Even the Moon Does Not Know

Four years of university life, in the grand tapestry of human existence, amounted to nothing more than a brief, fleeting chapter.

It passed in the blink of an eye.

During our senior year, Sebastian asked me:

“Sophie, let’s apply for postgraduate studies at University B together, shall we?”

I chose absolute silence.

My silence was conveniently misinterpreted by him as tacit consent.

He harbored zero suspicion toward me, naturally remaining completely oblivious to the fact that tucked away in a corner he couldn’t see, I had meticulously plotted an entirely different trajectory for my life.

By the time he finally dialed my phone number to coordinate, I was already standing on foreign soil.

It wasn’t studying abroad for a degree; I was simply traveling for leisure.

I had successfully been accepted into Graduate School at University A, keeping it entirely hidden from Sebastian.

I embarked on a graduation trip abroad alongside a casual acquaintance from university, similarly keeping Sebastian entirely out of the loop.

For the very first time in my life, Sebastian’s masterminding and strategic participation were entirely absent from my personal roadmap.

I experienced an overwhelming, intoxicating rush of absolute freedom and warmth.

I tried attending theatrical plays, classical operas, and art exhibitions; I went skiing and scuba diving—experiencing every single activity I had previously been too timid or curious to try.

And to my astonishment, I discovered that attending a theatrical performance only cost a few hundred, while an expedition to the Arctic could be realized for fifty or sixty thousand.

It wasn’t some impossibly unreachable distant dream after all.

My roommate remarked:

“You should have lived like this long ago. Nobody is born inferior to anyone else, and nobody deserves to treat another human being as an absolute sovereign. This is a civilized society; stop letting your own mind remain trapped in a feudal era.”

I felt her words carried profound wisdom.

Spring transitioned to autumn, year after year.

Graduate school concluded in graduation.

Thanks to my professor’s strong recommendation, I successfully secured a position at a Fortune 500 global enterprise right out of the gate.

Throughout those three years, I completely lost track of whatever became of Sebastian and Clara.

Perhaps they had finally married.

Or perhaps they had parted ways; but knowing Sebastian’s temperament, even in the event of a breakup, he would undoubtedly manage to track down a brand-new soulmate.

At the end of the day, he was never meant to be mine.

Because by the 25th year of my life, I finally stepped into my very first real romantic relationship.

With Arthur.

He told me:

“The world is so vast, yet look at how miraculously we managed to bump into each other again. If we don’t date, we’re doing the red string of fate a massive disservice.”

Perhaps his words were initially spoken in jest, but on a particular evening when I returned from a heavy business social event reeking of alcohol, he was waiting outside to pick me up.

Intoxication clouding my senses, I asked him point-blank:

“Do you even know what it feels like to be in love?”

His dark eyes gleamed brilliantly as he remained completely still:

“If you want to find out, we can always give it a try.”

Let’s give it a try, then.

After all, Arthur wasn’t a pristine saint either; even if things went sour down the road and we broke up, I figured he wouldn’t react with the agonizing, earth-shattering devastation Sebastian was prone to.

Arthur appeared utterly worldly and playboyish, yet to my genuine shock, once we started dating for a month, he proved astonishingly traditional and respectful.

Boundaries were strictly maintained; he never crossed lines he shouldn’t.

It almost felt as though he wasn’t trying to romance me at all, but simply accompanying me like a steadfast companion.

On the day my mother fell ill and was hospitalized, he accompanied me back to my hometown to visit her.

Though it was merely my mother, he treated her medical care with utmost devotion and meticulous attention.

After settling the medical bills and heading upstairs, I caught his sleeve and stopped him.

“I want to know what a romantic kiss with a boyfriend feels like. Would you mind kissing me once?”

He paused briefly, scanning his gaze left and right before pulling me into a secluded corner.

“Are you certain?”

“Mhm.”

I wanted to test it—how kissing Arthur compared to kissing Sebastian.

Closing my eyes, I anticipated Arthur’s approaching breath.

A warm tactile sensation brushed against my lips, and in that split second, a wave of profound physiological revulsion revolted within my chest.

People say that truly loving someone translates directly into a physiological desire for physical closeness.

I thought I genuinely liked Arthur, so why was my body violently rejecting this?

Unable to comprehend it, I forced myself not to pull away.

Until I heard Arthur let out a soft, defeated sigh:

“You’re even crying.”

My eyes snapped wide open.

Before I could speak, sensing something amiss, I instinctively glanced downward toward the courtyard below.

That single glance froze me in absolute petrification.

Sebastian…?

He didn’t know when he had arrived, standing motionless down below, upright and aloof as always, staring up at me with deep, hollow eyes for a long, silent stretch.

A wave of utter helplessness washed over me, rendering me entirely incapable of reacting or knowing how to handle this catastrophic coincidence.

Meanwhile, Arthur took the initiative to break the ice with a casual grin:

“Long time no see, old classmate—how’s it been, four years?”

Indeed, three years of grad school plus one year working in the corporate world.

“… Sebastian.” I offered a stiff, awkward greeting: “Why are you at the hospital?”

His gaze remained fixed and lifeless:

“Just passing by.”

Passing by a hospital in my hometown?

Was he sick?

Or perhaps a family member of his was hospitalized?

Or maybe his girlfriend, fiancée, or wife was receiving treatment?

Countless wild possibilities flashed through my mind, until my hand was abruptly gripped tightly by Arthur.

He muttered with playful jealousy right beside my ear:

“Hey, your boyfriend is still standing right here alive and well, yet you’re staring so hard at another man your eyeballs are about to pop out.”

My eyelashes quivered as I hurriedly lowered my head.

Sebastian strode past us without a single pause or hesitation.

As if we were absolute strangers.

A dull, persistent ache throbbed across my chest, accompanied by a heavy, long-forgotten wave of desolation.

I pinched Arthur’s hand, hoping he could help me share a fraction of that oppressive weight.

He endured it silently until Sebastian vanished from sight, before hissing in mock pain:

“You’ve got a vicious streak, woman—trying to commit pre-meditated murder on your own boyfriend!”

Coming back to my senses, I hastily grabbed his hand to inspect it, entirely lacking the mental energy to point out his exaggeration.

“Does it hurt badly?”

“A kiss from you and it’ll stop hurting.”

I shot him a withering glare, yet before I could reply, Sebastian’s voice unexpectedly echoed from behind us:

“I heard your mother fell ill. Which hospital room is she in?”

Though four years had passed, he seemed to have grown even more tight-lipped and taciturn.

His complexion looked remarkably poor, carrying an unmistakable aura of fatigue.

Even so, the youthful, untouchable brilliance in his eyes had long since faded into dull obscurity.

Yet what did any of that have to do with me?

I rattled off the room number before pulling Arthur straight down the stairs.

I lingered in the corner of the first-floor lobby until Sebastian finished visiting my mother and departed, before finally heading back upstairs.

Arthur remained remarkably silent throughout the entire ordeal.

When he dropped me off outside my apartment complex that night after work, he reached out and tugged me close just as I opened the car door.

“You still have things unsaid to me, don’t you?”

“… Like what?”

“Breakup.”

I froze, feeling a sudden surge of awkward guilt.

His long eyelashes fluttered as he forced an unnatural, self-deprecating smile: “If you didn’t plan on saying it, then I will—let’s break up.”

His tone was surprisingly casual and natural.

I truly hadn’t misjudged him; he was indeed an unprincipled nice guy who let things roll off his back easily.

Leaving me feeling thoroughly guilty.

“Aren’t you angry?”

“I’m only mad at myself for not having the capability to make you fall in love with me.”

Silence hung heavy between us for a brief moment.

He waved his hand dismissively with a faint smile: “Run along inside. Let’s never cross paths again.”

Words stalled at the tip of my tongue, craving to express something.

Yet ultimately, any explanation would merely sound hollow and hypocritical.

“Arthur, if I had met you much earlier, perhaps…”

Before I could finish, a warm kiss suddenly descended, cutting off every remaining word I wished to utter.

This time, I didn’t hold back or resist, wrapping my arms around him to return the gesture as a final, bittersweet “farewell kiss”.

Barely a week after parting ways with Arthur, I requested an internal transfer, packing my bags to relocate to an entirely different city.

Arthur likely assumed I would inevitably end up back with Sebastian.

Yet I chose no such thing.

I rejected Sebastian’s persistent declarations of love.

I acknowledged that fiery youthful romance of yesteryear, even if it managed to bridge the gap to the present day, still refused to align with my reality.

I believed Sebastian’s current professions of love were genuine.

He no longer harbored any hesitation in broadcasting his affection for the person standing before him.

He would love with all his heart and soul whoever captured his eye.

However, certain things, once offered at the wrong juncture, no longer held any utility or appeal to me.

The bitter disappointments, the agonizing heartbreaks of the past were carved in stone; simply hearing him declare love today wasn’t enough to magically heal those old wounds.

The mere sight of Sebastian invariably dragged my mind back to that suffocating, chronically insecure, self-deprecating version of myself from the past.

He functioned like a mirror, mercilessly reflecting every single inadequacy and flaw I possessed.

And I despised that feeling.

Therefore, I fled.