidelong glances.

"Are you dropping out just because of a joke?"

That line was exactly what I had imagined he would say.

I looked at his panicked face, the face I had known for eighteen years, and suddenly found it incredibly foreign.

I turned around calmly. "Yes," I answered with only that one word.

Then, I pulled my arm away with force.

The momentum sent him staggering back a few steps before he found his balance. He didn't seem to expect I could have such strength.

I pulled my suitcase and continued toward the gate. The car I’d hailed was already parked on the roadside.

"Nina!" Seth shouted behind me, a tremor in his voice he didn't seem to notice himself. "Stop right there! Explain what you mean! What do you mean by withdrawal? You’re not joking, are you?"

I ignored him. I popped the trunk and shoved the suitcase inside.

Then, I opened the car door and slid into the seat. "Let's go, driver."

Seth chased after the car, pounding on the window.

"Nina! Get out of the car! You can't leave! Our eighteen years of history, are you really going to ruin it all over this little thing?"

"You’ve dropped out, what am I supposed to do? What about my parents and yours, how do I explain this?"

"Nina! Open the door!" I looked at his distorted, anxious face through the glass, feeling nothing at all.

The car pulled away slowly, leaving him behind.

In the rearview mirror, I saw him chase after the car for a few steps before stopping, standing there lost, like a child who had been abandoned.

I withdrew my gaze, leaned back in my seat, and closed my eyes.

Eighteen years of history. It had already ended the moment he held me down for another girl to shear my hair in public.

Now, he was panicking. Not because I was hurt, but because things had slipped out of his control, and he couldn't answer to the parents on both sides.

That was the root of his panic. I let out a slow breath. I had never felt so relieved.

04

The train traveled steadily along the tracks, emitting a rhythmic clattering sound.

The scenery outside the window whipped past—high-rises, fields, mountain ranges—everything blurring into a flow of moving color. It was just like my university life, which had been uprooted, and the even longer past that stretched back eighteen years.

I didn't cry; I didn't even feel much sorrow. My heart felt empty, as if a piece had been carved out, and a cold wind was blowing against the wound, numb and freezing.

My phone vibrated in my pocket for a long time, but I didn't take it out. I didn't need to look to know that no one would be searching for me this frantically except Seth.

I leaned against the window, watching my reflection in the glass. That short hair, cut like a dog’s breakfast, looked ugly and ridiculous, yet it made me feel an unprecedented sense of clarity.

In the past, how much had I sacrificed and endured just to maintain that so-called "childhood sweetheart" bond with Seth?

He was careless and always losing things, so I followed behind to clean up. He would doze off in class and leave homework unfinished, so I stayed up late to fix his notes and brainstorm ideas. When he got into conflicts playing ball, I went to apologize for him. When he had his heart broken, I kept him company drinking all night, listening to him pour his heart out.

Everyone said, "Nina, you're so good to Seth." And Seth would habitually say, "Nina, what would I ever do without you?"

I had always thought that was proof of our deep intimacy. Now that I thought about it, it was just me one-sidedly playing the role of a pushover who was always there at his beck and call.

And when he needed to use a "tribute" to please another girl and integrate into a flashier social circle, I—his most convenient, compliant, and "reasonable" tool—became the sacrifice he offered without hesitation.

Eighteen years of history, in his eyes, was cheap enough to be reduced to a farce for everyone else's amusement.

The vibration stopped for a moment, then resumed at an even more urgent frequency. This time, I took the phone out.

"Mrs. Miller" flashed on the screen.

It was Seth’s mother. I tapped answer but stayed silent.

"Hello? Is that Nina?" Mrs. Miller’s consistently warm voice came through, laced with a trace of subtle probing.

"Mrs. Miller, it's me." My voice was calm.

"Oh, Nina, dear, where are you?" She sounded relieved. "Seth said you didn't go to class today and your phone is off, he had me so worried. Did you two have a fight?"

Her tone was as if she were coaxing a child throwing a tantrum.

"We didn't have a fight," I said.

"No fight? Seth told me all about it. It was just a joke at the gala, him cutting your hair a little. The kid is just mischievous, I’ll definitely have a word with him when he gets back!" Mrs. Miller’s tone was dismissive, focusing on the words "joke" and "mischief." "Men are just thick-headed sometimes, don't take it to heart. Hair grows back, you know? Listen to me, head back to school quickly and don't fall behind in your studies."